“Ms. Caldwell has several reasons for joining my lab. I intend to honor them.”
Paul lost patience. “Let’s stop being polite. I don’t know what Robert promised you, but you and I have been colleagues for a long time, and you owe me the courtesy of keeping your hands off my staff.”
“It’s the other way around. You’re the one who needs to keep your hands off your staff. I’m not going to repeat what Ms. Caldwell has said, not to anyone. But you should be more careful, Paul.”
He slapped down the phone. So Hope had lied about their relationship, and they believed her. And what else had she lied about? What else had she said? Doubt poured through his veins, drowning the anger. With a start, he recalled the day she had first reported to work in skintight slacks and high-heeled boots, arms covered in brassy bangles. She had interviewed the week before, demure in cashmere and pearls. He had been amused by the bait and switch. Now he saw it as her modus operandi. She had played him for a fool.
A shiver of fear sliced through him. Had she damaged the project? Could he trust anything she’d done or said in the lab? Mentally he cataloged the problem definition he’d given her, the number of cytokines she’d worked with, the number of trials she’d seen. Could she have misunderstood anything crucial? Probably not. She wasn’t really a cancer biologist; she was a sharp grad student out to kill the competition. He barged into Sandi’s office.
“Get me all the weekly reports for the new grant.”
Sandi shrugged her shoulders and opened a file drawer at her desk. “Paper or electronic?”
“I don’t care. Just make sure you get all of them.”
He sat at his desk, furious, staring into the past, reviewing everything Hope had said over the previous six months. He could not remember a single word of protest. She had been the aggressor, showing off her tits and her tight ass, working extra hours just to impress. It was she who had first wanted to fuck, luring him to her apartment, stripping naked before he could leave. He hadn’t misinterpreted; he had been deliberately misled. But why? His pulse raced. It had to be a setup—Robert trying to knock him down before his breakthrough. No dice, Robert, my work stands alone.
Sandi walked in and laid a pile of papers in front of him. “These are from November and December. I forwarded the rest.” She hesitated at his door. “I’ll be in early tomorrow in case you need anything else.”
“No. Thanks.” He didn’t want company, not even Sandi’s.
Yeah, his breakthrough would be spectacular. But others were sniffing around the edges of his discovery; he needed to solidify his place at the front of the pack. He would have to push Alicia to publish immediately so they could get cited. A spasm gripped his chest: What if Hope had thrown in a monkey wrench? What had she said to Alicia, from whom he needed absolute loyalty? As he dug into the files, his palms began to sweat. Zap! He was fourteen years old and his drunken father had kicked him out of the house. Big brother Lenny hadn’t been there to protect him, and he’d had to fight his way back in. He punched Lenny’s number in his cell phone. No one home.
TWENTY
Maggie dropped Jenn off at international arrivals and drove to the terminal where Sarah’s flight would land. She parked close and found a Starbucks, where she sat at a table to wait. Everyone at the other tables faced a screen; no one looked anxious or expectant, as she no doubt looked. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes more if the flight was on time. It had been a couple of years—how many, exactly?—since she’d seen Sarah, since Sarah had quit the bank and hung up her consultant shingle. She wondered how Sarah would present her consulting self, extravagantly no doubt. When she’d asked Sarah to come east a couple of weeks before the wedding, she’d envisioned Sarah and Jenn going off together to a spa or some such, where Sarah could counsel Jenn to value independence more than romance, something Sarah had standing to do, more so than Maggie herself. Sarah had grumbled a bit, knocking Maggie for trying to put words in her mouth, but she’d agreed, for Jenn’s sake. Then Arun emailed his itinerary: Arun and Sarah were scheduled to arrive within ninety minutes of each other, necessitating a change in plan.
The arrivals monitor blinked notice that Sarah’s flight was on the ground. Maggie walked over to the security barrier, car keys still clutched in hand. She scanned the disheveled travelers lumbering through, holding jackets among their burdens, clearly not from the Los Angeles flight. As if watching would make Sarah appear faster. As she gazed down the corridor, their last phone call replayed in her head. Sarah had said that she never suspected Maggie could be so deceitful, organizing a backyard wedding while planning to subvert it. Maggie had replied that she would try every means of persuasion at her command. Sarah had responded, “Fair enough,” but she would make up her own mind about the groom’s suitability. Maggie had assumed that Sarah would agree with her. Now it occurred to her that there was a slim chance Sarah might not.
A cluster of travelers bunched in the exit way. Sarah stepped from behind them, a transformed Sarah, silvery-gray hair, ever-so-light makeup, navy blue outfit and matching flats, a tiny gold cross on a chain around her neck. Maggie embraced her, trying not to gape. Sarah took Maggie’s arm and swept her along the passage to baggage claim, saying she wasn’t tired and couldn’t wait to see Jenn. It had been too long. As they made their way, Maggie explained that Jenn was waiting for Arun at international arrivals in another terminal, and if Sarah didn’t mind, the four of them would drive to Pelham together. Sarah murmured assent.
Standing at the baggage carousel, Maggie had to ask, “What’s new? You look wonderful. Different.”
“The world moved on, and I reinvented myself, yet again.” She inclined her head in what Maggie took to be a gesture of noblesse oblige. “I was raking in money as a banking consultant, but I felt flat. I realized I didn’t really care about the banks who were my clients, but I cared about the people in them. I found myself helping them reconnect to their passions, to why they went to work in the first place. Most people want to do good as much as they want to do well.” The carousel lurched into motion, and Sarah began scanning it.
“And so?”
“It seems I have a talent for inspiring people to make the changes they need to make.” She grinned. “I’ve had enough practice myself. So I rewrote my business plan and became a coach. I love it. And I’m still making money, enough to cover the pro bono work I want to do. There’s my bag, the blue one with the red tag!” She hustled along the conveyer, excusing herself as she stepped in front of others, and retrieved her oversized roll-aboard. Turning back to Maggie, she said, “Let’s go meet those kids.”
They threaded their way through crowded corridors to the parking lot and deposited Sarah’s bag in the trunk. Sarah settled into the passenger seat. Maggie started the engine, wondering what Sarah’s change of heart would mean for her plan. Chagrined at her own selfishness, she said, “Tell me more about your new work.”
“I am so much happier,” Sarah said, clasping hands in front of her heart. “People let me see into their souls now, and I’ve come to realize how important the spirit is. It’s the only continuity. Everything else is flotsam and jetsam. I’ve rededicated myself to spirit.” She lowered hands into her lap, relaxed.
“What does that mean?” Maggie peered through the windshield, looking for directions to the next terminal.
“You know all that Sunday school stuff they fed us as kids? At the time I hated the hypocrisy, fat burghers saying live like Jesus. I rejected the message because I rejected the messenger. But I understand now. Jesus is spirit. So is the Buddha, and the Greek philosophers.” Sarah looked out the side window, then back at Maggie. “I realized I’d always been looking for something, and I finally found it in my backyard. Pretty ironic.” She paused. “I want to share the love of spirit with you. And Jenn too.”
“What do we have to do?”
“Oh, just listen with an open heart. You two are far more evolved than my clients. It won’t take long.” Sarah turned to face her. “Too
heavy for the airport, huh?”
“You read my mind.” Maggie concentrated on the traffic, bewildered by Sarah’s words but glad for her presence. She wondered what spiritual Sarah would make of Jenn’s intended and his metaphysical bent. She focused on meeting the next arrival.
Yet another Starbucks, outside customs at international arrivals, twenty minutes to go. Jenn had looked so happy to see Sarah. The two women had hugged tightly. Sarah insisted on buying three tall green teas and led them to a table in a quiet corner. They sat, exchanging “it’s-so-good-to-see-yous” and asking about each other’s happenings. Over the years they had stayed in contact electronically, but visits had been few. Maggie watched them resume the friendship that had proved so healing for Jenn a long time before, and for which she remained grateful.
Sipping her tea, Sarah pointed to Jenn’s blazer and long skirt. “Is this what the fashionable people in India wear?”
