Such fantasies are dangerous, she reminded herself. An untouched torte on March 30 would only make the distance between them feel wider. Still, she knew that as the day drew near, she would prepare, just in case.
She raised her head above the wall to gaze across the river. The buildings looked as densely packed as the Salmonella typhi Ulrich had once let her view through the microscope. Which one held her boy? When Ulrich returned, she would beseech him to point it out to her, even though she knew he’d coldly refuse.
Now that she wasn’t busy caring for her child, each day, empty of meaning, stretched on until dark arrived. Hourly, she berated herself for disobeying Ulrich. Now regret was constant and more punishing than any pain she’d ever known.
She shifted her attention back to the river and inhaled sharply. In the early light, she could just make out an approaching boat. Its shape matched the fishing trawler that Ulrich chartered for his trips. She dove to the ground, though it mattered little if he’d seen her, and peered through the spy hole.
The boat stopped alongside the dock, and Ulrich leaned out to buffer them from the pylons. Still, no sign of Kristian, although Ulrich might have made him stay in the cabin. Suddenly sweltering within her parka, she prayed that he would emerge.
Ulrich’s usual henchman tossed him a line. It fell into the channel as Ulrich jumped onto the pier and bellowed her name.
His anguish hit Cora in the gut, and she knew something must have happened to their boy. She threw the blankets aside and raced down the stairwell and through the morgue. “Where is he?” she yelled as she neared the dock.
“Halt!” he ordered, raising his arm.
He wasn’t wearing protective gear; he had no intention of stepping onto the island. Instead, Ulrich must have come to deliver bad news, and by the tone of his voice, he believed she was to blame. Please God, let my baby be okay. “Where is he?”
He glanced at the sailor, whose exaggerated efforts to arrange the bumpers made it clear he wanted Ulrich to believe he wasn’t listening.
The wind tugged at Ulrich’s coat, and he let it rip the hood from his head. “He’s ill.”
Her vision blurred, and she swayed. “How’s that possible?” she asked, blinking rapidly to clear her head. All of Kristian’s blood samples had been free of her pathogens, but they could’ve been hiding somewhere else within him, she speculated.
“He’s got influenza.”
Only the flu. Her headache dulled, and her breathing slowed.
“How is he?”
“Improving.”
Then why was Ulrich here, and so angry? The answer struck her with the force of a bullet: they’d been wrong about his immune system. Apparently, he was just a normal boy. Except, possibly, when he was on North Brother. Her heart beat faster as her hope flew skyward.
“Maybe he’s like me, and his immunities only work here.”
If Ulrich had come to the same conclusion, Kristian might yet be napping in the cabin.
“I’m sorry,” Ulrich said in a softer tone.
No, it couldn’t end this way. “But you said . . . that your Aryan genes . . . our baby might turn out like Pettenkofer. There’s no way I didn’t pass my germs to Kristian. His body must have fought them off. That would mean his immunities are even stronger than mine. But like mine, they must only work while he’s here, right?”
Ulrich sighed, and a gust amplified his frustration. “You think I haven’t considered that?”
“Bring him to me.” She bit her lip to stop herself from begging.
“You know that’s not possible,” he said in a gruff tone.
“Why?”
“Because he would miss his mother.”
Her knees buckled, and she hit the pavement. A tingling sensation overran her face and hands, and she realized she was panting. She must have had the wind knocked out of her. Or her body couldn’t bear the notion of Kristian wiggling out of her arms, crying for his new mommy.
Of all the things Ulrich had ever said to her, that comment had been the cruelest. She detested him, and someday she would end him.
But first she had to get her son back. Then her blades.
As much as she didn’t want to grovel, she couldn’t muster the strength to stand, so she pushed against the ground to raise her torso. “I may be a mutt, but I’m a mutt who knows her master better than anyone else. Compared to immortality for your genes, Kristian’s bond with Petra is of little consequence to you.”
“I’ve no proof that his longevity will match yours.”
“And you never will if you don’t bring him back.”
Ulrich hesitated, and she knew he still believed in the possibility that Kristian would stop aging once he reached adulthood.
With the vigor of an eighteen-year-old, she scrambled to her feet and pulled away her hood to reveal her taut skin. “A month ago, I turned eighty-three. North Brother is my holy grail, and there’s a good chance it’s your son’s as well.”
“That may be true, but testing the theory is not worth the risk. If his immune system isn’t stimulated by the unknown force here, your love will kill him.” He cocked his head. “Although in a different way than I’d anticipated, Kristian is exceptional. In every area of cognitive development, he’s years ahead of the milestones for his age. And—I have to admit—I can’t stomach the thought of losing him. It’s selfish, I know, and it goes against my scientific priorities, but he brings me so much joy.”
“But if he just visited me, and still lived near you?”
He exhaled with a groan.
“Please,” she begged.
