Trespassing(71)

“Yes, Mommy. I saw Daddy, and he gave me a hug. He kissed my nose.”

“Well, that’s a nice treat, then.”

“I miss my daddy.”

“Me too. But now is snack time.” With Elizabella seated at the table with a pile of scrap paper and a box of crayons, I dole out pudding cups.

“For Nini, too?”

“Yes.” I put out an extra. One for my daughter and one for the apparition.

I wonder if Dr. Russo was right. Maybe the imaginary friend bit is a sign of Bella’s creativity. If Mimi is a real little girl, as Christian Renwick seems to think, and if Bella met her here in Key West, she’s placing characters she knows—including her father—into situations in her head. And if Guidry can learn more about Connor and Brendan—if they’re the twins in the photos—it would be one less thing to worry about: maybe she isn’t talking with alternate personalities or demons in her head . . .

“Mommy has to make a phone call.”

“Call Daddy!”

My heart sinks a little. I’ve been calling him every day, just to hear his voice on his voice mail. The phone doesn’t ring; it goes straight to his recorded message. “He won’t answer, baby.” I dial the fertility lab instead.

“River North Fertility Center.”

“Veronica Cavanaugh, returning your call.” I put out spoons for Bella and Nini. As the call is transferred, I take a seat at a counter stool.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh, I was calling because the credit card on file for the storage fees won’t go through.”

Of course it won’t. “What is the storage fee?”

“We’re storing two embryos in cryogenically—”

“I know what it’s for. I mean, how much?”

“For the embryos, your husband opted to pay month to month, which is a little more expensive, but then you can implant at any time and you aren’t paying for the entire year if you don’t need storage.”

“Okay.”

“The embryos were batched together, so it’s one hundred fifty a month for the two. If you wanted to pay annually, that’s fifteen hundred. As for the sperm—”

“Wait. I’m still unclear as to why we’re freezing sperm. I’m not sure that’s necessary.” Although . . . now that he may be gone, this stuff could be the last specimen of Micah Cavanaugh Jr. ever procured.

“Your husband elected to do so, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“I’m sure he did.” And I guess it makes sense. If he had to be on a flight—what flight? On what plane?—when it was time to batch, we would’ve needed his sperm to fertilize. “Okay, how much to keep the sperm frozen, too?”

“Same. One fifty per month or fifteen hundred per year. Your husband has been paying annually for that, but the payment just came due.”

Do I need the sperm if I have two embryos?

If the embryos fail, there’s a chance I can batch another round of eggs, and if Micah isn’t here for the fertilization, I’ll need the sperm on hand. I stop midthought. For years now, my focus has been on propagation, increasing our numbers.

But . . . why continue?

I’m tempted to tell her to thaw and destroy everything.

But one glance at Bella silences the logical forces in my brain. Loving a child isn’t rational, and those embryos could be my children. And I want a big family, for my sake, for Bella’s. Lowering my mother into the ground with no one by my side but the paramedic and cop who’d come to answer the call had been devastating. I want better for my daughter.

“The trouble is, if the card isn’t working . . . I’m out of town. I can mail a money order. Can it wait a few days?”

“The amount is already three weeks past due, and we have only a sixty-day grace period before it’s out of our hands. We’ve been attempting to reach your husband, but—”

“I’m sorry the credit card failed, and I’m sorry my husband hasn’t been in touch with you, but he hasn’t been in touch with anyone in nearly a month. He’s missing, presumed dead.”

“Oh. I hadn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure everyone at your center feels sort of like God, giving couples the impossible gift of children, but you work because of people like me. Your policy gives me sixty days grace. I still have some time. I just told you I’d pay the amount due if you’d only tell me what I owe!”

I hear the clicking of keys. “Three weeks late is three hundred dollars for the embryos and three hundred dollars for the specimen. But if you pay any later than tomorrow, you’ll have an additional two hundred dollars in fees. If you prefer to pay cash, I have to charge you annually. Fifteen hundred each. That’s three thousand for both the embryos and specimen.”

“Plus late fees,” I confirm. “Thirty-six hundred?”

“If you pay by tomorrow.”

“And then I’m good for a year?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Might I transfer you to reception so you can make your next appointment?”

I hang up.

“I know, Nini,” Bella’s saying. “Mommy’s mad.”

“I was mad at them, Ellie-Belle,” I say. “Because they were being mean.”