Karen responded to the mention of a problem by placing her other hand on David. He held her even tighter.
'What problem?' she asked.
'Bone-marrow transplants require a very close match be-tween donor and recipient. That's why the donor is usually a very close relative. A brother or sister. Mother or father. Karen's eyes filled with tears. 'I'll do anything to save my baby. What do I have-' Then she saw Dr. Fletcher slowly shak-ing her head.
Karen's words ceased as if she had been punched in the throat. The sickening realization swept over her that Renata was not her baby. She was not the mother. She never had been. And now, when Renata lay in life- threatening danger, she could offer no help at all.
Karen fought against the swirling black faint that pulled her down into the bed sheets. Needs her mother, she thought, needs her mother. The words choked her soul. David's hands, mas-saging hers, felt hot and distant. She took a deep breath.
'Where is her mother?' Karen asked with forced steadiness.
Fletcher shook her head sadly. Stepping over to the door, she closed and locked it. She returned to the bed and reached across to close the baby drawer. Her voice was low, under-standing, but firm.
'You know the terms of the contract. No one is ever to know that the child is not yours. Especially not the donor mother.'
Karen stared with incomprehension. 'Even if it costs this baby her life?'
'I'm sorry, that's-'
'It's a contract with no teeth,' David said. 'It relies on our good faith, on our being so happy with the baby that we wouldn't dare risk it being taken away. But that's not the case with Renata.' He grabbed Fletcher's arm. 'Her life's in danger. I don't care what happens to us. I just want her to live.' Dr. Fletcher maintained her low tone. 'It's not just a ques-tion of custody. I told you that the transoptive technique was experimental. I told you that the donor mother had come in for an abortion. What I didn't tell you is that she thought she was getting an abortion. The donor didn't know that her fetus would be transplanted.'
The pair gazed at Fletcher in silence. David breathed faster, trying to suppress shock and anger. The doctor made a men-tal note to watch for signs of hyperventilation. Karen's face paled to the color of the pillowcase into which her head sank.
'You didn't tell her?' she said in a dulled monotone.
'If we went to the mother with this news,' Fletcher said, 'the repercussions would be enormous. It would put every-one involved into jeopardy.' Her voice grew urgent. 'The state could imprison us, seize Renata, and ruin our lives. Contact with the donor is out of the question.' She stood to turn her back to them, taking a deep breath and longing for escape. One sick child threatened to demolish all her work, her entire career, which had culminated in the reckless action that had saved Renata's life in the first place.
'I don't understand,' Karen said softly.
'What?' Fletcher said, turning around to face them. She sniffed sharply, took a breath, and tried to maintain a doctorly attitude.
Karen searched Fletcher's face for a sign of compassion. 'I don't understand why you've done all this. You-you do all this research and study to perform fertility operations. And then you try something that no one else has ever done before just to help me have a baby. You must have some overwhelming re-gard for human life. Then how can you value the life of an unborn child so much that you'll go through all this to save it, yet let it die a few hours after it's born?'
The doctor shook her head. A pressure built up inside her, ready to burst.
'Isn't that,' Karen asked, 'the mirror image of an abortionist's view?' Evelyn surrendered to the tears that ached inside her. She wept for the memory of her own lost child, for the fatal choice she had made at an age when her body was that of a woman's but her soul was unprepared for a woman's existence.
David watched her stand with her head buried in one hand. He glanced at his wife. She nodded, releasing his hand. He brought a chair over to the side of the bed and helped the woman into it.
'When I was nineteen,' Evelyn said, her head lowered, 'I had an abortion. I was forced to make a choice no one should be forced to make-to kill a tiny little human or let one night's mistake rule my life forever. Well, I killed it. And it's ruled my life, anyway.'
She took a shallow, sobbing breath. Hesitantly, David put his hand on her shoulder. If she noticed, she made no sign.
