Clone

by M A Gelsey

  “Yes,” Annabel said again. It hadn’t been long since the wedding, but the lies came more easily now. “How do you like your new house? Next time I’ll have to visit you instead.”

  “It’s a lovely cottage in town,” Ms. Durant said. “Small, but one person doesn’t need a lot of space. Rex was very kind to arrange it for me.”

  “Very kind,” Annabel echoed. She supposed he was kind in his way. She knew she should be satisfied with that.

  “Indeed,” Ms. Durant said.

  “What have you been doing since the wedding?” Annabel asked. The idea of Ms. Durant having a life outside of how Annabel had known her was strange to contemplate.

  “Oh, just settling in. Going on walks, cooking meals. Reading. Going to my knitting club. Many of the same things I did for the last eighteen years. I have missed your company. But you’ve grown up and I know my place is no longer by your side.”

  Annabel nodded although she didn’t feel very grown up — she felt like an impostor, always pretending.

  “Will you find another job?” she asked.

  “Not for the time being,” Ms. Durant said. “Rex has promised me a generous stipend for life — he said I needn’t seek other employment unless I wish to. For now, I’m enjoying things as they are.”

  “How did you come to work for Rex originally? Did you know him before I was born?” Annabel asked. These questions had never occurred to her growing up, but her new reality had pushed them to the forefront of her mind.

  “I did know him, and I knew the original Annabel too. But not very well. We all went to school together. I was a teacher before I became your caretaker.”

  “What kind of teacher?”

  “The best teacher there ever was,” said a voice behind them. Annabel turned to find Rex standing just inside the screen door smiling fondly at her. He slid open the door and came out to join them on the balcony. Annabel looked over to see that Ms. Durant’s cheeks were faintly pink.

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Ms. Durant said, looking up at Rex. He glanced at her with a benevolent smile before seating himself next to Annabel.

  “I would. That’s why I hired you, Helena,” Rex said. It was strange to hear Ms. Durant called by her first name.

  “As you say,” Ms. Durant replied.

  Rex turned back to Annabel. “We grew up in Boston. You and I should take a trip there sometime, it’s only a couple hours away. It’s a beautiful city, but not as beautiful as here. I can show you all my favorite places.”

  “That sounds lovely, doesn’t it, Annabel,” said Ms. Durant before Annabel could comment.

  “It does,” Annabel said, truthfully. She’d never traveled anywhere — the town where she grew up was her entire universe. Ms. Durant had taught her geography and history, of course, but she knew it wasn’t the same as actually going places.

  “When’s the last time you went back, Helena?” asked Rex.

  “Oh, not for many years. Not since before Annabel . . .” Ms. Durant trailed off. Annabel realized she was referring to her original, the first Annabel. She shivered suddenly at what had been unspoken: before Annabel died.

  “Are you cold?” Rex asked her, misinterpreting the cause of her shiver. “Here, take my jacket.” He pulled off the jacket and draped it over Annabel’s shoulders. She had been about to say she wasn’t cold at all, but she didn’t want to explain the real cause of her shiver so she accepted the jacket with a quiet “thank you.”

  A movement on the lawn below them caught Annabel’s eye, and what she saw there made her stare. It was a new gardener, much younger than the previous one. He was tall and well-muscled with olive skin and black hair, and he wore jeans, boots and nothing else. Annabel couldn’t take her eyes off his bare chest, strong arms and broad shoulders. She felt a fluttering in her stomach that radiated down below and made her feel pleasantly warm. She crossed one leg over the other, thinking that if she kept watching she’d probably leave a puddle on her seat.

  It was only then that Rex, who had been asking Ms. Durant about her new living arrangements, noticed the direction of her gaze. His face darkened, and he stood up and walked to the railing at the edge of the balcony.

  “Who are you?” Rex called down to the shirtless gardener. When he came closer, Annabel noticed sweat glistening on his torso and a light dusting of black hair across his chest that trailed down below his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

  “Leon Floros,” the gardener said. “Are you Mr. King? Pedro sent me. I’m your new gardener.”

