by Lisa Tucker
When they got to the building, his mom thought to ask where they’d been when she came looking for them the week before. Danny told her they must have been out getting food. The fact that he had the key and knew how to use it helped make this believable.
The elevator couldn’t go fast enough for him. He rushed down the hall and to the man’s door and burst inside. He saw Dr. Connelly sitting at his computer, but he didn’t see his sister.
He yelled, “Isabelle.” His mom yelled her name, too.
“Keep it down.” The man was typing so intently at his computer that he didn’t look at them. “I need to finish this email. She can’t hear you, anyway.”
Danny was running around the apartment, searching for his sister. He didn’t see her anywhere—not on the guest bed, not even in the bathroom. When he came back to the loft area, his mom was pounding on the guy’s back with both her fists.
“Stop that!” Dr. Connelly stood up and struggled until he had her by the arms. He held her back, a few feet away from him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What did you do to her?” Danny demanded.
“I didn’t do anything. I was sitting here working and your crazy mother attacked me.” He looked at her. “If I let you go, will you quit this?”
His mom’s answer was to spit in Dr. Connelly’s direction, but the spit didn’t make it and drooled down her chin before landing on the rug.
“What did you do to Isabelle?” Danny couldn’t help it; he was so scared his voice was shaking. “You said you would take care of her. You promised.”
“I did not promise . I’m not a child.”
His mom tried to kick the man, and Danny felt tears spring to his eyes.
“Wait, Christ, she’s fine. She was listening to my iPod, watching some cartoon. She fell asleep that way and she’s still in there. Go ahead, see for yourself.”
Danny hadn’t opened the man’s bedroom door, but once he did, he saw it was true. Isabelle was lying flat on her back on the bed with the iPod still in her hand and the little plugs in her ears. The TV was on Cartoon Network. When he turned off the TV and took out the plugs, she woke up. And got mad.
He was so happy to see her that he didn’t care when she pushed him away and climbed off the bed, still clutching the iPod in her fist. She toddled in the direction of the loft with the wires trailing behind her. When their mom saw her walking, she let out a little squeal of delight and breathed Isabelle’s name. Matthew let go of her arms and she ran to her daughter and picked her up.
“No!” Isabelle wouldn’t look at her and was pushing back, trying to get away. “No!”
“Belle, it’s Mommy.”
“Down!”
“Okay, baby. Okay, I’m putting you down.”
When she did, Isabelle went straight to the leather couch, where Matthew was crumpled in the corner, holding his head in his hands. She climbed up and sat next to him, putting the iPod in his lap.
Matthew exhaled. “At least one person in this family is rational.” He looked at Isabelle. “More Ramones?” She didn’t answer, but after he put the plugs in her ears and started it up she patted his face, like he was her oldest friend.
After a few minutes, Danny said he was sorry for what happened. He said they were just worried about Isabelle, but Matthew snapped, “Save it. I don’t care why.”
“I guess you’re not going to send my mom to Changes now.”
“All I want is sleep. If she’ll sign the letter Cassie faxed and leave and never come back, fine. Otherwise, you all need to get the hell out of here. I’ve had a very long week, my head is killing me, and I can’t stand any more drama.”
He closed his eyes and Isabelle closed hers, too, like she agreed.
Danny went over to his mom. He sat down on the floor next to her and took her hands in his. “Remember that story you used to tell me about your grandpa? When he took you fishing?”
His mom looked up. “I can’t leave you and Isabelle with—”
“The boot became a pot for a flower. The sponge fit under the front step and stopped it from creaking. Even the—”
“We don’t know this guy from Adam. He could be—”
“‘Trash is a good catch, too,’ your grandpa always said.”
“He didn’t mean rich people,” she said.
“But he told you any trash can be lucky.”
Danny had forgotten about Matthew listening, but then he heard him say, “Perfect, just fucking perfect. Using a trash metaphor for someone who is saving your mom’s ass has to be the irony of the year.”
