Mindspeak

by Heather Sunseri

  “And you’re going?”

  I nodded. “Skyped with him earlier. He didn’t want me to come, but I argued that only stuffy doctors would be at this dinner. No one who is out to kidnap me for his money or for his top secret medical advancements,” I laughed.

  “What are you going to do about Mr. Enigmatic?”

  I wiggled a couple of dresses in front of Danielle. “I’m going to throw one of these dresses on and go find him before I leave for dinner.” Keep your enemies close and all that. “Which one?”

  ~~~~

  Jack was nowhere to be found. He had simply disappeared after only one day of school. It was strange that classes started on a Friday, but it gave students, especially the new ones, a chance to get settled into the dorm before everything kicked into high gear on Monday.

  Maybe it was good I didn’t find him. Instead I could talk to Dad and see if he thought the new guy’s behavior was strange.

  Or not. Because if he thought the behavior was risky, he’d move me.

  I stared at Dad now, delivering his keynote address to the Association of International Physicians and Research.

  All eyes focused on him. All except those belonging to the two men in suits—bodyguards, I guessed—on either side of the stage, protecting him.

  Seemed like overkill to me, but what did I know? As long as they didn’t keep me from speaking with him after his speech.

  The topic of stem cell research and reproductive cloning was morally divisive, but dad had delivered it brilliantly. He had always kept me sheltered from his work. For good reason. He knew I hated the thought of him playing around with human life.

  “Embryonic cloning is not out of the realm of possibilities any longer,” he said in his speech. “You could already know someone who has benefited from the advances in medicine from stem cell research.” While Dad acknowledged the ethical concerns of human cloning, he touted the benefits that the technology would add to the treatment of many fatal and debilitating illnesses. Or the growing of organs for transplants. And advances would continue to be made by the medical community despite critics’ best efforts to stall them.

  I had my questions and doubts. As did the critics, whose buzzing now spread throughout the room like an out-of-control forest fire.

  “There’s no way he’s doing this research in the U.S., is there?” a man one table over asked his neighbor.

  “I heard he’s on the verge of cures for some pretty serious diseases, like cancer and Alzheimer’s,” said another.

  Dad backed away from the podium and waved to the banquet hall full of doctors and other brilliant people. The speech was over. Finally, he and I could have that talk he promised when he called yesterday—after I begged him to let me come.

  Some of the crowd stood in ovation after the controversial address. The media flashed their cameras and started moving in on the guest of honor.

  Which meant it would take eons for him to weave through the crowd and make his way to me. A picture of distinction on the outside—designer suit, crisp white shirt with monogrammed cuff links, no doubt—he stepped down from the stage. He shook the hands of surgeons, patted the backs of pediatricians, and threw quick waves to every gastroenterologist. Politicians could learn something from Dad’s glad-handing prowess.

  “There you are,” Dad said when he spotted me. He grabbed my elbow, and pulling me close, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. The squeeze on my arm didn’t hurt, but the tightness of it made me wonder if he had taken his blood pressure medicine. That and his reddened face. He raised a finger to someone to our side, indicating he needed a minute. The bodyguards stood just beyond the crowd around us.

  “This was a mistake.” He glanced over my shoulder again. “I shouldn’t have had you come tonight.”

  I drew my head back. “Why, Dad? I wanted to see you. I never get to see you.”

  “I know, honey.” He leaned in again and kissed my forehead. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Of course.” I searched his face. Despite the time we spent apart, we had an unexplainable father-daughter connection.

  He smiled at me now, but his eyes continued to dart over my shoulder. “You also know that there are always people in this world who disagree with the research I’m doing.”

  I nodded. Like me at times. “But you’re making a difference, Dad. I know it.”

  His face relaxed, the lines smoothing out. “Now, how’s the application for The Program coming?”

  I sighed. “Fine.” When he cocked his head, I continued. “I’ll get it done.” I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to hide the guilt hidden there. How could I tell him that I didn’t want to learn more about all the controversial things he did with human life to advance science and medicine?