  “And what happened to Pedro?” asked Rex cooly.

  “Guess he’s moved up in the world,” Leon said with the trace of a smile. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

  Rex glanced over at Annabel then returned his attention to Leon. “I’m sure you do,” he muttered. Leon had followed his gaze and stared at Annabel now. She stared right back, wishing that Ms. Durant and Rex would vanish. Instead, Rex waved his hand dismissively.

  “Get back to work, then.”

  Leon nodded and gave Annabel a small smile, then turned away to begin weeding the vegetable garden. Annabel watched him for another moment before she became aware that both Rex and Ms. Durant were watching her. Hastily, she fought to make her face blank and indifferent, but the balcony was already thick with tension.

  “Let’s go inside,” Ms. Durant said. “You’ve got such fair skin, Annabel, we wouldn’t want you to get burned out here in the sun.”

  “Yes,” Rex agreed. He cast another angry look in Leon’s direction as Annabel reluctantly got to her feet and followed Ms. Durant into the cool shade of the house. Not long after that Ms. Durant took her leave. Rex was sure to keep Annabel occupied for the remainder of the day. He went out in the late afternoon to talk to Leon as he packed up his truck. She couldn’t hear what was said, but as she surreptitiously watched them through the curtains it seemed to her that Rex was angry and Leon was defensive. Maybe Rex had ordered him to wear a shirt the next time. It wouldn’t matter if he did — even that couldn’t make Annabel un-see what she had already seen.

  That night in bed, Rex’s hands gripped her tighter than usual, and there seemed to be a desperate possessiveness in the way that he touched her. When he flipped her over she was grateful not to have to look at him or feel his hot, panting breath on her face. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined it was Leon the gardener behind her. That night, she did not have to fake her climax, and for the first time since the wedding she fell asleep before Rex did.

  A few days later, Annabel was sitting on the balcony waiting to see the shirtless gardener again. She scanned through articles on her tablet to pass the time. After a few minutes, one of the headlines caught her eye and she stopped to read it more carefully. It was a blog piece about the International Congress of Genetics in Zurich, and the keynote address by the father of human cloning, Dr. Edgar Midas. It was vaguely unsettling to read about the man who she knew was responsible for her existence. She had never met him, but still they were connected. The article said that the first clone he ever made used his own genetic code. How strange it must be for him, thought Annabel. She couldn’t decide if having an original who still lived would be better or worse.

  Annabel heard a truck pull up in front of the house. The ignition died, and there was the sound of two doors opening and closing. Her whole body buzzed with anticipation, but she did her best to feign stillness. Then two women carrying gardening tools came into view. They exchanged a few words, pointing out various tasks to be performed, then they both began to wander around the yard pulling up weeds and trimming bushes.

  Annabel felt her heart drop. He wasn’t there. She had taken extra care with her appearance that morning in the vain hope that he would notice her. Now she was sitting outside like a fool whose idiotic fantasy had been crushed. She realized with a jolt that it was obvious what Rex had said to Leon when they spoke by the truck at the end of his last shift. Annabel felt a sudden urge to fling
her tablet off the balcony, or better yet into the driveway where she’d be able to see it smash into a thousand pieces. For a moment she sat wrestling with this impulse, then she took a deep breath and decided to do what she knew Ms. Durant would say was the grown up thing.

  She hovered outside her husband’s office for a moment before knocking softly.

  “Come in,” he called. She opened the door, and he regarded her with a surprised smile. “Annabel, what is it? I’ll be done in a couple hours, I was thinking we could go see a movie later at that vintage theater in town.”

  “That sounds nice,” Annabel said. She stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward.

  “Do you need something?” Rex asked.

  “I — I was just wondering. What happened to the other gardener? Is he sick or something?” Annabel asked in what she hoped was a casual voice.