“You take your luck where you find it,” Danny continued. He had to concentrate on his mom; he could make it up to the man later. “You’ve told me that a thousand times.”
“I know, but this isn’t right. I can feel it.”
He argued with her for a while, but she wouldn’t budge. Then Matthew said, “You have exactly one more minute to get her to agree. After that, the trash is rescinding his offer.”
“I won’t leave you and your sister here,” his mom whispered. “I know something bad will happen. Let’s go back to our house.”
“Something bad has already happened.” She wasn’t a dragon, but still, he said it. He said it even though he knew it would break her heart. “You’re the bad thing, Mom. You hurt Isabelle. She’s better off with Doctor Connelly or anybody than with you.”
His mom started crying, but when she recovered she signed the letter, as Danny knew she would. Matthew called Cassie; the last flight to Florida was at 9:52. When Matthew told Danny to walk his mom downstairs and talk to the security guard about getting a cab to the airport, Danny did that, too, even though he was scared. He gave his mom the forty dollars Matthew had given him earlier. Now she had eighty, since Matthew had given her forty, too—after getting mad that she didn’t have any of his five thousand dollars. Danny didn’t ask her what she did with all that money. He wasn’t surprised it was gone.
When the cab drove up, she said, “You’re so different, Cobain. I don’t know what’s happened to you.”
“I’m ten and a half now,” he said. He hadn’t known what day it was until he saw the calendar at the security guard’s desk. November 22, halfway to his birthday.
His mom always celebrated half birthdays. Nobody else thought they were important, but his mom did. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t remember. I would have tried to get you a little present.” She paused and looked at him. “You’re squinting. I know that means there’s something you’re wishing for.”
“This is all I want,” he said, pointing to the cab. He put his arms around her and hugged her. She was crying again, but he pulled away and forced a smile. “But when you come back, after you get a job and we get our own house, you can save up and get me an iPod.”
CHAPTER NINE
A Moment of Weakness
Matthew slept until late in the afternoon the next day. He didn’t feel great, but at least his headache was gone. When he came out of his bedroom to see what the kids were up to, he was relieved to find that Danny had handled everything, just as Matthew had ordered him to do last night. All the clothes that Cassie sent had been put away in the guest bedroom dresser. About half the toys were stacked against the wall by the bookcases; the other half were all over the floor, but that was probably unavoidable. Isabelle had to play with the damn things. Cassie had included toys for Danny, too, but Matthew suspected he hadn’t touched them. He was too busy following his sister around, making sure she didn’t fall off the little slide or swallow one of the hundreds of Barbie parts.
He had less than four hours before Ben and Amelia were set to arrive. He spent some time on what “his” kids should wear: he picked a pink jumper thing for Isabelle and jeans and a light gray cotton sweater for Danny. He went to the only grocery store that was open and bought a list of food they liked so they would stop consuming his gourmet dinners. While they were eating sandwiches, he worked with Danny to get their stories straight. He’d decided the
easiest thing to do was to go with the truth, or a version of it, anyway. He’d let them in one cold night out of the kindness of his heart—but at the beginning of October, not a week ago. Their mother was a drug addict and their fathers were unknown. He was in the process of trying to adopt them, a lot of paperwork and hassle that his lawyers were dealing with.
Naturally, Ben would wonder why he hadn’t mentioned these kids in the Caymans or at any time in the last two months—and his plan handled that, too. He was going to say he hadn’t discussed them because he wasn’t sure he could commit to this. He would even throw in a “guilty admission” that when he’d left them with a babysitter and gone to Grand Cayman, he was really hoping he wouldn’t miss these kids. But it was too late; Isabelle and Danny had won him over, and now he just couldn’t imagine his life without them. The last part certainly felt true. Since that night on the bridge, he’d had one problem after another and his normal life had disappeared. But it would be back tomorrow. All he had to do was get through this one night, and then Cassie would call social services. By Friday afternoon, he’d be answering messages and making his way through the hundreds of emails he’d ignored while he was out of the country. Today was a waste, but it was a holiday, after all. A stupid holiday, in his opinion, but they all were.
