The Witness

physical requirements, in appearance and body type, stamina.”
    “I get the picture.”
    “When she’d determined the donor, she scheduled the conception date, through artificial insemination, to correlate with her own personal and professional calendar. Naturally, she arranged the finest prenatal care available, and I was born through a scheduled cesarean section, and proved very healthy, of the proper weight and size. She had, ofcourse, already arranged for a nurse, so I was given excellent care, and tested and examined regularly to be certain my development was strong.”
    The birdsong, so happy, seemed out of place, as did the sudden jeweled whirl of a hummingbird toward a pot of scarlet dianthus.
    “Do you know all this because you found out, or because she told you?”
    “She told me. I always knew. The knowledge was part of my education. Education, along with my physical health, were priorities. My mother is exceptionally beautiful, and she had some disappointment in that while my features are pleasing enough, my coloring good, I didn’t reach the level in appearance she’d hoped for, but I made up for it with intellect and motor skills and retention. Overall, she was very satisfied.”
    “Oh, baby.”
    She hunched in when he put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
    “You’re just going to have to swallow that one.”
    “I’m telling you this so you understand my basic genetic makeup. My mother, while satisfied with me on the whole, never loved me or wished to. She never accepted I might have my own goals or desires or plans. Hers, for me, were again very specific and detailed. For a very long time I thought she didn’t love me because I was lacking in some area, but I came to understand she simply didn’t love. She has no capacity or aptitude for love, and no skills at displaying affection. Factoring genetics and environment, I also lack the capacity. I may not have the skills for relationships, but I understand emotions and affection are primary needs in developing and maintaining them.”
    Brooks thought, What a load of crap. But he structured his response more carefully. “Let me get this straight. Because your mother’s cold, selfish and appears to have all the finer feelings of a sand flea, you’re genetically predestined to be the same.”
    “That’s very harsh.”
    “I can be harsher.”
    “There’s no need. When factoring both genetics and environment, what’s often termed nature and nurture—”
    “I know what the hell it is.”
    “Now you’re angry.”
    “That’s a mild term for it, but not with you. Let me ask you something else. If you’re so genetically incapable of love and affection, how come you love that dog, and he loves you back. And don’t try to pass it off as training.”
    “We need each other.”
    “Need’s one part of it. If he got hurt or sick and couldn’t function as a guard dog, would you get rid of him?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Because it would be cold and selfish and downright mean, and you’re none of that. And because you love him.”
    “He’s a dog, not a person. There are people who feel strongly for and about animals, and don’t have the same feelings for or about people.”
    “You feel something for me.”
    With no helpful answer, Abigail stared down into her wine.
    “What about your father?”
    “Donor.”
    “Okay, what about the donor? If she didn’t tell you specifically who he was, you found out. You’re too smart to let that slide.”
    “She wouldn’t give me his name or certain details. When I was twelve I … accessed the information.”
    “She kept files.”
    “My conclusion was—is—she felt it important to keep track of his health, any potential problem areas. So yes, she kept files. I hacked into them.”
    “At twelve.”
    “I’ve always had an interest in computers. He’s a physicist. Very successful and respected. He was in his early twenties when he donated, several years younger than my mother at the time.”
    “Does he know about you?”
    “No. It’s not done.”
    “You could have contacted him.”
    “Why? Why would I disrupt his life, his family? We have a biological connection and nothing more.”
    “He has a family.”
    “Yes, he married at thirty-one. At the time I accessed the information, he had one child and was expecting another. He has three children now. I’m not one of them. I’m the result of a donation.”
    “Is he still