by Julie Clark
“Let’s look at something simple,” Miles says, pulling me back. “The moon.”
I plug in the coordinates and gesture for Miles to take a look. But he shakes his head. “You go first.”
I peer through the lens and laugh. “It’s like I could reach out and touch it,” I say. “I can practically see rocks on the ground, the contours of the crater.” I take in the details, marveling at how something so familiar can look so different. That through a device invented four hundred years ago, everything we take for granted could be cast as something magical and new.
This is the comfort I feel when working in the lab—the idea that there is so much more beyond our field of vision. Whether I’m looking at the tiny particles of our cells or the enormity of the solar system, I’m reminded again that we are all nothing more than stardust. Every atom in our body started out there, an explosion of elements at the beginning of time, traveling through the millennia and leading to this moment with me and Miles alone on a hill above the city. I think of my favorite Carl Sagan quote, and I whisper it aloud, like a prayer. “ ‘The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.’ ”
—
Nan’s neighborhood is filled with large homes set far back from the street, and from down the block, the faint lilt of a string quartet rises and falls into the cool evening air. I tuck my purse tighter under my arm and wobble over the sidewalk in heels that pinch my feet, wondering why I’m not at home on my couch instead.
When I found out Rose and Henry weren’t going to be here, I almost didn’t come. I spent the last week alternating between anxiety and anger, waiting for Aaron to drop the bomb on Jackie and our subsequent collective fallout. But so far, everything’s remained the same: chatting with Jackie at morning drop-off about homework or the food in the cafeteria, fielding texts about a playdate in a couple of weeks, answering the phone to ease her worries about Nick and Aaron—which only adds to my tension, because her worries are now mine.
In the backyard the party is in full swing. The large, flat lawn is lit by fairy lights and overlooks the canyon below, offering unobstructed views of Malibu and the Pacific Ocean in the distance. Houses atop this hill sell for tens of millions, and as I look around, I feel outclassed and outmoneyed.
Musicians play in the corner, and waitstaff wander among the attendees, bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres. Guests hover around silent auction tables, signing their names to whatever is being sold to raise money for our school technology fund. I float, unacknowledged, between groups of parents who sip from crystal goblets that reflect the final glimmers of a sunset darkening the sky from brilliant pink to a deep purple.
A waiter approaches with a tray of stuffed mushrooms. I take one and a cocktail napkin, nibbling as I wander across the lawn. What I really need is a drink. But the bar is a long and lonely walk across the grass, so I decide it can wait. I finish the mushroom and crumple the napkin in my fist, watching the sun sink below the horizon, when someone grabs my elbow from behind.
“Thank God you’re here,” Jackie whispers in my ear, and I smile, despite myself. “I’ve been listening to Baylor’s mom tell me all about her liposuction. She didn’t come right out and say I needed a referral, but she practically programmed her doctor’s number into my phone.”
Jackie’s dress is a shimmering dark blue and hugs her curves in all the right places, making my black sheath dress look like a potato sack. “You look gorgeous.” I survey the crowd. “Where’s Aaron?”
“Over there,” she gestures toward the pool, lit up with underwater lights that cast undulating shadows across the terraced pool house. He stands with a group of men on the pool deck, hands shoved into his pockets, leaning back on his heels. As if sensing our stare, he turns away from the conversation and looks at us. Jackie squeezes her hand into a fist twice, then flashes a sideways peace sign. Aaron nods and peels away from the group.
“What was that, your gang sign?”
Jackie laughs. “No, we made it up years ago, when we had to go to tons of work parties for Aaron. It means Get me a drink. He’ll bring one for you too because I told him to bring two. We also have one for Let’s get out of here and You’ve got food in your teeth.”
My stomach somersaults as I’m reminded again that I’m an interloper who has inserted herself and her child into Jackie’s family. And that because I was angry at Aaron, I’ve created a situation where it’s only a matter of time before Miles and I lose all three of them.
She looks at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
Aaron approaches, balancing three drinks between his hands. “Paige.” His eyes slide over mine, avoiding direct contact. The smell of his soap—sandalwood—and a trace of Jackie’s perfume envelop me. I smile tightly and take the glass from him.
“Have you bid on anything yet?” Jackie asks him, nodding toward the auction tables.
Aaron looks surprised, as if he’s forgotten why we’re here. “Not yet. Anything interesting?”
Jackie shrugs. “The usual. Floor seats to a Lakers game. A weekend in Catalina. A trip to Paris.” She looks at him. “Should we try for the Lakers tickets? Your dad would love that.”
Aaron’s eyes shift away, toward the canyon, and he says, “He’s not really up for big outings these days.”
Jackie turns to me to explain. “He’s been having some trouble getting around.” To Aaron she says, “We could use a wheelchair so he wouldn’t have to walk far or worry about all the stairs.”
“Drop it, Jackie.” His words are blunt and heavy.
I turn away, trying to quell the panic that this might someday be Miles. When I turn back to them, Aaron’s eyes meet mine, the secret we share straining the air between us.