“This is what I wear to work in a suburban lawyer’s office. The earrings are Indian. Arun’s mother sent them to me for Christmas. They’re an heirloom.” She reached out to touch Sarah’s navy blue-clad arm. “I’m so glad you’re here early. You’ll have time to get to know Arun. You’ll like him, Aunt Sarah.”
Maggie felt a little twinge of what, envy? Jenn no longer confided in Maggie about Arun and her hopes for the marriage. When they discussed wedding logistics, Jenn remained polite and appreciative, but she stopped there. Maggie wanted to be the one Jenn turned to for happy things as well as practical. Perhaps inviting Sarah to speak for her had been a mistake. She hated feeling so volatile and messy.
Jenn said, “I haven’t seen Arun since the fall. You’ll forgive me if I fall all over him.”
“Lucky man,” Sarah said, riffling in her navy blue handbag. She withdrew a little turquoise gift box and placed it in front of Jenn. “I can’t wait. For the bride, something old and blue. From my former life.”
Inside the box: a ring, a sapphire surrounded by diamonds, a jewel Maggie remembered having seen on banker Sarah’s right hand opposite the wedding ring she wore for the three years of her marriage. With the divorce, both rings disappeared; Sarah said she liked symmetry.
“Thank you, Aunt Sarah. But it’s way too much. I might not get to wear it. Arun and I will lead humble lives in India.”
“Ah, you never know. Think of it as an heirloom, from me.”
Jenn leaned forward to peck Sarah’s cheek. Maggie’s gut twisted: one more thing to undo if there were to be no wedding. Then, realizing Jenn could keep Sarah’s ring whatever happened, she drew taller in her chair. She decided to join the party.
“Now you have three heirlooms. Remember Mr. Greenberg’s dreidel?”
Jenn said to Sarah, “Mom’s old boss in Michigan. He used to play with me. Mom has terrific friends.”
Sarah said, “Thanks, kiddo. Tell me, will you live full time in India? What will you do?”
“Right now our work is there, but we could work here too, after we get established. I plan to come back regularly once we have children. To see family and maybe for school. Our kids will go to college here for sure.”
Sarah put her hand on Jenn’s. “Honey, I meant next year. I try not to predict more than eighteen months ahead. Life is full of surprises. Things change.”
Jenn withdrew her hand. “I’m dedicated to Arun. That won’t change.”
“Of course not. But when you eat ice cream, sometimes you like chocolate and sometimes you like vanilla.”
Maggie said, “Nuts.” They stared at her. “Pistachio, maple walnut, and butter pecan.”
Jenn laughed. “You always get blackberry, Mom.”
“Only on vacation near a body of water. It’s nuts for me otherwise.”
Sarah gave her the high sign; Maggie took heart.
The arrivals monitor flashed its changes: Arun’s flight had landed and passengers were in the terminal collecting baggage. They rose, dumped their cups in the recycle bin, and moved closer to the customs exit doors. Jenn paced back and forth. Sarah mugged surprise at Maggie; she leaned toward her, whispering that she’d never seen Jenn so physically agitated before. Maggie whispered back that a lot was new. They composed themselves for the wait.
People began straggling through the doors. More travelers emerged, scanning for familiar faces or their names on placards, blinking fatigue from their eyes. “There he is!” Jenn said. She ran to him. Arun lowered his bag to the floor and hugged her. He took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. He looked shorter than Maggie remembered, and tired: stooped shoulders, deep shadows beneath his eyes, almost black in his complexion, and the beginning of a beard. He put Jenn’s arm in the crook of his left elbow and they approached. He offered a handshake.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Adler. I must apologize for my appearance; it’s been a long journey.” He turned to Sarah. “You must be Aunt Sarah. Jenn has told me how much you mean to her. I look forward to our acquaintance.”
Switching into efficiency mode, Maggie herded them toward the parking garage. As they wound their way, Arun chatted with Sarah about her journey and his. Jenn appeared content to hang on his arm without a word, causing Maggie’s gut to tighten and head to ache. She hoped they’d reach Pelham before the headache worsened.
