Most Wanted (31 page)

“No, that's the reason
you're
pissed. You're the one who has a problem with that, not me.”

“Oh, right. You're fine with it because it's
Zachary's
baby. Your new boyfriend.”

“How dare you!” Christine's blood boiled, and she felt suddenly exasperated with Marcus, with his jealousy, with his insecurities, and with him. “Do you know what bothers me? What bothers me is that tonight at dinner, I was sitting across from your father and Stephanie, and he's completely supportive of her. He's as excited about their pregnancy as she is, and they didn't even plan it. She's having the pregnancy that I wanted.”

“That's exactly what I just said! You wanted a nice, normal pregnancy. You're angry because you didn't get one. You feel cheated because we had to use a donor.”

“No, that's not true.” Christine finally understood her own feelings, and they were coming to a head. “I'm angry because you're not supportive of this pregnancy.”

“I've been supportive. I drive you to your car. I get whatever food you want. I bring you water. I hold your hair when you throw up—”

“I'm talking about
emotionally
supportive. You didn't buy in from the start, and now that you found out about Zachary—yes, I call him by his first name—now, you can't get past it. You wanted me to have an abortion.” Christine couldn't stop now that she'd said it aloud. “How is that supportive?”

“I don't want that anymore—”

“Still, that's the barest minimum. I'm talking about your being
in
it with me and sharing the joy with me, but also the hard parts. So we're having a hard part. We got dealt a bad hand, but I'm the only one trying to solve it—”

“How, by running off to see Zachary? By lending him money? By making sure he has a lawyer?”

“Yes. That's all part of it. I was just going to the source, like Gary said, and I feel connected to him. I want to help him.” Christine heard herself admit it aloud and understood something more, almost like an epiphany. “But the answer isn't for me to ditch Zachary. The answer is for you to be part of this
with
me. He's our donor, and we have to figure out what we're going to do about that—”

“We're going to sue the bastards!”

“That's not all, not nearly. It's all about taking care of this baby, because it's on its way.” Christine understood everything with a new clarity. “Marcus, if we found out this child had cystic fibrosis, we'd be in it together. We'd be buying equipment. Medication, nebulizers. We'd be seeing the best doctors we could afford. We'd figure that out before the baby came. Why treat a physical illness but not a mental illness? This is no different.”

“Of course it is!”

“No it isn't; and anyway, it doesn't matter. The baby's coming, and I'm going to be its mother. You've evidently decided you're not going to be its father.”

“You think Zachary is the father. You went to see him, why?”

“To find out if he was the biological father, our donor.” Christine knew that Marcus was half-right, but she wasn't about to admit it because she was right about the whole thing. “I wish you'd gone with me. I wish you were handling this whole thing differently. I wanted to get to know him, to learn things about him, about his family medical history, who had mental illness, who didn't—”

“We already have more information about him than most people have before they get married. We have three generations of medical history on him.”

“That's not the point, it's not the same thing.” Christine thought fast. “You can have a résumé, but it's not the same thing as meeting them. You could meet somebody online, but that's not the same as a real date.”

“Excuse me if I don't want to
date
Zachary. Excuse me if this whole thing is completely galling and mortifying and humiliating, and all you do is think about yourself!”

“No, you're exactly wrong.” Christine felt resentment and bitterness welling up from deep within. “All I do is think about you. Since the day of your diagnosis, all I have done is worry about your feelings, your emotions, how embarrassed you were, that you felt ashamed and humiliated. I lied to my friends at school, and I didn't even tell Lauren until I couldn't keep a secret anymore. Everyone around you is protecting your feelings and your ego just because you have a medical condition you can't own up to. Because you never accepted that it's biology, not manhood. I'm
sick
of worrying about you. I'm officially done worrying about you. I'm tired of saving your face for you. Grow the hell up!” Christine stood her ground. “And you know what else I realized? That being a father is a
decision
. It doesn't have to do with DNA or anything else. Zachary is the biological father of this child, and right now, what I'm saying is that this child doesn't have a father—”

“I'm the father!”

“Then
act
like it. You have to care about this baby, and you have to take care of this baby—”

“I do care about the baby. That's why I want to sue Homestead.”

“That's not why you want to sue Homestead. You want to sue Homestead because you're angry. You're angry at them for picking Jeffcoat. You're angry at yourself because you're infertile. You're angry at the
world
and you're taking it out on Homestead! You don't really care about the baby.”

“And you say you care about the baby but you really care about Zachary. You admit you have a connection with him. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

“Admit that
you
have a connection to him, too.” Christine was freewheeling, but it was her heart talking. “Because if this is going to be our child, and you're going to be the father, then you
do
have a connection to Jeffcoat. Share it with me.”

“What are you talking about? What are you asking from me?”

“Zachary is down there, he's in prison. He's our donor and he could be in jail for a crime he didn't commit. I'm not going to turn my back on him.”

“You didn't, you got him a lawyer!”

“And I'm not going to wash my hands of him just because I did that.” Christine felt like it was finally time for her to face her feelings. “I'm worried about him. I feel bad for him. I think he's innocent. I don't think he committed that murder—”

“Christine, you're being naïve. You heard what Gary said.”

“Either way, I have to find out for myself.” Christine knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn't stay home, obsess about Zachary, and weed her garden. “I want to go back down there and see how I can help him. I want to make sure he has what he needs—”

“
What?
Are you
serious
?”

“I am asking you if you would come with me.”

“No!” Marcus snapped. “Absolutely not. I'm not going down there.”

