Double Helix Page 3

  How had he thought we were going to pay for the expensive colleges he urged me to apply to? “Don’t worry about it; we’ll figure it out later,” was not an answer.

  I still didn’t understand why he’d concealed our true financial circumstances from me. What was the point of concealment? He’d only have to tell me eventually, right? When would he have done that? After I was accepted at MIT or Stanford or Harvard? When I handed him the bill? Wouldn’t that have been worse than telling me early enough so that I could try for scholarships, pick cheaper schools?

  No, I didn’t understand, but we weren’t going to fight that pointless battle again. I had changed the game—I now had the power and the control to do that.

  “I got a job today,” I said.

  I saw his whole body jerk. He turned. His pale blue eyes fixed on my face. “What?”

  “I got a job,” I repeated. “I’m going to be a lab assistant. They’re paying eighteen dollars an hour. I’ll be giving you a lot of money toward the rent and food every month as soon as I get my first paycheck.”

  He was shaking his head in bewilderment, several steps behind me. “What? No! Wait, I—just where is this job, anyway?”

  “Does it matter?” I asked. “Some company. What matters is that I mean it about the money. Don’t try to tell me you don’t need it. I want to contribute and I’m going to, and I’m going to do it my way. Oh, and—” A flashing image of Judith Ryan, in cobra posture, came to me, and I banished it. “—you can take me off your health insurance, the new job will cover it.”

  My father marched past me into the kitchen. I turned and watched his robotlike movements as he poured water into the coffee machine’s reservoir, then spooned coffee into the filter.

  “The college issue was already settled for next year,” I said, after a few seconds. “You knew that.”

  He didn’t look at me. “You could still take classes. Earn some credits to transfer later on.” He pressed the Start button on the coffee machine. The machine hissed. A thin stream of coffee began to run down into the pot, and my father watched it with great attention.

  I watched him.

  “You’re not being rational,” I said to his profile. “I’ll find a cheap way to do college in a year. I could have done that for next year if I’d known in time.”

  If he’d told me. If he’d been honest with me. Given me facts and figures and tax returns to send to colleges.

  “We both know your mother wouldn’t want—” he began.

  And just like that, between one moment and the next, I lost control completely. “For all practical purposes, my mother is insane!” I yelled. “And who knows, maybe I—”

  “Don’t say it!” My father was yelling, too, all at once. “Stop saying that! You’re fine!”

  I did stop, mid-sentence. We both listened to the remembered sound of our screamed words in the little kitchen.

  My father jerked the coffeepot out of the machine. A few stray drops of liquid dripped down onto the machine’s warming plate and sizzled while my father tried to pour himself a cup. His hands were unsteady.

  I reached for a single word, Sorry, and forced it out.

  He nodded. The coffeepot shook visibly in his hand.

  I walked to my bedroom and closed the door.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed. I reached for my cell phone and held it in my hands.

  A job? Eighteen dollars an hour? That’s great! Tell me all about it, son. Tell me everything.

  But it was okay. In a way, it was perfect, because I hadn’t wanted to tell him where I’d be working. In fact, maybe I’d even provoked that little scene, guiding the conversation onto the rocks of anger, so I wouldn’t have to tell him where, yet.

  Maybe.

  I could tell Viv, though. I would call her—surely she was home by now—and see if she wanted me to come over. She would, I knew. I could even stay there tonight.

  And with her, I could pretend everything and everyone was normal.

  CHAPTER 5

  “VIV?” I KISSED THE top of her head and tightened my arms around her in silent apology for not letting her sleep. I’d told her all about the new job and she’d been as happy and excited as I’d expected. But now my mind was racing off in all sorts of odd directions instead of settling down.

  She stirred, pressing back warmly. “Hmm?”

  “I’m just wondering . . . I know it’s been years since your father left, and you’re used to it, but, well . . . you never talk much about him. Do you hate him?”

  Viv didn’t reply for so long that I wondered if she had fallen back to sleep, but then she moved forward, slightly away from me. “That’s quite a question to ask at—” I felt her reach out to grab the little clock from her nightstand. “—12:03 in the morning. On a school night.”

  She shifted in bed to face me, and although there was no light, I imagined she could see my expression. The thought alarmed me. “Hey, I like holding you,” I said, trying to maneuver her back into the spooning position.

  But she wouldn’t go. She propped herself up on one elbow and put the other hand against my chest. Her touch was gentle, but I knew that there was no chance this would be idle, intimate chat-before-sleep. Viv was in Serious Discussion Mode.

  I tried to stop it. “We can talk about it another time. Or even not at all. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Oh, no intrusion. I guess it’s true I’ve never talked about my father with you. I’m not sure why not.” Even in the dark, I could still feel her staring as if she could see my face. “My father,” she said, and then stopped.

  I could actually feel the tightness spreading through her entire body. After a few moments, she made a noise as if she were trying to speak; and then her long hair brushed against my shoulders and chest as she moved her head from side to side. I reached with one hand to smooth her hair behind her.

  I heard her draw a deep breath.

  “Forget that!” she exclaimed. “You never talk about either of your parents! Never, Eli. Never!”