  She knew immediately that Rex wasn’t fooled for an instant. His demeanor changed from affectionate curiosity to icy dismissal. Rex looked back down at his laptop and began typing away.

  Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, he said, “I fired him.”

  “But why?” Annabel asked, as though she did not already know the answer.

  Rex looked up at her then, and his eyes were cold. “I’m working now, Annabel.”

  His tone of voice sent a chill through her, and she hastily left the room and went back out onto the balcony. The beautiful vista had dimmed, and even the bright sun wasn’t enough to warm Annabel anymore.

  19: JAVI

  Javi looked at the A- on the faintly glowing screen of his tablet with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew he should be happy — it was the best grade he’d ever gotten on a Chinese exam — but all he could think about was whether this meant his study sessions with Stella were at an end. As if in answer, Javi’s phone buzzed.

  It was a short text: ‘Best I’ve ever done on a Chinese exam.’

  Javi flung the phone back onto the bed. He supposed he should respond with congratulations or something else to demonstrate pleased detachment, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just then. She hadn’t even bothered to ask how he did. Or anything else to indicate she wanted to start a conversation rather than make a simple statement of fact.

  Javi locked his bedroom door and threw open the window on the opposite wall. He knew it was risky to smoke while his parents were home, but at that moment he didn’t care. He rolled himself a thick joint and sat on the floor next to the open window, watching the smoke curl and dissipate as he slowly inhaled and exhaled it. The room was messier than usual, dirty clothes thrown carelessly in a pile on the floor, bed unmade, the wires of various chargers jumbled into a cluster of loose knots. The walls were white, the floor cherry wood. The bed was a large four-poster complete with royal blue curtains.

  The room had been much the same when it belonged to its previous occupant, Javi’s original. He had learned long ago that to propose a change in decor was tantamount to heresy. The message from his parents was clear: Javi was there to fill the place of their beloved dead son, not to formulate his own independent identity.

  A knock on the door interrupted Javi’s brooding, just as he was taking another draw on the joint. Startled, Javi began to cough. He tried to stifle the sound unsuccessfully as he leapt to his feet, frantically stubbing out the joint and waving his arms around to clear out the smoke.

  “Javi?” came his father’s voice through the door.

  “Just a second,” Javi choked out, still trying to control his coughing fit. He put the makeshift ashtray and the stub of the extinguished joint into a drawer, took a deep breath and held it for a second, then exhaled slowly. He cast a nervous glance around the room but he didn’t notice anything else that might draw suspicion. Except for the smell, you idiot said a small voice in the back of his head. Ignoring this, he opened the door, trying to feign a calm boredom.

  His father regarded him for a second. “Were you smoking pot just now, Javi?” he asked without preamble.

  “W-what?” Javi stammered, thrown by the abruptness of the question.

  “I’m not an idiot, Javi. I know what pot smells like.” The stern look on his father’s face twitched for the briefest of moments, like he wanted to laugh but stopped himself.

  “I got into Stanford,” Javi blurted out, grasping for something that would distract his father. He regretted the confession immediately, but the damage was done. His father’s eyes widened and he broke out into a grin.

  “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” He clapped Javi on the back affectionately. “I can say this now, but your mother and I were starting to get a little worried. Normally they send out their acceptances earlier and we were thinking maybe you’d been rejected and just didn’t want to tell us. That’s such fantastic news. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Javi said. His mind was still fuzzy from the weed. “Listen Dad, I’ve got some homework to do.”

  “Of course, of course.” His father was beaming. “Your mother will be thrilled. Want to wait ‘til tomorrow morning to make the official announcement? No doubt she’ll want to celebrate.”

  “Yeah, great,” Javi mumbled. How could he have been so stupid as to let the news slip like that?

  “My lips are sealed ‘til then. Good luck with that homework.”

  “Thanks,” Javi said. He took a step back and was about to close his door when his father reached out a hand to stop him and leaned in closer.

