“I did it this morning,” Dr. Wingate said. “Our experience has been that two-celled embryos do better than larger ones. I selected the four that I thought would tolerate the freezing and thawing the best. We’ll keep them in reserve, just in case.”

Marissa walked over to the liquid-nitrogen storage unit and touched its lid. The idea that four potential children were inside, frozen in a kind of suspended animation, gave her an eerie feeling. Such high-tech intrusion reminded her a little too much of Brave New World.

“Want to see inside?” Dr. Wingate asked.

Marissa shook her head. “I’ve taken too much of your time already,” she said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Dr. Wingate said.

Marissa hurried from the lab. She went to the elevators and pushed the Up button. What had brought her to the clinic that morning was an appointment to see Linda Moore, a psychologist.

Between the final talk with Robert the night before and his decision to sleep in the guest room, Marissa had decided to call about counseling first thing in the morning. Whether Robert went or not, Marissa decided she needed to talk to a professional about the emotional stresses of IVF.

When she’d made the call, she thought she’d have to wait for an appointment, but Mrs. Hargrave had warned the staff psychologist that if Marissa called, she should be seen quickly.

Linda Moore’s office was on the sixth floor, the very floor from which Rebecca Ziegler had jumped. The coincidence made Marissa a bit uncomfortable. As she walked down the hall, she morbidly tried to guess which window Rebecca had leaped from. She wondered if the woman’s last straw had been something she’d gleaned from her clinic record. Marissa remembered that Rebecca had left the downstairs waiting room with the express purpose of reading her record.

“Go right in,” the secretary said when Marissa identified herself.

As she moved toward the door, Marissa questioned if she truly wanted to go through with the appointment. It hardly took a professional to tell her IVF was stressful. Besides, she was embarrassed to have to make excuses why Robert wouldn’t come with her.

“Go right in!” the secretary repeated, seeing Marissa pause at the door.

Realizing she no longer had a choice, Marissa entered the office.

The room was soothingly decorated with comfortably upholstered furniture and muted tones of green and gray. The window, however, looked out on the stark brick courtyard six floors below. Marissa wondered what Linda Moore had been doing when Rebecca made her leap into infinity.

“Why don’t you close the door?” Linda suggested, gesturing with her free hand. She was young; Marissa guessed, in her late twenties. She also had an accent, just like Mrs. Hargrave.

“Have a seat and I’ll be with you in a moment,” Linda said. She was on the phone.