Chapter 7 - GARRISON’S WIFE
Garrison’s wife, Helen, had died nine years earlier.
I knew that.
Everyone on our street knew that.
What I did not know was that she and Garrison had spent twelve years trying to have children.
He told us in Claire’s office.
No dramatics.
No excuses.
“Helen had repeated miscarriages,” he said. “Mercer treated us for five years.”
“Did you bank sperm?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Could the second vial be yours?”
“I don’t know.”
Julian laughed sharply.
“You don’t know?”
Garrison looked at him.
“No.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I haven’t had access to those records in over a decade.”
I stared at Garrison.
“Why was your billing contact on a transfer three years ago?”
“That I cannot explain.”
Claire asked, “Did Mercer ever contact you after losing his license?”
“Yes.”
My pulse jumped.
“When?”
“Several times.”
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
Julian’s head snapped up.
“Same as me.”
Garrison nodded.
“Possibly.”
“Why didn’t you report him?”
“I did.”
That changed the room.
“To whom?”
“My former firm advised me to document it. I notified the medical board’s enforcement staff and my insurer.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Do you still have copies?”
“Yes.”
For once, somebody had paperwork.
Garrison continued.
“Mercer claimed biological materials had been mishandled during clinic closures and transfers. He wanted payment in exchange for identifying where mine ended up.”
“Did you pay?”
“No.”
“Did he identify Queen City?”
“Not specifically.”
“Then how does your name appear?”
“I don’t know.”
Julian looked at me.
“You’ve been spending time with this guy since the divorce.”
I turned.
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You shoved me yesterday and lied about fertility results for years. You are not going to use this moment to imply I slept with Garrison.”
He shut his mouth.
Good.
Garrison spoke.
“I have never had a romantic or sexual relationship with Emma.”
His tone ended the issue.
At least for me.
Claire arranged for independent reproductive-law counsel.
She also advised me to notify my obstetrician because any future paternity testing involving twins needed to be handled carefully and medically appropriately.
I did.
My doctor, Dr. Patel, listened without changing expression.
When I finished, she said, “The babies are healthy. That is the immediate fact.”
I nodded.
“You can do noninvasive prenatal paternity testing, but with twins and multiple possible fathers, the testing needs a specialized lab. Or you can wait until after birth.”
“What would you recommend?”
“Medically? There is no urgent reason to test before delivery unless the result changes a medical decision.”
That mattered.
I had spent days letting men’s secrets turn my pregnancy into evidence.
I wanted the babies to become babies again.
“I’ll wait.”
Julian objected when he heard.
Of course he did.
“I need to know.”
“No,” I said over the phone. “You want to know.”
“They could be mine.”
“They could.”
“You can’t keep that from me.”
“I’m not. I’m choosing not to undergo unnecessary prenatal testing.”
“What if Garrison is the father?”
I closed my eyes.
“You are still trying to make this about humiliation.”
“It matters.”
“It matters after they’re born.”
He went quiet.
Then said, “You’re protecting him.”
I hung up.
That evening, Garrison came by only long enough to leave a folder.
Old letters.
Medical bills.
Insurance claims.
Mercer correspondence.
He did not step inside.
“I thought you’d want copies.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at my stomach.
“How are they?”
“Apparently completely uninterested in adult scandal.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Before he left, I asked, “Did you ever want children after Helen died?”
His smile faded.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I had already spent too many years turning parenthood into a project.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Later, I opened his old Mercer file.
Most of it was what he had described.
Then I found a cryogenic inventory form.
Garrison Blackwood.
Specimens stored: 4.
Disposition requested after Helen’s death:
Destroy all remaining material.
Signed.
Dated nine years earlier.
Beneath it was a handwritten note from Mercer:
Hold pending billing reconciliation.
My stomach tightened.
Garrison had asked for destruction.
May you like
Mercer had ignored him.
And three years ago, at least one specimen may have been transferred anyway.