Danny had stayed up very late, stubbornly refusing to even try to fall asleep until he made sure his mom was safely in Miami. The intake clerk from Changes had been waiting at the airport. When she’d called to say the transition was successful, Matthew was dozing on the couch. He told Danny, and both of them finally went to bed. It had been a long, hellish day, but nothing compared to how bad tonight could be if he wasn’t very careful.
The fake-family business wasn’t the only thing he was concerned about. Ben had been to visit him numerous times over the last twelve years, but not since he’d been with Amelia. Matthew had assumed that in the unlikely event he ever had to have the happy couple over, he would have lots of time to prepare; specifically, that he would have time to unload all the furniture he still had from when he and Amelia had lived together.
She’d left all the furniture behind, claiming she didn’t want anything that had been paid for with AD money, and what was he supposed to do? Amelia had excellent taste, and back then he’d thought thirty thousand dollars was a lot to spend on chairs and tables and lamps. He couldn’t just give the stuff away, and he was hardly the garage-sale type. Over the years, he’d added state-of-the-art electronics and, with the help of a decorator, replaced the couch and furnished the guest bedroom. He’d invested in a few paintings. But he’d never gotten around to getting a houseful of new furniture. He was traveling all the time, and it was hardly a high priority. Why bother? Even the desk Amelia had picked out for him was still in great shape.
But now he had a decidedly weird problem. It bugged the shit out of him to think of her concluding that he’d kept it all as some kind of shrine to her (as if he could make a shrine to Amelia without voodoo dolls and severed heads), but he also knew that whatever happened, he could not afford to lose control the way he had on the morning-after in Aspen. He’d even shed a tear or two that morning, and the hard-hearted bitch had still called him “evil.” She threw so many insults that Matthew couldn’t help defending himself, which was a mistake, but hell, he couldn’t just stand there and let her hand him his balls. When he shouted that he hated her, he knew he’d just blown the whole plan, but he didn’t care. Even the best strategist has an occasional moment of weakness. Even the most seasoned manipulator can be pushed and prodded and egregiously insulted until he finally breaks down.
At 7:45 he was in his bathroom, touching up his shave, repeating “I hate that bitch” like a mantra. Had to get it all out of his system now, so no matter what she said he would remain calm as the Buddha. Isabelle was sitting on the bathroom rug, holding a bar of soap, watching him in the mirror. “Bitch!” she said.
“Exactly,” he said.
His new daughter had become an unexpected ally. She followed him everywhere unless he shut the door to keep her out; she agreed with him on everything, from what kind of bread to use for the sandwiches to what color socks went best with her pink jumper; she’d even taken his side against her brother on the issue of Danny’s ridiculous hair. Matthew wanted to trim it to something closer to normal, but Danny had vehemently objected, saying only that his mother had cut it that way. Isabelle said, “Icky,” and pointed at Danny’s head, but when the kid wasn’t convinced, Matthew gave up. He certainly wasn’t about to run after him with scissors.
When he heard the knock at the door, he was heading out of the bathroom. Isabelle held her arms out and said, “Up?” He couldn’t have planned it better, answering the door holding this beautiful little girl in his arms. How very fatherly.
He let them in with a hearty welcome and the requisite introductions to the kids, though he immediately knew something was a little off between the lovebirds. Ben seemed his usual self, dropping his jacket on the chair, happily following Matthew into the kitchen when Matthew suggested a drink. Matthew recited the poignant story of his new children while he held Isabelle and fixed Ben’s usual two shots of tequila over ice with a twist of orange. Danny lurked a few feet away, listening, as always; Amelia was somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, listening or staring at the furniture or getting ready to gun down the neighborhood—he really had no idea because he couldn’t look for her and cut up the orange and pay attention to Ben while Isabelle was clutching him by the neck. At the end of the story, Ben clapped him on the back and said, “I really admire what you’re doing,” before changing the topic to the recent article in Nature .