  There was silence between us. I was in shock. I hadn’t intended—

  “Okay,” I said rapidly. “Okay. I’m sorry. I get it. We have a deal, then. Forget it. You don’t talk about your father, and I don’t talk about my parents.”

  “No!” Viv said. More words came rushing out of her. “I don’t have secrets from you, I’m happy to talk about my father sometime. But you . . .” She paused.

  “What?” I noticed that I had somehow drawn away from her. There were inches more between us and the only point of contact was her hand.

  “Eli, look. I didn’t—I don’t—want to pry. And I never meant to have this discussion now. But it was coming. You have to have known it was coming.”

  Uh, no. I had not.

  “I’d never try to force you to talk about stuff you didn’t want to talk about. But—but this has hurt me, okay? It’s hurt me that you shut me out.”

  I didn’t understand. How did my not talking about my parents hurt her in any way? But an apology was always a good thing to offer. “I’m sorry, Viv.”

  She kept right on talking. “It hurts me that you’ve never introduced me to your parents as your girlfriend—or even as your friend. You’ve never had me come over—and we’ve been going out for over a year. I’ve wondered if you were ashamed of me somehow. I mean, I know there are prettier girls than me . . . thinner girls—” She stopped abruptly.

  I was filled with horror. “Viv.” I couldn’t think what to say. “No . . .”

  “No?” she asked, and all the vulnerability in the world was in that one word.

  I managed to reach out and pull her into me, and thankfully she came, and I held her tightly, her whole body against mine, skin to skin, warm. I stuttered. I said, “You have to know . . . Viv, you couldn’t be more wrong . . .”

  She was holding me tightly, too, now. Was she crying? I - didn’t know what to do. I held her.

  Where had this come from? Could I fix it? Without—dear God, V
iv couldn’t meet my parents. Or even my father. It was simply not possible; the potential complications were too—complicated. There would be no way to ensure she wouldn’t learn too much. Wouldn’t be scared. Bottom line: I didn’t want her to be part of all that. I didn’t want her in that sad, frightening, depressing part of my life. I needed her in her nice separate compartment. I needed her to be an oasis. A safe, calm place for me.

  I said to her, “I love you. There’s nobody prettier. Nobody sexier. Plus, I hate really thin girls!” I cupped her hips. I thought for a second about groping for a condom packet and waving it above her nose in an attempt to make her laugh. But maybe she’d think I wasn’t taking her seriously. “Come on. I’m telling you the truth. You’re the one.”

  Finally I heard a muffled sort of agreeing noise. Slowly, she stopped shaking, and so did I. And then she gave a half-choke, half-laugh and lifted her head. I thought again about that condom—

  “Actually,” Viv said, “you know something? If we hadn’t been going to school together all these years, if I didn’t remember meeting your parents back in grammar and middle school, I’d think you didn’t have any parents at all.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I do have them. Believe me.”

  “I know. It’s just—I’ve had crazy thoughts, Eli, sometimes. That maybe they died, or they ran away. No one at school has seen them in years—they haven’t come to parents’ nights or college night or anything. I’ve wondered if maybe you’re living all alone and you don’t dare tell even me.”

  None of this was phrased as a question, but there was one there, nonetheless, and I wasn’t going to be fool enough to ignore it. Or to try to divert her with sex.

  “My parents are alive,” I said carefully. “Both of them. I’m not living alone.”

  Viv rested her forehead on my chest again and her arms tightened. She whispered, “I love you so much. But this stuff . . .”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” I said.

  “I know. But at least you understand now. I’ve been trying and trying to think of a way to tell you how I was feeling. I’m so glad I finally had the courage.”

  She was, too. I could tell. She thought everything would be okay now.

  “Viv . . .” I said awkwardly. “I don’t know if—we’ll have to talk about this again, okay? Some other time? My parents—it’s complicated. I don’t know if you can meet them, and it’s not anything to do with you.”

  She moved her head so that her cheek brushed my skin - gently. “I figured it must be complicated. But what I’m asking—what I’m really asking for here is for you to trust me. Do you see that?”

  I saw.

  “I love you, Eli,” she said earnestly. “And I believe you love me, but I need you to trust me. Even—especially—with the tough stuff. We have to have a relationship that’s honest and open. There should be nothing we can’t talk about.”

  I kissed her. What else could I do? “I love you very much, Viv Fadiman,” I said. And, for now anyway, it satisfied her. In a little while, she actually slept.

  I didn’t.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW,” I said politely to my father on the morning of graduation. I was aware that I sounded a little tense. “They’re making us line up and rehearse marching a couple times before everybody gets there. I’ll find you after the diplomas are handed out, okay?”

  “All right,” said my father, who was seated at the kitchen table. He looked at me over his bowl of cold cereal and I pretended to check something in my backpack. Cap. Gown. Disposable camera. Present for Viv.

  Maybe I wouldn’t find him afterward, I thought. Maybe instead I’d find somewhere to hide alone for a while. That might be the answer to the looming problem of Viv’s expectations. If after half an hour he couldn’t find me in the crowd, my father would probably walk home by himself from the ceremony. He might not even be surprised at my disappearance, with the way things had been between us.