“Marcus, please. Come with me.” Christine tried to think of an argument to persuade him. She felt a glimmer of hope that if they could go together, they could get their marriage back on track. “When this baby grows up, do you want to tell him that his biological father is behind bars, a murderer? Would our baby feel good when he finds out that his biological father was in jail for a crime he didn't commit? And that we didn't help him when we could? Do you know what that can do to a child? Can't you think ahead? Can't you get past the fact that we needed a donor?”

“Christine, enough. You're asking too much. You're just asking too much of me.”

“I can deal with it, why can't you, Marcus? I can't deny that he exists and that he's in trouble. Come with me or not.”

“You can't go!”

“You're my husband, not my principal.” Christine folded her arms. “Are you coming with me or not? It's your choice.”

 

Chapter Thirty-two

The next morning, Christine crossed into New Jersey, glancing at the dashboard clock, which read 9:15. She'd gone to bed last night without another word to Marcus, who'd slept downstairs with Murphy and Lady. She'd packed some clothes and sneaked out at five thirty, with nobody even stirring, which didn't surprise her. Marcus was the heaviest sleeper in history, with the dog a close second. She suspected the cat saw her go but didn't care.

Rain pounded on the windshield, and the wipers flapped to keep it clear. Her stomach had finally stabilized after a bout of morning sickness, and she was making excellent time driving south on I-95 in remarkably light traffic. Marcus hadn't texted or called, and she wasn't about to contact him. But she had some bases she had to cover.

Her phone was on its holder on the dashboard, and she waited until it was safe to dial, then pressed the phone screen for her mother's number. The phone rang only once, and her mother picked up. “Hey, Christine, how are you this morning?”

“Great, I just wanted to see how you guys were.”

“Your dad's having some breakfast. We're out of ketchup, so he's not a happy camper.”

“But how are you?” Christine asked, making it a point. Her mother had become such an excellent caregiver that she routinely placed her needs second.

“I'm fine.”

“Did you sleep okay?” Christine knew her mother had been having trouble sleeping.

“Great. We had the air conditioner on. So what are you doing? You sound like you're in the car already.”

“I'm having fun.” Christine felt a twinge of guilt but let it go. She had to keep lying or her mother would worry. “I'm going back down to Lauren's family's house for a few more days. She had to go back, but I'm staying to decompress after school.”

“That's a wonderful idea! Good for you! You do so much, you need the break. Is Marcus going to join you?”

“No, he has to work, and Lauren can't leave the kids.”

“So you're all by yourself?”

“Yes, but I'm looking forward to it. I bought a bunch of books and I'm going to read myself into a coma on the beach.”

“Oh that does sound wonderful,” her mother said, and Christine could hear the wistfulness in her tone.

“I wish I could've brought you, Mom.” Christine realized her parents hadn't taken a vacation since her father had been diagnosed, five years ago. Changes of scenery and routine disturbed her father, so they stayed home.

“Another time.”

“Yes, another time,” Christine said, knowing that there would be no other time. Her mother knew the same thing, but they said the words anyway, a comforting call-and-response between a loving mother and daughter.

“I better go, I need to help your dad with breakfast.”

“Can I say hi to him?”

“Not just now, okay, sweetie? I want him to finish his meal.”

“Of course. Tell him I said hi and I love him.”

“I will. Love you. Drive safe. Stop if you get tired. Don't go in the water after you eat.”

Christine smiled. “Yes, Mommy.”

“What a comedian.” Her mother chuckled, then hung up, and Christine pressed the button to end the call, then called Lauren, who picked up after three rings.

“Christine! Sorry it took me so long. I'm trying to pack two bicycles in the back of the car and they got tangled up, the pedal of one got stuck in the spokes of the other.” Lauren sounded exasperated. “I told Josh we need a bike rack, but does anybody listen to me? No.”

“So it's that kind of morning.”

“Yes, in other words, typical. What are you up to?”

“I'll tell you if you won't worry, because I'm on my way.”

“Where?”

“Do you want to hear about the fact that my father-in-law is becoming a father again, the tattooed alcoholic we met in West Chester is dead, or that I'm on my way back to Pennsylvania?”

“
What?
” Lauren said, astonished, and for the next thirty miles, Christine filled her in on what had happened. Lauren had the reaction Christine had expected, which was generally “are you really sure,” “you need to be careful,” “I'm not sure if you should be doing this,” and stopping just short of, “wait an hour before you go in the water.” But after Christine told Lauren what her plan was and convinced her that it was safe, or at most a waste of time, her best friend came around, reluctantly. Which was why the two women were best friends forever, because each one always believed in the other.

Lauren said, “You have to promise me you'll be careful.”

“I'll be careful, I'm careful. But don't you think it's suspicious that Kent turned up dead?”

“I don't know why you think it's suspicious if the police don't.”

“Because they have no reason to believe her death is suspicious. They don't know what she saw, they never called her back.”

“True.”

“Let's assume Kent was murdered because she saw the killer on the stairs the night Gail Robinbrecht was killed, or because the killer
thinks
that she saw him. That means that Zachary isn't the serial killer.”

“You're creeping me out with all this talk of Kent getting murdered and serial killers.”

“It happens.”

“Not in our world. Our world is kids and bicycles and Crayola and standardized testing.”

Christine smiled. That used to be her world, but she didn't know where her world was any longer. She wasn't a teacher anymore, and her previously happy marriage was in trouble. She knew she wanted to be a mother, and she knew she wanted to be the mother of the child she was carrying. But that loop kept leading her back to Zachary Jeffcoat.

“I'm worried about you and Marcus.”

“Me, too.” Christine drove on, rain pounding against the windshield. “I know this is going to sound strange, but that's part of the reason I'm going. I wish I could pretend Zachary doesn't exist, but he does, and I'm not going to be happy unless I try to help him, one way or the other.”