Maggie stood beside the lilac bush, fingering the tightly curled blossoms. In the last little while she had taken solace in the garden, planting and pruning and preparing for the ceremony. This noon it looked lovely, phlox in full bloom, the beds tidy and bushes trimmed. She bent to examine the newest flowers; April’s weather had held, and they were budding just in time. Nature appeared to be favoring a wedding. She straightened, wrapping her sweater closer. Still not warm enough to spend the whole afternoon outdoors, but there was a good chance it would be by May 20. All the trappings for the wedding were in place; she feared it was inevitable.
In the cool, green quiet, her thoughts reverberated around the events of the morning. Arun had looked hearty after a night’s rest, so solicitous of Jenn going off to work, and of herself too. Paul, dammit, barely greeted him; why the huge hurry to go to the lab? Couldn’t it have waited an hour? And Sarah had turned her nose up at Paul’s escape—more of their old animosity, like two alpha dogs growling at each other and pissing on top. The new, spiritual Sarah, the latest new Sarah, was still Sarah underneath. When Sarah had been an environmentalist, then a radical capitalist, and then a corporate wife, Maggie hadn’t identified with her preoccupations. It was the force of her commitment that had won Maggie’s respect. Maggie loved her powerful, vital Sarah in spite of ideology, not because of it.
Expecting Sarah and Arun back for lunch—they had left the house together to walk off their jet lag—Maggie reentered the warm, yellow kitchen. She planned to serve eggs, a hearty salad, and that good rye bread from De-Cicco’s market, a feminine meal, but it would have to do. Jenn had said not to fuss about food, but Maggie felt she should accommodate the vegetarian. God knows she didn’t want him as a son-in-law, but as a houseguest he had privileges. And Jenn would approve of her consideration. As she removed her sweater, she heard voices in the front hall. Sarah glided into the kitchen and sat on the banquette in the breakfast nook. She looked peeved.
“Do you have any green tea? I meant to bring some, but I ran out of time.”
Maggie stepped into the pantry and returned with a basket containing an odd assortment of accumulated teas. Sarah examined the boxes as Maggie put the kettle on.
“How was the walk?”
“We got to a crossroads past the railroad and then we turned back. He went upstairs for something. He said he’s still a little tired. I feel fine, physically.” Sarah opened a packet and sniffed it.
“How are you mentally?”
Sarah lowered the tea bag. “I’m distressed. I don’t want to make snap judgments, but I don’t like what I see.”
“What happened?” Maggie brought a mug to the table. She sat, listening intently.
“I couldn’t get him to
engage, and I’m very good at getting people to engage, unless they’re putting up barriers. I asked him about Hindu religion. He said he doesn’t belong to a church and he doesn’t believe in clerics. Okay. But he didn’t say what he does believe in. He turned my questions aside like a pro. Why do such a thing if you truly love Jennifer? Wouldn’t you engage with her family?”
“Maybe it’s jet lag.”
Sarah shook her head no. “He’s shifty. I can’t connect with his spirit.”
“What did he say?”
“I’ll give you an example. I asked him if Jenn had been comfortable in India last year, and he said she had been learning his philosophy. That is not an answer.”
“But it’s accurate, according to Jenn.”
“Not acceptable. He should have showed more heart.”
Maggie had judged Arun to be relatively forthright, if inappropriate for her daughter. In a flash, she remembered Sarah’s initial, suspicious reaction to Paul. Did Arun somehow remind her of Paul or was she wary of all male interlopers? “Give it time. He comes from a culture where formalities count.”
“Of course. But I am issuing an alert. You did well to bring me in.” She leaned back, sentence pronounced.
The kettle began to burble at the same time Maggie’s phone chirped receipt of a text. She picked up the phone: Brian wanted to see her. She texted, “not now I’ve got company” and turned off the gas under the now shrieking kettle. Brian would not be placated by a text message; she owed him an explanation for staying away since that unfortunate dinner. She would arrange a meeting. Send Sarah and Arun off together again on the pretext that they needed to get to know one another. She took the kettle to the table and poured water for Sarah’s tea.
Sarah said. “He’s changed her. She used to chatter, peppered with ‘likes.’ Now she’s quiet and uses proper English.”
“I asked her about ‘like.’ She said she realized it wasn’t necessary.”
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