The Vines

by Shelley Nolden

  She toppled back onto the pillows, which felt torturously soft.

  A dark, bottomless hole, that’s what she needed. The earth, it should break open beneath her. Then seal itself shut above her. No longer caring that Ulrich could hear her, she bawled with abandon.

  A resounding wail joined Cora’s.

  Afraid it might have been an echo, she choked down a sob.

  The reedy cry continued.

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s a boy.” Ulrich twisted to show her their child, and the red of her babe’s face deepened with a howl that could only come from a healthy set of lungs.

  The sweetest sound, she thought, sobbing anew.

  “Weißt du,” Ulrich sang to the baby in a baritone deeper than Otto’s, “wieviel Sternlein stehen an dem blauen Himmelszelt?”

  Cora blinked rapidly in disbelief. It was the first German she’d heard him speak since his return from the war. Despite all the years that had passed, she’d recognized the lullaby Rolene had sung to him. He must genuinely love this child.

  He laid the infant beneath a warming light powered by Cora’s small generator. “Weißt du,” he crooned, his face close to the baby’s, “wieviel Wolken gehen weithin uber alle Welt?” Can you count the clouds, so lightly o’er the meadows floating by?

  Tears slid down her temples. A heart-wrenching sadness—for Ulrich’s loss of his mother, and the resulting absence of warmth and love throughout his childhood. Often, Cora still thought back to that tragic day, and those moments when such a young, traumatized boy had shunned his father’s solace. There were so many ways that outcome, which had translated into so much pain for her, could have been avoided.

  Despite all that Ulrich stood for and had done to Cora, she could hear in his tender tone now a promise to this child that his upbringing would be nothing like Ulrich’s own. From afar, she’d observed his devotion to his other two children, and she wept with gratitude at this early indication that he loved this baby too.

  He cut the umbilical cord and cleared out the baby’s mouth and nose.

  The newborn cried louder. Cora stretched toward him, and blood from her abdomen sloshed onto the floor. “Give him to me.”

  “The crying’s good. It means he’s strong.” Ulrich swaddled him and placed a knit cap over his head.

  “I love you, mein kleiner Mann,” he said in the same soothing voice she’d heard him use with Rollie and Greta when they were young.

  Cora could only guess—and pray—that Ulrich was speaking German to their child because it would be safe to do so with him living here on the island.

  “Say hello to your Mutti while I stitch her up.”

  He placed the wailing newborn on Cora’s chest, and she gasped at the sensation of his cheek against her skin. He was so warm, and wet. Afraid he would slip away, like so many of her hopes, she awkwardly held him to her.

  The baby squirmed, so she tightened her grip. I’m hurting him, she worried.

  “How do I do this?”

  Smiling, Ulrich looked up from his needle and thread. “Put him to the breast.”

  Of course. She was, after all, his mother.

  She repositioned him, and of his own accord, he rooted for her nipple and began suckling. The silence was equally exquisite to his wailing. Stroking his tiny head through the cap, Cora tried not to let her weeping disturb him, but she couldn’t hold it back. This was why she’d never given up.

  Ulrich tied off the stitches, bandaged the wound, and stepped back to appraise their son.

  Reflexively, she tightened her hold.

  “Don’t worry. I need a moment to catch my breath.” He dropped onto a stool and watched their baby nurse. “I still have to administer some tests to determine his Apgar score, but he appears to be healthy. A beautiful boy. We did it. And you’ll make a great mother.”

  Mother? You’ll never be this boy’s mother, nor any child’s. Otto’s declaration after ripping away Emmett reverberated in her head.

  Tears, tainted with deadly germs, slid down her cheeks, and a warning sounded within her: the more she loved this child, the more it would hurt when Ulrich took him.

  Cora blinked away the thought and gazed at her cherub’s face. Almost nonexistent, his eyebrows and lashes would surely come later. Tufts of black hair peeked from the edges of the cap. His lips, hugging her skin, looked pinker than a tulip, and his nose: impossibly tiny.

  “What’s his name?” Ulrich asked.

  Shocked, Cora looked up. Had she misheard?

  “I wish I could hold him without my suit.” He folded his arms. “Unfortunately, I have many trials to conduct before that’s possible. It may never be.”

  She bit her lip to hold back a smug reply and stroked her babe’s cheek. If he were also an asymptomatic carrier who couldn’t leave North Brother, she wouldn’t want Ulrich to forget the attachment he now felt to the boy. She knew what she had to do: give him a German name.

  One that was good and kind. Daily, she’d prayed in the chapel for God to bless this baby with a gentle soul.

  She wrapped his fingers around her pinky. “His name is Kristian.”

  Fall 2007

  The heron nesting season draws to a close

  October

  ily lowered the piece of sushi to her plate with almost-inhuman restraint. The lingering, sweet taste of yellowtail turned bitter in her mouth. “What do you mean,” she said, punching out each syllable, “you’re going back?”

  “I have to.” Finn leaned away from the folding table in their apartment.

  A week ago, when he’d returned from his failed attempt to convince Cora to cooperate, he’d been beyond frustrated. Biting her knuckle to stymie a volley of questions, she’d let him rant, then listened without judgment as he voiced a serious of impractical solutions. Not once had he mentioned the possibility of another trip—so soon.

  “No, you don’t have to,” she replied.

  “That place is like a keg of dynamite,” Finn said too loudly. “Between those bats, their obsession with injecting her with Lyme, and now the fact that she’s got chloroform, it’s not going to end well. For who, I don’t know. Maybe everyone. My brother’s being a total ass, but I still love him.”

  Lily pushed her plate away. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt, either, but she’s just too insanely dangerous.”

  “Lils, she trusts me. She wouldn’t have shown me her garden if she didn’t.”

  A knot formed in Lily’s throat, and she tried not to imagine the two of them on that rooftop. The days that Finn helped Lily at the co-op were her favorite. Somehow, he managed to be entertaining and productive at the same time. She didn’t want to picture him acting that same way with Cora. “Maybe that’s true, but she didn’t strike me particularly sane. There’s got to be another option.”

  Finn stared out the window at the adjacent building, barely visible in the waning light. Usually, Lily’s heart skipped at the sight of his profile, with a nose so straight it almost made him pretty. This time she had to clench her teeth to keep from demanding that he concentrate on her instead of a brick wall.

  “What do you suggest we do?” he asked.

  She rose to pace across their kitchenette. “I care about her, and your family. But”—her voice cracked—“I care about you even more.”

  He kneaded the back of his neck, and she knew he was thinking of her unwillingness to marry him. She considered admitting that her misgivings about Rollie had always been a factor, but Finn was a problem solver. Especially right now, she didn’t want him attempting to engineer a workaround to what her instincts were telling her.

  To keep him on topic, she spoke first: “Promise me you won’t go before the nesting season ends. We should figure this out together over the winter.”

  Finn nodded. “Okay. She’ll be safe from them during the winter anyway.”
>
  Lily studied the potted cacti on the windowsill, the most recent of which she’d added for Susan, whose second bone marrow transplant had failed last spring. Two years earlier, they’d met at a summit for young adults with cancer and became steadfast virtual friends. Hating the unfairness of life, Lily scrunched her eyes shut. Her grief didn’t disappear.

  The flowering Echinopsis next to Susan’s represented Elisabeth, who’d lost her seven-year battle with metastasized breast cancer. They’d developed a bond during a kayaking camp for cancer survivors, which Finn had encouraged Lily to attend. Elisabeth and Susan, along with the others represented in her memorial garden, had understood her in a way people who haven’t had cancer could not.

  Except for Kristian, who’d accepted her anxieties as rational. But it was looking like she’d lost him as a friend, too. The fact that he viewed Cora akin to a lab rat was appalling.

  Over the past two months, he’d repeatedly tried contacting Lily. Each time, she’d silenced her ringer. How could a man who showed endless compassion to his patients and their families treat another human so inhumanely?

  Because Cora had killed his grandfather.

  But one sin could not justify an endless series of other sins, which would eventually spur Cora to retaliate, maybe even during Finn’s next trip.

  The cycle had to be ended. But with it, the potential for a cure? Lily hesitated.

  Unquestionably, Cora could defend herself now. The abuse—of her body, her rights, and her trust—had largely occurred before Finn had stepped onto North Brother Island. Perhaps they could find a way for the research to continue with the two of them advocating for Cora as Sylvia once had. Startled by the boldness of the idea, and unsure of its morality, she dropped into her seat.

  “What’re you thinking?” Finn swigged his beer.

  Lily scraped her fingernail across her lower lip. “Isn’t that my line?”

  “Hopefully I’ll have better luck with it.” He raised his eyebrows to implicate himself.

  “I should stay quiet, so you know how it feels.”

  “Sure, you could do that. But we’re in this together, so I need to know what’s going on in there.” He leaned over the table and tucked back a lock of her hair.

  Gazing at her cacti, she thought of all the friends she’d made who were still battling their cancers. With their immune systems weakened by their treatments, they were even more susceptible than she was to a novel virus. As Kristian had stated during one of his voicemails: on any given day, a highly lethal and contagious new strain could emerge from a cave, rainforest, or wet market—a mere trek and plane ride away from New York City.

  She wondered if all maladies, including cancer, really could be eradicated someday with Cora’s gift. It didn’t seem possible. Yet maybe . . .

  Cora, too, had a garden, Lily reminded herself, for a vastly different purpose.

  An idea struck her like a slap on the back, and she straightened. “I should be the one to go.”

  “What?” Finn spat.

  Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the table. “She’ll trust a woman—not related to your family—far more easily.” Plus, they’d be able to relate: they each feared what lay beneath her own skin. “She risked her life for me; that tells you something.”

  “Out of the question,” he said, slamming down his bottle. “I almost lost you there once.”

  The reference triggered a cascading of spots in Lily’s vision. To steady herself, she pressed her palms against the table.

  He gripped its edge, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “It’s like you think you’re fated to die early and just want to get it over with.”

  “So now you’re admitting it’s too dangerous?”

  “I don’t have epilepsy. And my organs haven’t been—”

  Fuming, she glared at him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Whatever,” she said, knowing he hated that expression. “But you bring up a good point: I’m already damaged goods. So my life is less valuable.”

  Finn’s eyes narrowed, and he chugged the rest of his beer.

  She knew he was planning his words carefully, so she changed course: “She’s worried about you becoming like them. The same doesn’t hold true for me.”

  He tossed his empty bottle into the recycling bin by the door, and it clanged against the plastic bottom. “You’re still one of us, though, and if you’d seen her scars, you’d understand how deep her hatred runs. It’s too risky.”

  Flinching, she dropped her gaze to hide her hurt. Twice Finn had seen that woman naked. Cora was untouchable; Lily knew she shouldn’t feel envious. Yet she couldn’t dispute the woman’s allure. Even from two stories below, during a downpour, Lily had felt her magnetism. And the heart tends to want what it can’t have.

  Finn nudged her foot with his. “I love you.”

  She wrapped her legs around her chair.

  From across the table, he was staring at her with those intense, earthy green eyes. She could tell he was waiting for her to return the gesture and that he knew it wouldn’t happen.

  Lily gathered her dishes. “You know it’s the only way.”

  He touched her arm. “I can’t lose you.”

  The words closed in on her, and she slouched to bring her ears between her shoulders. Comments like that were too much pressure. Twisting, she set her plate in the sink. Whenever she needed to be alone, she headed for the promenade at the end of their street. From the front closet, she retrieved her running shoes and iPod.

