“I know,” said Adam.
“How did you know?” asked Jennifer. “I tried calling you from seven in the morning on. You were never in.”
Adam realized that Mrs. Carson had not even told Jennifer that he’d phoned the previous evening. Getting his wife back was going to be an uphill battle.
“Well, you have a wonderful time on your trip,” said Jennifer coldly, and she hung up before Adam could even tell her how much he loved her.
Jennifer put down the phone wondering what could be so important that Adam would leave her at this difficult time. It had to be Puerto Rico, and yet Adam had never lied to her before.
“Anything new?” questioned Mrs. Carson.
Jennifer turned to face her parents.
“Adam is going on some kind of trip,” she said.
“How nice for him,” said Mrs. Carson. “Where is he going?”
“I don’t know,” said Jennifer. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Could he be having an affair?” asked Mrs. Carson.
“By George, he better not be,” said Mr. Carson, who lowered his Wall Street Journal and glared at the two women.
“He’s not having an affair,” said Jennifer irritably.
“Well, he’s surely acting inappropriately,” said her mother.
Jennifer got some Raisin Bran cereal and cut up a banana. Since she’d started the pregdolen, her nausea had all but disappeared. She carried her breakfast to the table and sat in front of the TV.
The phone rang again, and she leaped up, thinking it was Adam calling, having changed his mind about the trip. But when she picked up the phone, it was Dr. Vandermer on the other end.
“I’m sorry to be calling so early,” he said, “but I wanted to be certain to get you.”
“It’s all right,” said Jennifer, her stomach doing a flip-flop.
“I’d like you to come back to the clinic today,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I need to talk to you. Could you make it this morning some time around ten? I’m afraid I have surgery this afternoon.”
“Of course. I’ll be there at ten,” said Jennifer. She hung up the phone, afraid to ask what he wanted to talk about.
“Who was it, dear?” asked Mrs. Carson.
“Dr. Vandermer. He wants to see me this morning.”
“What about?”
“He didn’t say,” said Jennifer softly.
“Well, at least it can’t have anything to do with the amniocentesis,” said Mrs. Carson. “He told us the results take about two weeks.”
Jennifer dressed quickly, her mind trying to guess what Dr. Vandermer was going to tell her. Her mother’s comment about the amniocentesis test made her feel a bit better. The only other thing she could think of was that one of the blood tests had shown she was low on iron or some vitamin.
Mrs. Carson insisted on driving Jennifer to the Julian Clinic and going in with her for her appointment. They were escorted immediately to Dr. Vandermer’s new office, which smelled of fresh paint.
Dr. Vandermer stood when they entered and motioned for Jennifer and her mother to take the two chairs in front of his desk. Looking at his face, Jennifer knew that something was seriously wrong.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said in a voice that betrayed no emotion.
Jennifer felt her heart leap. All at once the room felt intolerably hot.
“Normally it takes two weeks to get the results of an amniocentesis,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The reason is that tissue cultures have to be made in order to see the nuclear material properly. Occasionally, however, the abnormality is so apparent that the free cells in the amniotic fluid tell the story. Jennifer, like your mother, you are carrying a baby with Down’s syndrome. The karyotype is of the most severe type.”
Jennifer was speechless. There had to be a mistake. She couldn’t believe that her body would deceive her and produce some sort of monster.
“Does that mean that the child won’t live more than a few weeks?” Mrs. Carson asked, struggling with her own memories.
“We believe that the infant wouldn’t survive,” said Dr. Vandermer. He walked over to Jennifer and put his arm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news. I would have waited for the final results, but it is better for you to know now. It gives you more time to make a decision. It may not seem much consolation to you, but try to remember that you are a very young woman. You can have lots of other children and, as you mentioned yourself, this is not the best time for you and Adam to have a baby.”
Jennifer listened in shocked silence. Dr. Vandermer turned and caught Mrs. Carson’s eye.
“I think you should go home and discuss the situation with your family,” Dr. Vandermer continued. “Believe me, it’s better to come to a decision now than after a lengthy and difficult labor and delivery.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Mrs. Carson. “Dr. Vandermer’s right, Jennifer. We’ll go home and talk. Everything is going to work out fine.”
Jennifer nodded and even managed a smile for Dr. Vandermer, whose face finally revealed a trace of emotion.
“Please call me whenever you want,” he said as they left.
The two women passed through the clinic, descended into the parking garage, and retrieved their car in silence. As they drove up the ramp, Jennifer said, “I want to go home to my apartment.”
“I thought we’d go right back to New Jersey,” said Mrs. Carson. “I think your father should know about this.”
“I’d like to see Adam,” said Jennifer. “He didn’t say what time he was leaving. Maybe I can catch him.”
“Maybe we should call first,” said Mrs. Carson.
“I’d prefer just to go,” said Jennifer.
Deciding this was not the time to argue, Mrs. Carson drove her daughter downtown. When they went up to the apartment, Jennifer saw that Adam’s two suitcases were still in the closet and none of his clothes seemed to be missing. She felt reasonably confident that he had not left.
“Well, what do you want to do?” asked her mother.
“Wait and talk to him,” said Jennifer in a tone that brooked no further debate.
“I’m going to have to charge you a fee if this happens again,” teased the porter at the university information booth.
Adam took the white coat and slipped it on.
“I just can’t stay away from this place. I’m homesick.” The sleeves were two inches too short and there was a big yellow stain on the pocket. “Is this the best you can do?” he joked.
Confident in his medical disguise, Adam took the elevator to Neurology, went directly to the nurses’ station, smiled at the ward clerk, and again pulled Smyth’s chart from the rack.
All he really wanted was the information on the front sheet. Turning his back to the clerk, Adam copied down all the personal information he could find on Smyth: health insurance information, social security number, wife’s name, and birth date. That was a good start.
Returning the chart to the rack, Adam took the elevator back down to the library on the main floor. A research assistant directed him to a compendium of American physicians. Looking up Stuart Smyth, Adam checked the schools the man had attended from college through residency and was interested to note that he’d done a year of surgical training in Hawaii. Adam also memorized all of Smyth’s professional associations.
His final act before leaving the medical center was to call Christine at GYN Associates under the pretext of setting up an appointment with Baumgarten and Stens the following week. He managed to learn that Smyth was an avid tennis player, a lover of classical music, and a movie buff.
Back in the Buick, Adam drove across town and tumed right on Eighth Avenue. As he approached Forty-second Street, the city changed from office buildings and warehouses to garish movie theaters with harsh neon lights and adult bookstores advertising twenty-five-cent X-rated flicks. Streetwalkers in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts beckoned to him as he parked his car.