  “And don’t worry about the smoking. Our little secret. I think it’s fair to say you’ve earned a little lenience, and I can’t pretend I don’t indulge from time to time too. Just don’t tell your mother I told you, she’d never let me hear the end of it.” With a wink, his father reached for the doorknob and gently closed the door himself.

  Once he was alone again, Javi let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was torn between dismay that he’d now have to contend with his parents relentless pressure that he live up to the dreams and expectations they had for the original Javier, and laughter that his father had finally confessed what Javi had suspected since he was ten: the hours his father spent in the backyard shed weren’t only about his woodworking hobby. Javi wondered if he’d be invited the next time his father snuck back there to smoke. It was a bizarre idea but not without appeal.

  Javi sighed and went back to his bed where he lay down on his back on top of the rumpled covers. In truth, he had already finished his homework. He put on his headphones and for a time lost himself in the gentle tingling that radiated up and down his body in time with the rhythm of the music. He’d been staring at the ceiling for an unknown amount of time — if pressed Javi would have guessed an hour but he really had no idea if that was accurate — when his phone blinked and vibrated from where he’d tossed it earlier. Without sitting up, Javi groped a hand around until he found it, then lifted it to his face to read the new text on the screen.

  ‘I hope we can keep studying together. Maybe a couple afternoons a week? You’re my good luck charm now :)’

  Javi sat up abruptly as a jolt of adrenaline coursed through his body. She wanted to see him again. She had called him her good luck charm. That had to mean something — didn’t it?

  Heart pounding, Javi carefully typed out his response: ‘Sure, I’d like that. Thursday at 4 in the park?’

  He only had to wait a few seconds; she agreed, and Javi went to sleep that night smiling.

  On the way to school the next morning, Javi was still basking in the glory that was Stella Castell’s attention. He lost no time in recounting the text exchange to Herman and Fred. Herman was awed, Fred merely amused.

  “Okay, now you really do have to tell me your secret,” Herman said as Fred pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks across from school. They were early for once, and Fred wanted coffee to get him through AP Calculus.

  “There is no secret. I’m just . . . I dunno the way I always am. Guess she likes that,” Javi said. H
e was unable to keep a proud smile off his face, causing Fred to shake his head in mock disgust when he noticed.

  “I don’t see why she would,” Herman said, and Javi shoved him playfully. “You must be saving all your charm and wit for her.”

  “Dunno why you think he’d waste it on you,” Fred said, pulling open the Starbucks door. “You’re not the one he dreams about sticking his dick in.” Herman burst out laughing.

  “Don’t talk about her that way,” Javi hissed. “It’s not about that. Or at least it’s not only about that.”

  “Right,” Fred said just as Herman said, “Bullshit.”

  “Can we not talk about this here? I don’t want her to think I talk about her,” Javi said in an undertone, looking around furtively. The last thing he needed was for some friend of Stella’s to overhear this conversation and tell her — she’d think he was a freak and never speak to him again.

  “Don’t be so paranoid,” drawled Fred, but he relented after Javi glared at him for a moment. “Fine. I’ll talk then. Violet and I did it again yesterday afternoon. On the living room sofa while her parents were out. It gets better every time.” Javi could tell he was trying to play it cool, but he looked immensely pleased with himself.

  “No shit,” Herman said in reverent tones. “Weren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

  Fred gave a cavalier shrug. “Part of the fun, I guess.”

  “Whoa,” Herman said. Javi was impressed too, but he didn’t say anything. A tall brunette woman had caught his eye by the register. She looked like she might be in her thirties, but something about her was immediately appealing to Javi. When she accepted her cup from the barista and turned to leave, her eyes met Javi’s and she stopped in her tracks. The coffee in her hand seemed to fall in slow motion, spilling its contents everywhere as it bounced off the ground.

  Shock and horror were etched on her face — it was as though she’d seen a ghost. There was a flurry of movement around them, people yelling and jumping out of the way of the scalding latte, the barista sending the janitor to fetch the mop and clean up the mess, and hushed speech as people looked on and speculated with their neighbors what had happened.