  Finn blocked her. “Your whole life, you’ve been running from yourself. My dad and brother are smart—maybe brilliant—but I don’t want you getting your hopes up. There’s nothing they can achieve in that dippy lab that can undo what cancer—and your dad—did to you.”

  She ducked past him and into the hall. “I have to believe in the impossible. Because . . .” This conversation was pointless: Finn was too pragmatic. To him, the probability of them finding a cure for cancer was so slim, it was irrelevant. To her, a single iota of possibility meant everything.

  She started to run and tripped on one of her untied laces.

  Finn rushed to her.

  “I’m fine.” She wriggled away from him, and with shaking hands double-knotted her sneakers.

  “I know; you’re tough,” he said, backing away from her. “I couldn’t just stand there, not helping someone I love.”

  “I get that. But you don’t love Cora, and I’m the one who owes her,” she said, then hustled down the open-air stairwell and onto the sidewalk. Dodging an older man pushing a lapdog in a stroller, she sprinted toward the esplanade.

  From the balcony of the vestibule seven stories above, Finn had to be watching. She knew he wouldn’t chase after her—not because he couldn’t catch up, which he couldn’t, but because he too would have concluded they’d reached a dead end.

  Running with the East River and the Lower Manhattan skyline at her side, she made for the Brooklyn Bridge. Once across it, she would keep going until exhaustion hit her. Only then would she turn around.

  Two months later

  December

  labs of ice blockaded the docks that jutted into the East River. Soon the entire strait might crust over. Lily shivered and gazed toward Randalls-Wards Island, barely visible from Kristian’s office on the hospital’s eighth floor. Beyond it and Hell Gate lay North Brother. Somewhere on that island huddled a woman, surrounded by eight million people ignorant of her plight.

  Lily didn’t know if Cora was still capable of accepting anyone as an ally, but she had to try. Even if it meant going behind Finn’s back.

  Usually, she avoided hospitals because of the visceral memories they triggered. She’d steeled herself against them to meet Kristian here, yet she still felt sick to her stomach. For multiple reasons.

  “It’
s so good to see you again,” he said from behind his oak desk, a genuine smile on his face.

  A lump in her throat fought to block her from betraying Finn, or saying anything that Kristian might construe as forgiveness.

  “As long as you’re here,” he said, evidently used to ending the charged silences that must frequently occur during his meetings in this room, “I’ve been wanting to tell you something. I had nothing to do with those bats out at the summer house. That had to be a trap cage left by my parents’ exterminator. They were probably roosting in the shed, and bats are one of the main carriers of rabies.”

  Trying to picture the cage, so that she could refute his claim, Lily closed her eyes.

  “Think about it,” Kristian continued. “If they were instead for our research, they would have needed to be handled according to Biosafety Level Three guidelines. It’s inconceivable that I would have put them in that shed, no matter how temporarily.”

  Glancing out the window, she reminded herself that mentioning the syringes that Finn had found near those bats would derail her plan. “I believe you.”

  “Good,” he said, adjusting a spray of candy canes in his pen holder. “So why are you here?”

  “I need vaccines, a hazmat suit. So I can go back to North Brother this spring to talk to Cora.”

  “It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “Me? It’s your family she hates!”

  “What happens if you have another seizure?” Kristian tilted back in his chair.

  “The lightning triggered that. This time”—Lily shrugged—“I won’t go in a storm.” She strummed her fingers on the radiator.

  Sighing, he removed his stethoscope. “As a doctor, and your friend, I’m advising you against it. You mean a lot to me, and you mean everything to Finn.”

  Blinking, she inhaled slowly to keep her emotions in check. “What if I can convince Cora to start giving you blood samples again? Isn’t that worth a shot?”

  “Why would she listen to you?”

  “I’m not a Gettler. She wants off that rock, and you have all her files. Plus, I’m”—Lily’s voice cracked—“weaker than her. More vulnerable. She won’t fear me.”