Finding my voice, I say, “Excuse me,” and walk away before either of them can respond. The sun has set, and I stand at the edge of the property as Nan steps in front of a microphone and welcomes the crowd. I look behind me, at Jackie and Aaron, still locked in a heated discussion.
“Thanks so much for coming out tonight to support Elmwood Elementary. We have lots of exciting auction items, so get your bids in before ten! And a special thank-you to those who so generously donated to such a worthy cause, including my handsome husband, Dr. Stephen Parker, who contributed several free consults.” She pauses while the crowd claps.
I turn to face the ocean. The moon is bright enough to illuminate the surface of it, and from this distance it looks as smooth as polished stone. I peer over the edge of the property and find a gentle, landscaped hill extending down into the canyon. I walk along the edge of the fence, until I find an opening tucked into the far corner. Stepping through it, I follow a twisting path that winds around tall shrubs and plants, sporadically illuminated with lights until I come to a small, flat plateau with a bench overlooking the twinkling lights of the Malibu coast and the endless expanse of ocean. The sounds of the party float above me, remote and distant, while the wind carries the smell of salt and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore far below. I feel secluded and safe, and I settle in to drink my wine.
Footsteps sound on the gravel path behind me, and I spin around, aware of my isolation, to see the familiar shape of Aaron turning the corner, a fresh glass of whiskey hanging low in his hand.
“Mind if I join you?” He steps forward and sits on the bench next to me without waiting for a response, the space heavy with everything that needs to be said.
I’m the first one to break the silence. “Why’d you do it?”
He doesn’t ask what I mean. He just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily and saturating the air with the smell of whiskey. “It was so long ago,” he says. “When I was younger—before Jackie—I had a problem with gambling. My dad bailed me out the first few times I got into trouble, but that only made it worse.” He gives a rough laugh. “A friend of mine had been a donor and said it was easy money once you got through the red tape. I don’t think
either of us really thought through the implications of what we were doing.”
He turns toward me. “I was only a donor for a year before I finally realized I didn’t want that for myself—to spend my life scraping money together and living in a casino. Then I met Jackie, and I didn’t know how to tell her. I fooled myself into believing it didn’t matter, that it would never come out. I tricked myself into thinking, with all the choices, no one would ever pick mine. It would sit there, unused. And if they did, it wouldn’t matter because I was anonymous. But now . . .” He trails off. “Here we are.”
Lights dot the hill adjacent to us, sparks of warmth in an otherwise cold and lonely landscape. “She would have understood,” I tell him.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Probably,” he says. “The fear got to be larger than the fact.”
I know a little something about that. “I need you to understand something,” I say. “Before he met you, Miles was lost. Alone, no matter what I tried. But then he met Nick, and by extension you. Miles feels so at ease when he’s with you and your family, like he’s known you forever.” I turn so I’m looking at him. “And now he isn’t wandering around the track every day by himself. You did that. You and Nick. I can’t tell you what that means to me.” This is my last chance to get Aaron to see the importance of letting Miles have this. I touch his arm gently. “I don’t want this to be happening either—but it is. You don’t want to hurt Jackie, and I will do anything to protect Miles.”
Aaron stares out at the ocean. Nan’s voice floats down to us, announcing one more hour until the bidding closes. We both look up the hill, and I wonder if Jackie’s noticed both of us are missing.
“Do you really think Miles is mine?”
“Don’t you?”
In a quiet voice, he says, “Tell me about him.”
Tears prick my eyes, and for a moment we are just two parents, sitting in the dark, talking about our child. “He could read before he turned four,” I whisper. “It made it impossible for me to take him to a restaurant, because he’d read the menu and insist on eating dessert for his meal.”
Aaron laughs, sending a charged thrill through me that something our child did pleases him so much. I think of all the moments in Miles’s life Aaron can never have and how Miles would never know how delighted Aaron would be by them.
“He’s always loved math and science. One time, in kindergarten, I caught him in the kitchen trying to conduct an experiment on the stove. He had a pot with an inch of vinegar at the bottom, and a box of baking soda on the counter. I wanted to see if heat would make the reaction stronger.”
Aaron shakes his head, grinning. “My mother could tell you stories like that,” he says. “I once set the garage on fire.”
“Don’t tell Miles,” I say, and then stop short, because Miles will probably never know any of this.
“He’s a great kid,” Aaron says, his voice softening to almost a whisper. “That day at the beach with him . . . He just brings such a joy to everything he does.”
I let Aaron’s words sink into me, absorbing them like a sponge.
“I know the other day, I made it sound like I didn’t believe you,” he says. I start to speak, but he holds his hand up and continues, “But I can see the similarities, now that I’m looking for them. Not just between me and him, but also between the boys.” He sighs. “I never thought I’d have more than Nick,” he continues, looking down at the ground. His face looks haggard, as if he’s aged twenty years in the span of a week. “Sure, I knew there might be other kids out there, but they weren’t mine. Miles—” He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them, his anguish palpable. “It’s like being gifted a piece of me. But I don’t know how to fit him into my life. Hiding something invisible from my wife was one thing. But now Miles is here, in front of me, reminding me this can never stay a secret . . . I have to tell her.”
My chest tightens, though I expected this. Of course he can’t keep this from Jackie. It would be unreasonable for me to think he would. “I’ll do whatever makes you the most comfortable,” I tell him. “If you want definitive proof, we can run a paternity test. I know a reputable lab that will put a rush on it.” I won’t risk another test on my own.
He nods. “I think that would be wise. Jackie’s going to push back pretty hard on this. It would help to have absolute proof.”
I touch his arm. “And just so you know, when you run a paternity test, that’s all they look for. They won’t see anything you don’t want them to see.”
“Thanks. I’m not ready to go there yet. But I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve said, and I’ll notify the clinic of the risk.” He finishes his drink and turns the empty glass around in his hands. “The thing I’ve been struggling to get Jackie to understand is that we’re already either doomed or saved. Knowing for sure won’t change anything. I just don’t know if I have it in me to know my future like that.”
I understand what he’s saying, and it’s possible when Miles turns eighteen, he’ll come to the same conclusion.
“If I could undo anything—for Nick or Miles, or any of the other kids—I would. In an instant.” He leans back, closing his eyes. “I’ll call you first thing Monday, and we can set up a test for later in the week.”
We sit there, shoulder to shoulder, nothing left to say. The ocean appears motionless below us, but I know the currents beneath the surface are so strong they’ll pull you under and carry you far out to sea.
RESEARCH USING HUMAN SUBJECTS
* * *
FEDERAL GOVERNMENT GUIDELINES
Adherence to the principles of good clinical practices (GCPs), including adequate human subject protection (HSP) is recognized as a critical requirement to the conduct of research involving human subjects. Many countries have adopted GCP principles as laws and/or regulations.
WHAT IS GOOD CLINICAL PRACTICE (GCP)?
GCP is defined as the standard for the design, conduct, performance, monitoring, auditing, recording, analysis, and reporting of clinical trials or studies involving human subjects. It protects the rights, safety, and well-being of the subjects, and ensures that the quality of the data is accurate and reliable.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Two
Monday finds me in my office, buried in a budget report. Running the numbers twelve different ways, cross-checking line items until all I can see are the digits on the page.
Bruno startles me out of my trance when he sits in the chair across from me. “Are you trying out for a guest-lecture spot in the math department?” he asks, logging into his computer.
I look up, bleary-eyed. “What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
“It’s that late?” I grab my phone to see if maybe he’s wrong. But he’s not. And I have no missed calls.
“I’ve never seen you pay that much attention to a budget report,” Bruno says. “Things must be pretty bad.”
I make a noncommittal sound and flip through the pages outlining the NIH grant that will close out phase one, trying not to think about Aaron, or why he hasn’t called me yet.
“I’ve got a draft of the phase two trial letter. Can you look at it?” he asks. Jorgensen finally approved our bridge grant last week, and Bruno got right to work pushing forward to phase two.
He waits for me to answer. When I don’t, he continues, “Scott still qualifies, but just barely.”
“Sure,” I say, not really listening to him. I return to the report, happy to dive back in, the mindless columns the only thing that soothes my nerves.
—
An hour later, my phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. But it’s only Rose. “Hey,” I say.
“We’re meeting with Dad’s palliative care team next week, and I wanted to offer you an opportunity to join us.”
When I don’t say anything, she sighs. “Hospice is recommending it for all family members,” she says.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “Is it already time for hos
pice?”
“It’s just an introductory meeting,” she explains. “That way we can ask any questions we might have, Dad can make end-of-life decisions, and we’ll all be on the same page before anything happens.”
A curious mixture of guilt and sadness washes over me. I want to be able to set aside my anger and hurt and show up for something like this—at the very least to support my mom and sister—but I feel locked into my stance as an outsider looking in.
“Anyway,” Rose continues, her tone abrupt. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks,” I say, ashamed I can’t even ask her to keep me posted. But the words stack up inside of me, unable to move into the open.
Rose hangs up without saying goodbye, and I tip my head back against the window and stare up at a steel-gray sky, tracking a flock of crows as they fly toward the hills, trying not to worry about why I haven’t heard from Aaron, or what it might mean.
—
Around one o’clock, my phone rings again. But it’s not Aaron. It’s Jackie. I hesitate, wondering whether Aaron decided to blow off the test and just tell her. I let it ring three times before I find the courage to answer it.
“Hi,” I say, turning toward the window for privacy.
At first I can’t understand her. Her words sound garbled, as if she’s underwater. Then I realize she’s crying.
“Jackie,” I say. “Are you okay?” She knows. And now she’s calling to unleash her anger on me.
“Sorry,” she chokes out. “It’s just . . .” She trails off again into sobs, and I hold my phone tight, bracing myself for the onslaught. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “There’s been an accident. I need you to pick up Nick after school and take him home with you.”
