The sensation stayed with her like a state of grace, even as she climbed out of the car, went inside the restaurant, sat down, and ordered. All of the emotion she was experiencing resonated deep within her, as if being her baby’s mother was the best thing she could be doing in the world, as if her heart had gotten what it had always wanted, even before she had even been born and filled out her body, to give her soul a home.

“Christine? Pass the ketchup, please.” Lauren frowned from across the narrow Formica table, tilting her head. “Earth to Christine. I’ve asked you for the ketchup, like, three times.”

“Sorry.” Christine smiled, shaking it off.

“What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know.” Christine shrugged, nonplussed but happy. “I didn’t realize my ultrasound would be a spiritual experience.”

Lauren burst into laughter. “OMG, you are so freaking hormonal.”

“Thank you for coming with me.” Christine almost choked up again but blinked her tears away.

“I’m happy I was there.” Lauren took a big bite of her lobster roll, which was hot and dripping with butter, making her hands greasy.

“Are you so happy you got your lobster roll?”

“I’m unbelievably happy I got my lobster roll.”

“I’m unbelievably happy I got my onion rings,” Christine said, taking a bite. The batter was light, and the onions had been sliced thin, so it was like heaven on earth. “These are so good it’s not even funny.”

“We’re eating for two.”

“And nobody can stop us.”

The Clam Cottage was a more humble establishment than its name would suggest, one large room with ten Formica tables around the windows on the perimeter. The cashier, take-out counter, and kitchen were situated on the right side of the room, where the menu was posted on a fading chalkboard that nobody needed because only locals ate here. A flat-screen TV played a soap opera on mute, and retirees watched, though it didn’t have any closed captioning. Christine was relieved that it wasn’t on a news station though Jeffcoat lurked behind her thoughts, darkening her happiness like a shadow.

“I feel so free.” Lauren munched away on her lobster roll. “My mother-in-law picked up the kids at the bus. Let’s go buy things for the baby.”

“Good idea.” Christine got distracted by the soap opera, where a gorgeous young couple were in bed. “Where do they get those people? They look unreal.”

“They’re all models.” Lauren turned to the TV, and the scene changed to a lawyer in his office, lined with fake books. “That’s Dan, the assistant D.A.”

“How do you know?” Christine asked, surpised. “Do you watch this?”

“Of course. Not.” Lauren laughed.

“When do you get time to watch soap operas?”

“I DVR them and watch when the kids do their homework.” Lauren pointed at the screen. “See Dan? He lost his big case, so the killer’s going free.”

“Oh,” Christine said, but her thoughts turned to Jeffcoat.

“Dan is also sleeping with the killer’s twin sister, which he can’t figure out even though they look alike.”

Christine kept her eyes on the screen, thinking about Zachary Jeffcoat, in prison outside Philadelphia.

“They’re even played by actors who are fraternal twins. You know how fraternal twins can sometimes look alike, even though they’re not identical?”

“Yes, sure.” Christine couldn’t focus on the show. The idea that had been forming in the back of her mind was finally coming together, especially after what Gary had told her. “It’s going to be really hard to wait two months to find out if Jeffcoat’s our donor.”

“The wheels of justice turn slowly.”

“And in the meantime, we don’t have an answer to a simple question.”

“I know, it totally sucks.”

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“What?”

Christine took a flyer. “We’re trying to find out if Jeffcoat is Donor 3319, so what’s the easiest way? What do we tell our students, every day?”

“Stop picking your nose?”

“No. We tell them, ‘If you don’t know something, ask.’”

“Ask who?” Lauren frowned. “Davidow doesn’t know, and Homestead won’t tell you.”

“There’s one person who knows. Zachary Jeffcoat.”

“What are you saying?” Lauren’s eyes flared in surprise.

“I’m saying that Jeffcoat knows whether he donated or not. He’ll even know what his donor number is. If I want to know if Jeffcoat is Donor 3319, I should ask him.”

“How?”

“Just, go. Drive down. He’s in Philadelphia, not on Mars.”

“Are you insane?” Lauren’s eyes widened, horrified. “He’s in prison.”

“So? People in prison have visitors. I wouldn’t have to wait two months. I wouldn’t have to sue Homestead. I can just ask Jeffcoat.”

“Are you seriously considering this?”

“Yes, why not?” Christine felt her heart lift.

“He’s a serial killer. He’s a dangerous man.”

“They have him behind bars. The safest place you can meet a serial killer is in prison. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I can just go ask him.”

“Would you tell him who you are?”

“I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.” Christine thought a moment, remembering her conversation with William Magni, from the newspaper. “Who do prisoners talk to, besides their family and friends? Reporters. I could say I was a reporter.”

“No, no, no. It’s really crazy. What if you ask him and he doesn’t tell you?”

“Then I go.” Christine shrugged. “I haven’t lost anything. Philadelphia’s not that long a drive. I could leave in the morning and be there by the afternoon. Tomorrow.”

“No!” Lauren said, hushed. “You can’t, you shouldn’t. It’s scary.”

“I don’t see the harm. I can drive away. He can’t get out. He doesn’t know where I live.”

“Marcus will never let you do that.”