  “See that you do.” His fingers tightened around my arm and he leaned closer to speak directly in my ear. “Now, Sweetie, I need to know what you did with the furniture and personal items that were in our house.”

  My heartbeat picked up at the urgency of his voice. His mood had completely transformed into something I didn’t recognize. “I had everything moved when the original storage place closed, remember? Why? Is something wrong?” My eyes drifted from his severe look to the death grip he had on my elbow.

  “I’m sorry.” He loosened his hold. His gaze surveyed the crowd before it came back to me. “Can you write down the address for me?”

  “I don’t know it by heart. I’ll have to look it up when I’m back at school. I’ll email it to you tomorrow. Why? What are you looking for?”

  His face relaxed again. He waved to someone over my shoulder. “Just some old journals. No big deal.”

  Sure didn’t seem like ‘no big deal.’ Dad dropped his hand to his side, and I rubbed the spot on my arm. People hovered all around us waiting to speak to the guest of honor while the bodyguards lingered close.

  Unable to hold the people off any longer, Dad shifted and reached a hand to someone behind me. “Lexi, you know Roger Wellington and his wife, Brenda?”

  I turned to find Dad shaking Dr. Wellington’s hand. His wife, dressed head-to-toe in Chanel, linked an arm with her husband. The fumes from her perfume reached all the way to the back of my throat. “Of course,” I said as I shook hands with the President and founder of Wellington Boarding School. His wife gave me her fingers in the daintiest of shakes.

  I made idle chit-chat with the Wellingtons, nodding in all the appropriate places before Dad took over the conversation. His demeanor was light and airy, not like his tone when he’d cut off my blood supply while asking about some junk in storage.

  I ran my tongue over my parched lips and turned my head in search of a server who could locate a glass of water or a Diet Coke. From my left, a bald man approached in a slow, purposeful walk. His hands were balled into fists. His eyes were singularly focused on Dad with a look that made me want to hide behind the nearest table.

  Dad threw his head back and laughed loudly at something Mrs. Wellington said, oblivious to the man stalking him like a lion about to pounce on prey.

  The man stared. Inched closer. Then looked at me. I pushed calm, tranquil thoughts at him. His face softened slightly. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t do any good. This man’s anger was beyond anything I could calm with my mind. I could feel it.

  I took a step closer to Dad.

  Just as I reached to grab his elbow, the old man clocked him right in the jaw.

  Dad stumbled backward against a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes and then fell to the ground, taking the cocktail server with him.

  The bubbly and shattered glass showered him, and the who’s who of the Kentucky medical community rushed to help him stand. Three men, including one of the bodyguards who was supposed to be protecting him, grabbed his arms and supported his back as they pushed him to his feet. Dad was a large man—six-foot-three, probably two-hundred-fifty pounds. A heart attack waiting to happen, something I had talked to him about over and over.

  I jerked my head from Dad t
o the man with the exceptional left hook. A good-looking man, even with the shaved head. One of the bodyguards had his arms behind his back. Only then did I notice the boy in a black suit beside him with a hand on the boxer’s arm. Jack.

  That explained why I couldn’t find him before I left for the dinner.

  “Father, was that necessary?” he asked.

  Father? Who the hell are you?

  Jack’s eyes snapped toward mine as if I had spoken my thoughts.

  A bodyguard stepped forward. “Mr. Roslin?”

  Focusing back on the situation in front of me, I sent out thoughts to the people fussing over my dad to back away. He’s fine. Let him be. Everyone just back away. I turned my attention back to Dad.

  “It’s okay.” Dad pulled his arm away from the men who brushed beads of champagne from his sleeves. He tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. “I’m fine.”

  “Dr. Roslin? Would you like for us to remove this gentleman?” the bodyguard asked.

  Dad shook his head. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

  Not necessary? Why wasn’t he firing those two loser-bodyguards?