  I was vaguely aware that if I’d been somebody else, I might have been worried about delivering the five-minute speech I was supposed to give today. Viv was extremely nervous about her speech. But I wasn’t. The speech was in my pocket. I’d read it. No big deal.

  I was worried about afterward. Viv expected to meet my parents today. I hadn’t had the guts to tell her that my mother wouldn’t be coming or that I simply didn’t want her to meet my father. Even though I could almost imagine performing a quick, formal introduction between them, I knew Viv wanted something else entirely. She wanted to have a real conversation, and if she got within three feet of my father, she would do her warm, friendly, intelligent best to make that happen. He’d respond, too, and then—and then, she would say something like, I was looking for ward to meeting Eli’s mother, too. Where is she?

  My father was now raising an eyebrow at my shorts and T-shirt and sneakers.

  “I’ll be in the cap and gown anyway,” I said. “No one will see these. And it’s hot out.”

  Unexpectedly, he nodded. “I wore a tie-dyed shirt at my college graduation.”

  “Oh,” I said. It was hard to remember that my father had once been a radical student type. But there were pictures of him and my mother to prove it. Somewhere.

  My mind was really still on Viv. Maybe, if I was careful, this introduction could be done quickly and be over with. I said, casually, laying the groundwork: “There’ll be kids dressed up and down, both. The valedictorian—that’s Viv Fadiman—is dressing up. I’ll probably introduce you to her later. She’s a good friend of mine.”

  My father nodded absently. Then he frowned, and I had the sudden idea that he was trying to say something, but wasn’t sure how to do it. He said finally, “Are you nervous about your speech?”

  I felt a pang of guilt. To call my speech dull was to understate the case. It was a masterpiece of banality; I’d modeled it on a half-dozen of the dullest graduation speeches that I’d been able to find on the Internet. It had actually been pure cynical fun to write. And, of course, I was also making certain that if anybody did happen to talk about speeches afterward, it would be Viv’s they praised. Until this moment, I hadn’t thought much about how my father might feel as he listened to one unmemorable cliché after another.

  “Uh,” I said. “No. I’m not nervous.”

  “Really?”

  “No. Viv Fadiman—the valedictorian, I just mentioned her—she’s making the long speech. Mine is just a few minutes. No big deal.”

  “To me it is,” said my father quietly. He looked me right in the face, and I realized then that this was what he’d been trying to say. That he—that despite all the anger between us lately—

  And suddenly I felt like an experimental rat in a lab cage, with sharp objects jabbing at me from all sides. It was the emotional analogue to the way I’d felt yesterday, poked and prodded, tissue- and blood-sampled, lung-capacity and heart-rate measured, for nearly three hours in the medical exam that all new Wyatt Transgenics employees apparently had to undergo.

  “Bye,” I said abruptly. “See you later.”

  “See you later,” said my father.

  I ran, even though I wasn’t eager to face Viv’s expectations, either. But the day lay before me, and it had to be lived through. At least, I thought, I fully understood the situation. The afternoon would be like kayaking through white water. Terrible things might happen, sure, but you had studied the river’s hazards, you trusted your instincts and your equipment, and you had survived tricky situations before.

  In fact, as it actually said in my boring speech: Be not troubled: for all things must pass. Matthew, 24:6.

  That was what I was thinking right up to the moment I stood behind the podium to deliver the speech. That was when I glanced casually out into the audience toward the eighth row of spectators, where I had seen my father sitting earlier—and found him standing. Standing, and staring, with incredulous fury pulsing off him—a fury that I could feel all the way from where I was.

  I followed his ey
es—

  —to Dr. Quincy Wyatt, who was at that very moment using his cane to ease himself into an empty seat near the end of the second row.

  Dr. Wyatt was oblivious to my father. But he seemed to feel my gaze. He looked right at me, caught my eye, and waved cheerfully. And I felt—rather than saw—my father witness this.

  I hadn’t told my father exactly where I was going to be working in my new job; so far, I’d avoided it as determinedly as I had avoided telling Viv too much about my parents. But I had told him enough. Lab assistant, I had said. And now, the omission spoke its own tale. I could see my father’s comprehension . . . and his anger.

  At some point after that—it probably wasn’t any longer than twenty or thirty seconds—I became aware that people were waiting, were restive. I looked down at the printed pages of my speech. I opened my mouth and began reading. When I was done, I looked out at the audience for a few seconds, at my father, at Dr. Wyatt.

  Then I sat down again, and Viv was squeezing my hand and whispering: “It was fine, Eli, really. You were just a little more nervous at the beginning than you’d expected.”

  I managed to squeeze her hand back and to clap loudly as she was called to the podium herself.

  Be not troubled: for all things must pass.

  Later on, much later, it occurred to me to check the context of that quote from Matthew. And then I had to laugh—if bitterly—because it didn’t mean what I’d thought it did. Not for a second had it belonged in an ordinary graduation speech about good times past and ahead. Nor was it comforting.

  See that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows.