Excerpt from Inheritance by Dani Shapiro, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Finally I wrote to Wendy Kramer. Each time I wrote a new person in this strange, unfamiliar world, I felt exposed and vulnerable. But I encountered nothing but kindness from those I contacted to ask for help. Kramer got back to me within minutes. We made a phone date to speak that afternoon. At the appointed time, I wandered Wilshire Boulevard, looking for a quiet place to talk. I stopped at a nail salon that had a small metal table with two chairs on the sidewalk out front, and asked the proprietors if they minded my sitting there. In the bright yellow-white light of the Los Angeles afternoon, I organized my materials as if I was reporting any old story: notebook, pen, noise-canceling earbuds in place. Just as I dialed Kramer, a woman came with her bagged lunch and plopped herself at the small table next to me. I stared at her as she unwrapped her sandwich. She did not meet my eye. Fine, I thought. I had no time to find a more private perch.

Kramer was warm, direct, and entirely unhurried. As I walked her through the details of my discovery' - trying to ignore my tablemate' - I wondered how many times she had been on the receiving end of such calls. The Donor Sibling Registry had close to fifty thousand members. Anyone doing even a rudimentary online search would land on her website, where her contact information was listed.

"You realize how unusual it is that you found your donor," she said. "And so quickly."

I did understand. Kramer's entire website was devoted to those searching, often fruitlessly. I was dimly aware of my own gratitude. I had already been supplied with a massive piece of the puzzle, even if I never had any further contact with Ben Walden. I knew who he was. I had seen his face. I had heard his voice. I knew where I came from.

"Do you ever hear stories like mine?" I asked her. "People in their forties and fifties who never knew' - "

"All the time," Kramer responded. "And more and more. People are doing DNA testing just for kicks, and getting the shock of their lives. There was such a culture of secrecy. Sometimes the mother tells after the father has died. Other times, there's a letter left in a safe-deposit box."

I watched the passing cars on Wilshire Boulevard. My tablemate showed no sign of leaving.

"But I'm sure my parents didn't know," I said to Kramer.

"I think Farris must have used a donor without my parents' knowledge."

There was a brief pause on her end.
"Why do you think that?"
I had begun to explore the halachah, the body of Jewish law, as it pertained to the subject of donor insemination. It wasn't just forbidden; it was considered an abomination. The word nauseated me. Abomination. Did this mean that I was an abomination? According to Jewish law, the sperm donor would have paternity. Not the infertile father. Your father is still your father. Not according to the rabbis.

"My father was an observant Jew," I said to Kramer. "He would never have been okay with not knowing if a child of his was Jewish."

That was what my mother had said, wasn't it? The sentence remained indelible, preserved for all these years. Later, Michael will point out to me that my mother had not, in fact, answered the question I had asked. She simply posed another question in response. And further, her choice of words was striking. Wouldn't know the child was Jewish. As opposed to: wouldn't know the child was his.

"Your parents had to know," Kramer said.

My tablemate scraped her chair back and stood, slowly gathering her trash.

"It's out of the question," I responded.

I hunched over my notebook, scribbling. Trying to get our conversation down, so that I could attempt to understand it later. The very idea was unthinkable. I mean that literally. I was unable to entertain on any level the thought that my parents had known all our shared lives. That they had purpose-fully deceived me, withheld from me such an essential truth.

Excerpted from Inheritanceby Dani Shapiro. Copyright © 2019 by Dani Shapiro. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.