  I continued to direct my calming thoughts to the many people standing around gawking. Go on. Go back to your conversations. Drink and be merry. The crowd dispersed and the party resumed.

  “Dad?”

  Ignoring me, he reached a hand to his chin and moved his jaw back and forth. “It’s nice to see you, John. How long’s it been?”

  Mrs. Wellington approached me from the side and handed me a cloth napkin. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Sweetie, your nose is bleeding.”

  I gasped. “Oh. Thank you.” I took the napkin and blotted at my nose. I should never have tried controlling the thoughts of people around me without tissues handy. How embarrassing. To top it off, Jack’s probing gaze studied every move I made. Just perfect.

  The boxer, John, appeared to be calming. “Apparently,” he started and shot a quick glance at me, “it’s been about sixteen years, Peter.”

  Sensing that the nosebleed wasn’t too bad, I wadded the napkin in my left hand and offered Rocky my other. “Lexi Matthews. Seventeen-years-old, actually. Would you like to tell me why you hit my dad in the middle of this…?” I swirled my hand in the air. “This… party?”

  The corners of his lips lifted, a smile that mirrored that of his son’s next to him. “John DeWeese,” he said. His warm hand enclosed mine and held on a little longer than I was comfortable. “And, well, your dad had that coming.” He chuckled.

  “John DeWeese,” I said, furrowing my brows. “The goat-cloning guy?” Dad’s oldest and dearest friend and long-ago lab partner.

  “The one and only,” Dad responded, still massaging his jaw. “And you must be John, Jr.”

  Jack stepped forward and shook Dad’s hand. “It’s Jack, actually.” He turned to me and picked up my hand. Shook it. Or held it. I wasn’t sure what he did, but I lost time when he touched me and flashed a paralyzing grin in my direction. “It’s nice to see you, Lexi,” he said as if he hadn’t met me just hours before. His smile was so condescending I wanted to scream.

  I pulled my hand away and folded both arms across my chest. “So, Dr. DeWeese… It is doctor, isn’t it?”

  The older DeWeese nodded. Light gleamed from his perfectly bald head.

  “Is this how you greet all of your long lost friends? Punch them in the face?”

  “Lexi,” Dad said, chastising in tone.

  “It’s okay, Peter. It’s a fair question. Like I said—”

  “He had it coming,” I finished for him. “Right.”

  “Peter, I think we need to find a place to talk,” Dr. DeWeese said. “In private. Unless you want to have this conversation here.”

  Dad looked at me, his expression screaming an apology, then back at Dr. DeWeese. “No, probably not.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

  Of course he would. He always did. With a present of some sort. A random package in the mail containing rich European chocolates or clothing that was useless at a uniform school. “What am I supposed to do?” Was I just supposed to grab a cab? Somehow find my own way back to school? I was probably forty-five minutes away. Besides, I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to spend time with Dad. Who knew when I would see him again?

  Dad pulled his phone from his pocket and made a quick call. When he replaced the phone, his brown eyes softened. His best feature. So unlike my eyes, the color of an avocado. “There’s a car out front to take you back to school. The concierge will show you. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  After a silent exchange between John DeWeese and Jack, Dr. DeWeese and Dad walked away leaving me exposed and vulnerable with Jack still staring at me.

  I debated whether to bolt or make nice. I hated looking weak, so I chose the latter. Sort of. “Well, Jack, it was sure interesting to see you and meet your classy father. I can’t for the life of me figure out why he and my dad lost touch.”

  “Look, I don’t know why my father threw that punch. I can assure you it’s not in his character.”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Like I was saying, it was nice to see you. I don’t even know why I bothered coming tonight.” Over Jack’s shoulder, I watched Dad’s back disappear through a door. “And now… I’m leaving.” Why couldn’t I just ask him the question that was lighting my insides on fire? Why couldn’t I ask him what his intentions really were for attending Wellington? Did he know who I was before he arrived this morning?

  Jack stepped forward and grabbed my wrist, stopping my quick exit. “I will tell you this.” He stood so close I could see the golden specks in the blue of his irises. His pleasant scent threatened to topple me. “My father cancelled his trip to Scotland when he heard your dad would be the key-note speaker tonight. And I don’t think it was to hear the speech.”