Matthew hadn’t had a chance to finish the article yet, but he knew the news of this genetic “breakthrough” had been reported in every newspaper across the world. He’d already gotten several emails about it; he was trying to answer one last night when the crazy mother started punching him. Short version: much of what scientists believed about genetics was apparently wrong. Mendel was wrong: children don’t necessarily inherit two copies of each gene, one from each parent. The Human Genome Project was wrong: human beings aren’t all 99.9 percent alike. CNV (copy number variation) is much bigger than previously thought; people can have up to ten copies of the same gene, or they might not have that gene at all. What this could mean for the future of drug development, Matthew wasn’t sure, and he was glad Ben had brought it up. Ben could give him the deeper view, not to mention that it took the focus off the fake family.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink, too?” Matthew said when he spotted Amelia in the shadow near the laundry room door. He was feeding a slice of orange to Isabelle, who still didn’t want to get down. “I have juice and milk. Maybe decaf?”
She said no and Ben finished telling a long story about this guy he knew who was involved in the Nature study: a brilliant geneticist, worked in Cambridge at the Sanger Institute, a whiz at chess, made his own beer, and so on. He was just getting to the science part when his cell phone rang. He said he had to take the call and disappeared into the loft area.
A moment later he was back. “That was Richard,” he said to Amelia. Then he turned to Matthew. “Richard Langer at HUP. He wants to talk to me about working on trypanosomiasis.”
Trypanosomiasis, or African sleeping sickness. No wonder Ben was interested. It was another parasitic disease transmitted by an insect. HUP, Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, was only a few blocks away. Matthew knew who Richard Langer was, though he’d never spoken to him, primarily because Langer was a do-gooder who’d never done any collaborating with Astor-Denning.
“From mosquitoes to tsetse flies,” Matthew said. “Sounds like fun.”
Ben laughed. “I didn’t think Richard would be able to get away from his family this early, but I’ll try to keep it short.” He finished his tequila in one gulp before he walked over and put his arm around Amelia. “An hour at the most.”
She said, “I still don’t
understand why this has to be done on Thanksgiving.”
Matthew and his appendage Isabelle walked out of the room to give them privacy. The illusion of privacy, that is.
Ben whispered, “I already told you why. It doesn’t have to be done today, but Richard won’t be around this weekend, and I don’t want to wait to talk to him. And I set up the meeting days ago, before you insisted on coming here. I still don’t understand why we had to see Matt tonight, either. It’s fine, though. You can stay and rest while Richard and I talk. He wants to discuss his lab. You know that wouldn’t interest you anyway.”
“I can’t rest here.”
“Why not? Matt will get you anything you want.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Okay, babe.” Kissing noises. “It won’t take long, I promise.”
A minute later Ben and Amelia came out of the kitchen. Luckily, during that minute, Matthew and Isabelle had moved over to the couch, where they were innocently sitting together when Ben apologized that they had to take off so soon.
“No problem,” Matthew said. He was used to this from Ben. Work came first, period, even on a holiday. Not to mention that he was struggling not to grin. Finally, something to be thankful for: the witch was leaving already!
Too bad his adorable new son promptly ruined it. Matthew was stunned when Danny went to the door, looked right at Amelia, and said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“It is too bad,” Matthew said, “but she has to. Maybe we’ll see her some other—”
“I’ll stay, then,” Amelia said, still staring into Danny’s eyes. Like she was reading the truth there? She turned to Ben. “You’re right. It’ll be better if I wait here for you.”
As Danny retreated, he glanced in Matthew’s direction and shrugged as if to say he didn’t mean for this to happen. Maybe he was taking Matthew’s request that he be polite too far? Whatever his reason, it was too late to do anything about it now. The happy couple was kissing good-bye. Ben left with a request that Matthew “look out for Amelia.”
