Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

As Miles approached the reception counter, he could hear the man whispering to her, “It’s going to work this time. I know it. Third time’s a charm.”

A woman wearing a JULIE name tag was on the phone at the reception desk.

“What do you mean the insurance doesn’t cover it?” she said quietly. “Look at your files again. It’s Harkin. Julie Harkin. What’s the point of paying for insurance if when you need it you don’t have it? Where am I supposed to get ten thousand dollars to fix that kind of water damage? How—”

At this point, she noticed that Miles was standing there. She raised a just a second finger in his direction and went back to her conversation.

“This is not over,” she said. “You people haven’t heard the last of this.” Julie hung up the phone and looked apologetically at Miles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Hope you get that sorted out.”

“Insurance companies,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re in good hands,” Miles said, cupping his palms, as though they were full of water. Then he opened them. “Until you’re not.”

“No kidding. How can I help you?”

“Miles Cookson. I have an appointment.”

She consulted her book. “Yes, right. This wasn’t a referral?”

“No. Not a referral. It’s another matter.”

She gave him a brief, quizzical look, then said, “Have a seat.”

Miles sat. The two other couples went in ahead of him. After nearly forty-five minutes his name was called and he was directed to a door at the end of a short hallway. The door, with the name DR. MARTIN GOLD printed on it, was ajar. Miles pushed it open and stepped in.

A balding man in his late sixties sat behind a desk. He took off a pair of reading glasses, set them down, and looked up.

“Mr. Cookson?”

“That’s right.”

“Please sit.”

Gold didn’t look as though he would top out at five-five once he stood up out of that chair. His face and hands looked soft and doughy.

The walls were decorated not with the usual framed degrees but half a dozen photographs of bridges. Miles didn’t know what they all were, but he recognized the Golden Gate Bridge and the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Gold scanned his desktop and frowned. “I’m afraid you have me at some disadvantage. I usually have some sort of file, perhaps something from a family doctor, but I don’t have anything here related to your case. So, I guess I’m starting from scratch. What can I help you with? I’m going to guess, you’re married? You and your wife have been trying for some time to have a child, without success?”

“No,” Miles said. “It’s not like that. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. And chances are, any files you have on me are before you switched over to computer. Probably tucked in an office box somewhere. It was a long time ago.”

“Okay,” he said. “Go on.”

“More than twenty years ago, I came to this clinic. I was a donor.” And then, as if clarification were needed in a place like this, he added, “A sperm donor.”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled. “Was that back in the day when we gave away a free toaster with every new deposit?” He laughed. “Sorry. An old joke.”

Miles managed a crooked smile. “You may not have been giving away toasters, but what you paid donors allowed me to upgrade my computer. I desperately needed a more powerful one, and you helped make that happen.”

“Glad to be of help.”

“In fact,” Miles said, “that computer ended up being a real breakthrough for me. Got me headed in the right direction. I’m in the tech industry. Apps. You might have heard of my company. Cookson?”

Gold shook his head. “Sorry. But I’m glad we were able to give you the financial boost at the right time. I hope you’ll forgive me. I don’t actually recall your earlier visit with us. As you can imagine, we get a great many people through here. And we try to help them all as best we can, and are grateful to men like yourself who make our work possible.”

“Sure. And I don’t think we met, anyway. Someone else guided me through the process back then.” He pointed to one of the photographs. “What bridge is that?”

“Confederation Bridge,” he said. “Not that spectacular to look at, but amazing just the same. Links Prince Edward Island to the mainland. Opened in 1997.” He smiled. “Bridges are kind of my thing.”

Miles nodded, cleared his throat. “Anyway, I should explain why I’m here. It’s a long story, but I’ll try to make it short.” He paused. “The thing is, I’ve been diagnosed with Huntington’s.”

Gold’s face dropped. “I’m sorry. That’s... a tough one.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I find myself having to make some big decisions.”

“I’m sure.”

“One of the things I’ve been thinking about is the children that may be out there that are... I don’t know that ‘mine’ is the right word because they are not my children, but they are the children I fathered. These children that exist, that are out there in the world, living and breathing, because of the donation I made at this clinic many years ago.”

Gold nodded thoughtfully.

“I think those children — I suppose they would all be adults now — are entitled to know what their future may include. As you may know, there’s a 50 percent chance of a child developing Huntington’s if a parent has it.”

“Yes,” Gold said. “I am aware.”

“I’ve been... very successful in my field and have a substantial estate, and I would like to start dispersing it sooner rather than later. After considerable thought, and no small amount of soul searching, I have decided I want to distribute a large part of my... fortune... among these adult children. If they should ever develop the disease, they’ll have the resources to look after themselves, and in the meantime have the means to do things they might otherwise not have been able to afford. Travel, buy a place in Spain. Or do nothing with it. Pass it on to their own children, if they have any. It’d be up to them.”

“And if it turns out they don’t have the disease?” Gold asked.

“They get the money anyway,” Miles said.

The doctor tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “I see. Your heart is certainly in the right place, and I understand your position, but I should point out to you that I don’t see any legal responsibility here for you. This isn’t exactly medical jargon I’m about to impart to you, but life is a crapshoot. The sperm from any donor carries the potential for troubling consequences. Any couple having a child faces the same issues, including couples who don’t avail themselves of the services we provide. We all bring our genetic makeup to the table. It’s life.”

“Still.”

“And besides, it’s all rather moot,” the doctor said. “You don’t know who these children are.”

Miles said, “But you do.”

“Excuse me?”

“The names of the women impregnated with my sperm. You must have that information.”

Gold shook his head and smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Those files of ours are completely confidential. It’s not negotiable.”

“There must be a way. What if you were to contact these women, urge them to get in touch with me?”

Gold was shaking his head. “No, it’s out of the question. Mr. Cookson, I am not without sympathy. You have a tough road ahead. And your intentions are noble. Generous. But you came here, years ago, with the understanding that you would never know how your donation would be used, and the recipients came here with the understanding that their privacy would not be violated. My hands are tied.”

Miles sat there, making fists of frustration. “I think they — these children — would want to know.”