  ~~~~

  I stood on the curb outside the Hilton Hotel in Lexington, KY waiting for the car that would deliver me back to Wellington.

  Men and women circled through the large revolving door leading to the hotel lobby. A man in a navy bellhop suit helped a lady out of a limo. A case hung on her arm, and a white dog poked his head from a small opening.

  I smiled as the dog yapped his head off.

  The air had turned unusually cool for so early in September. Goosebumps popped up on my arms and spread down to my bare legs. “Where is that car?” I tapped my peep-toe, high-heeled shoe against the sidewalk and pulled at my light sweater, trying to trap in some heat.

  Thoughts of Dad being punched in the face competed with the frustration coursing through my blood at not getting to speak with him about Jack.

  A body knocked into me, pushing me forward. After I regained my footing, I looked up. A man continued by me, turning as he stepped. A wolfish grin played at his lips. “Sorry, ma’am…” His words cut off when his eyes met mine. What started as a look of apology morphed into one of recognition.

  Another touch to my arm sent me spinning and jerking backwards.

  “Whoa.” Jack raised both hands as if to say, “no foul.”

  “Oh, it’s you.” I whipped back around, but the man with the lupine smile disappeared between parked cars.

  Jack took a step closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with me and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Yep. Just me. Good ol’ Jack.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me.

  “What do you want, Jack?” I asked without looking at him.

  “Just thought I would wait with you. They’re bringing my transportation around.”

  “That’s not what I… never mind. What are our fathers talking about, exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re just catching up on old times.”

  Jack’s sarcasm lit the fuse of a slow-burning firecracker just beneath my skin. “They didn’t appear to be on that great of terms.” Understatement of the year.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised how much love and adoration was
behind that punch.” Jack moved to stand in front of me. “You okay? You’re shaking.”

  I pulled my sweater even tighter around me. “I’m fine.” He started to remove his suit jacket, but I raised my hand to stop him. “Please don’t.”

  “Why? You’re freezing.” He draped the jacket around me anyway. “Nice dress by the way.” His eyes wandered the length of my body, not stopping with the dress that hit a couple of inches above my knees.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a cliché. I don’t need you sacrificing your jacket. Besides…” I paused, recalling the weird conversation we had at school. How much did Jack know about me? Did he really transfer to Wellington because he was curious about me? Ridiculous thought. But the look his father gave me before he decked Dad? I shivered.

  “Besides what?” he asked.

  I gave my head a little shake. “My ride is here.”

  A bellman opened the door to the backseat of a Lincoln Towncar and stood waiting for me to get in. At the same time, a valet pulled past the town car on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

  “Mine too,” Jack said.

  Not such a cliché after all. I started toward the open door.

  “Wait,” Jack said, a sense of urgency in his command. He stepped close, towering over me. His dark gaze met mine. “Let’s go somewhere. Get a coffee or something.”

  “What? Why?” I glanced at the bellhop holding the car door open for me, his eyes averted elsewhere.

  “Because I think you and I probably have a lot to talk about. Things others wouldn’t understand.”

  “I don’t think so,” I answered quickly, though a small part of me regretted it immediately. It was just that his sudden appearance in my secret life frightened me.

  “Well, you’ll want to sooner or later.” He ran his pointer finger down the bridge of my nose. “How’s the nose bleed?”

  I leaned my head back, away from his touch. “It’s fine. No big deal.” I struggled to find a clear voice while he stood so close. Did he know why I got a nose bleed?

  He reached his hand further. His fingers feathered my forehead. “And the headache from earlier?”

  A nervous knot flipped in the pit of my stomach. I studied his expression—the lift of his brow, the slight curve of his lips. He was right. I had so many questions. Like, how did he know where I went to school if his father and mine hadn’t seen each other in years? Why did I feel like we knew each other already when his father looked shocked to see me, a seventeen-year-old? “It’s fine, too.” What did any of this have to do with The Program?