“I can’t, Cora. My number one priority in life is my three children. Being a father means more to me than being a scientist. I can tell our friends think I’m far too involved in my children’s—and grandson’s—lives, and look down on me for doing a woman’s work. But I refuse to feel ashamed for it. I love Kristian, and I will not risk any harm coming to him by bringing him back here.”
There would be no visits, Cora knew. “What about my love for Kristian?”
“I’m sorry. But your love could kill him.” He motioned to the thug, who unloaded a single medium-size carton.
“The next time I come,” he continued, his expression hardening, “we’ll continue where we left off years ago.”
Her mind barely registered his promise. All she could think about was her son and the hole in her heart that would widen with each day that passed without him.
“What about trying again? Maybe another baby will have my immunities.” Shocked by what she’d suggested, her mouth hung open. More appalling than the prospect of being repeatedly violated again was the notion that her love for Kristian could be transferred to another child.
He interlaced his gloved fingers. “I’ve further genealogical research to do before completing a second trial.”
From the bitterness in his tone, she could guess what had happened: Angela had threatened to leave him if he ever impregnated Cora again.
The sailor finished unmooring the trawler, and Ulrich signaled that he needed a minute.
Folding his arms across his chest, Ulrich appraised her. “Do not ration these supplies. You’ll need strength for my next visit.”
He turned to board, and she raised a hand to keep his attention. Swallowing her dread and rage, she begged, “Please, at least bring me a picture of him.”
“Maybe, but it’ll cost you.” He pivoted toward the boat, then twisted back to face her. “I almost forgot.” From his coat pocket, he removed a package and carefully unwrapped it.
Cora recognized the thin silver and ivory handle—the first scalpel she’d stolen from Otto. To remind herself that God would forgive her planned sins, she’d etched the crucifix into its handle.
“Until your betrayal, you were doing an excellent job raising my son. That didn’t go unnoticed, and I�
��m a man of my word.” He dropped the knife, and it skittered across the wooden pier and stopped near the edge.
What good would it do her now? As long as he had Kristian, she couldn’t use it on him.
She glared at Ulrich. The compliment had carried a taunt, the particular scalpel chosen for its symbolism: he—not God—ruled this island.
Ulrich stepped into the bow.
The motor roared, and the boat backed away.
Cora sank to the concrete, as cold as a block of ice. Hoping it would numb her, she pressed her cheek to the hard surface.
Soon, the crew of a passing ship might spot her, but she couldn’t pick herself up. How she would ever take another step, she couldn’t fathom.
March 2008
Eleven days before the new heron nesting season
March 10
inn pushed Sylvia’s wheelchair to yet another display of luxury watches. The constant hum of all that ticking, along with the smells of glass cleaner and leather, filled the showroom. It seemed to Finn like the only thing without enough time was his mom.
As she scrutinized the selection, the reflection off the glass and makeup that her aide had applied that morning animated her green eyes, infused with russet like his.
Kristian would be turning forty-three in three weeks. A decade ago, Sylvia had bought him the second in what had become an impressive watch collection—the first had been Ulrich’s Eberhard. As her health had declined, she’d refused to give up the tradition.
“Any you’d like to see?” he asked gently.
Despite his reluctance to attend Kristian’s upcoming birthday dinner, Finn was in no hurry for this excursion to end. His mother’s joints had to be aching and her ears ringing. By the joyful look on the side of her face not paralyzed, she’d managed to block all that out.
“How about this one?” he asked, pointing at a watch he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. For his birthdays, his parents gave him money to help with the rent.
“I know you’ve been to North Brother,” she slurred.
Startled, he turned to face her.
A saleswoman approached, and he curtly waved her off. “Dad told you?”
“After thirty-three years. In this family,” she said in her slow, labored speech, “I know, the distant look on a Gettler’s face. After a visit to that island. And her.”
Finn dropped his gaze to his boots. “You—we—saw it far too often when I was a kid.”
“And Cora,” she said, attempting to shift forward in her seat, “is the cause of your rift with Kristian. I was surprised you came today.”
“I’m here for you, Mom. Not him.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly. “You’ve learned about their real research, and you don’t like it.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I failed,” Sylvia said, her thin voice cracking.
Finn put his hand on her shoulder, padded by a bouclé suit jacket that hid her frailness, and crouched beside her. “You’ve never failed at anything.”
“All my life, I stood up for others. I was so,” she said, lingering on the word, “strong. At least I thought I was. But the most important battle: I didn’t have courage to fight.”
“That’s not true; you did everything you could.”
Sylvia shook her head. “I should have made Rollie. Give up. I was afraid. If I made him pick. Between studying her and being with us, he would choose her. And I should have insisted he keep Kristian out. Kristian doesn’t have. Right mind-set. But I told myself he’d be the one to cure her. So smart. Creative.”
Finn leaned in. “Do you really think he can solve her?” “Yes, I do. They’ve continued. Behind my back.” She clutched his hand, still on her shoulder, and he could feel its tremors. “I know it’s for me. It must end. Cost too high.” Visibly exhausted from the effort, she lowered her arm. “Before . . . this . . .” She tapped the wheelchair. “I sometimes went. With them. I’ve seen the way Kristian treats—”
“It’s like he’s forgotten she’s a human being, not some lab animal.”
“Ulrich’s influence.” Her right hand tried to close into a fist. “They spent so much time together. I tried to teach Kristian to view her differently. Another failure.”
Stepping behind her, Finn massaged her shoulders. “You didn’t fail. It wasn’t your job.”
“It was my job to raise Kristian right, but I . . .” Her voice broke, and she began to whimper.
He knew she was trying not to cry. The clerks and other customers had retreated to the far side of the store.
“You did your best,” he said, continuing to rub her shoulders.
If his mom believed Kristian could succeed, then maybe he could. But Finn knew that Sylvia would never willingly travel to North Brother Island to receive the experimental treatment if it had been developed at Cora’s expense. “You can still put your foot down,” he said firmly. “Tell Dad to stop for good. That you’re on to him.”
She grunted. “What happens when I die? You think Kristian will stay away then?”
“So, stay alive.”
His mom clasped his hand. “You need to resolve. Because you will be the one still around.”
Finn choked back a sob. He hated when his mother alluded to her own passing. “Lily thinks the best way to help Cora is for Kristian to find her antidote.”
“That may be.” Sylvia loosely gripped her armrests, as if preparing to stand. “Cora wants love, and family, more than anything. She deserves it.”
“Lily thinks she should go back.” Finn hooked his arms under his mother’s and helped her up, positioning himself to catch her if she fell.
Leaning against the glass counter, Sylvia nodded. “Cora trusted me. Lily has a role to play, but this burden. Doesn’t belong on her shoulders.” Disjointedly, she turned to look at him.
Gently, Finn put his arm around her. “It’s too dangerous for her anyway.”
Over his mother’s head, he surveyed the showroom. Everything looked new, polished, civilized. So different from Cora’s world. “I found a note in Dad’s journal from 2001. You said she suffered. What did you mean by that?”
“Rollie was kind to her. Cora assured me. But she has the right to say ‘no more.’ Her body belongs to her. You make sure that happens. That’s why I left you that note.”
“What?” Finn asked, arching his back. “Last June, I watched you come out of shed. I could tell you’d found his expedition logs. You looked so determined. Just like him. I knew you’d decided to go. And that afterward, you’d return for a second look. So, I opened the shoebox, filled with all the ultimatums I’d written Rollie. But wasn’t confident enough to give him. And took one out, knowing you would be strong for me.”
Still doubting that she’d ever lacked the courage to put her foot down with Rollie, Finn studied her anew. He tried to picture her crossing the two-acre lawn in her wheelchair. “Did Mimi help?” “It took us a long time!”
If she’d planted the message . . . “This’ll sound weird, but do you know anything about a crate of horseshoe bats?”
Sylvia jerked her hand toward her chest. “That was us, too.”
Staring at his mom, he saw past her feeble stature and recognized the fiery, capable woman he’d always admired. “How’d you pull that off?”
“Borrowed from zoo. Big donation.”
Finn stared at his mother in wonder, though not in disbelief. She’d always gone beyond the seemingly impossible when something important to her was at stake. And she certainly had a talent for maximizing emotional impact.
“Why bats? And why the big setup instead of just pulling me aside?”
“Milo,” she said, her arms settling onto the armrests. “When he was over, studying. I noticed drawings in the margins of his school notebook. He has talent for it, like you.”
An unse
ttling feeling congealed in Finn’s stomach. “What did he draw?”
Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Coronavirus particles.”
His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“I asked him. He said they were aliens. But I know microbes. Been in this family a long time.”
“Kristian’s bringing him into the fold,” Finn reasoned out loud. “The fact that Milo’s familiar with the SARS virus could simply mean they’ve discussed that pandemic. Or that Kristian does have live specimens in his lab.”
Sylvia nodded. “I wanted you to see what’s at stake. Not just hear it from your mom. With Milo involved . . .” Her words became indistinguishable.
He bent down to hear her better.
“It’s time,” she muttered as if to herself, seemingly forgetting Finn’s presence.
He longed to plead with her for more details, but he could see the toll on her body from their conversation thus far.
Suddenly, she reached for him. “You need to go back. And give Cora a message from me.”
“Of course.” Finn cocked his head. “What is it?”
She beckoned to a clerk, and the woman rushed over to stand behind the case.
“That one.” Sylvia pointed with conviction, and Finn remembered that although her body was failing, her mind remained needle sharp.
“What message?” Finn asked
“That it’s time to tell him.”
“Who’s him?”
“She’ll know,” Sylvia said and set a folded square of paper on the glass counter. “I’d like this engraved on the back, please.”
Baffled, Finn waited silently as the woman processed his mother’s purchase and gave him the receipt.
“I’ll pick it up for you when it’s ready,” he said, tucking the slip into his wallet.
The Vines Page 31