Deceptions (29 page)

He dialed Stephanie again. Busy. Probably everyone calling to see how she was. He looked through the conference schedule. There was no problem with his going to California. In two weeks Stephanie would be able to manage easily without him. But still, he shouldn't be gone for a week - not with everything between them so precarious. He picked up the phone and tried again to call her. Still busy. For the first time he thought something could be wrong. He looked at his watch. Plenty of time to go home and get back for his one-thirty class.

He found Stephanie in the breakfast room, talking on the telephone. 'I'll call if I need you,' she was saying, 'and you should call anytime you want. I think we've covered the important things—'

Her body became very still. Garth thought of the squirrels in their bacl^rard who froze, alert and ready to flee, when they sensed movement nearby. He came up and put his hand on her shoulder, feeling the muscles tense beneath his fingers. 'When you're through,' he said casually. 'I was worried when I couldn't reach you on the phone.'

'—and if anything else comes up, we'll talk about it,' she said, finishing her sentence as if there had been no break in its smooth flow. Take care of yourself and don't worry about me; I'll manage.' She hungup and slowly turned around. Her eyes were shadowed. 'I'm sorry; I didn't think you'd try to call.'

'It didn't occur to you that I might be concerned?' He paused. 'Never mind. Who were you talking to?'

'My sister.'

'All morning? Did she invite you to London to recuperate?'

•No, she—'

'Then no doubt she is sending over her maid to do the housework.*

'No, Dolores is doing that.'

'What?'

'Dolores is sending Juanita, her maid, for a couple of days this week. All paid for. Why are you angiy at Sabrina?'

'I'm not angry. 1 shouldn't have said anything; of course you'd want to talk to her after your accident. Did it make you feel better? Do you feel better?'

'Yes, I do. Are you playing hookey from your classes?'

'Dignified professors never play hookey. They are called away on urgent matters - a golf game, a dentist appointment, a love affair. Or a wife who might need help. Is Dolores really sending you her maid? I wish I'd thought of it.'

'You don't have a maid to send.'

'I could have kidnapped Juanita and brought her to you wrapped in a red ribbon. When is she coming^*

Tomorrow.'

'Then how can I help you today? Grocery shopping?'

She laughed and opened the refrigerator. 'Look.' It was crammed with food. 'From Dolores and Linda and a parade of good Samaritans. Even Ted Morrow's wife. How does news get around so fast?'

'Small town.' He searched the refrigerator, sniffing under lids and pulling out packages. 'Salmon salad, cheddar cheese, olives. Did anyone bring bread? Yes. And we have butter. Why don't you sit down and let me serve you? And then you should rest; you look pale.'

'I might do that.'

Garth filled a platter and put dishes and silver on the table. 'What important things did you and your sister cover?'

Absently rubbing the cast on her arm, Sabrina watched his hands as he filled their plates. 'Some ... problems. About Ambassadors. It seems fake porcelains are being sold to small galleries. We talked about checking for authenticity - that sort of thing.'

'It sounds like she bought one and discovered it was a fake after she'd sold it to a customer.'

She gave him a swaft glance. Tes. If she asked your advice, what would you suggest she do?*

Tell the customer the truth and buy it back as soon as she can. The longer she waits, the harder it will be to convince anyone, if the real story comes out, that she really meant to do the right thing.*

She bit her lip. 'Of course. The salmon is good, isn't it? Is there more?'

That was twice. Garth thought, that she'd changed the subject from her sister. Usually she related every detail of the glamorous London life that was a kind of endless fairy tale in her imagination. But now, instead of London, she was ulking about the women who had come to the house all morning, bearing food.

*—and Vivian hadn't been here for ten minutes when Dolores turned into a pelican, quite haughty, with her neck growing longer every second. Vivian was completely bewildered, and she hadn't done anything, of course, except talk about people Dolores doesn't know. As soon as she left, Dolores unbent and became her other self, managerial but affectionate. Amazing how she puts up barriers when she*s uncomfortable with someone.'

'And who else was here?'

'Linda, with some kind of Italian casserole all round and rosy and bubbling. They looked so much alike I couldn't tell them apart, but Unda bubbled with gossip, not tomatoes, so I knew which one to talk to—'

Garth was chuckling as he cleared the table. Dolores as a haughty pelican and Linda as one of her casseroles. He couldn't remember Stephanie ever being so sharp, observing their friends in fresh ways, witty but not cruel. And she looked different this morning -more vivid and excited. More beautiful. But then, how often had she accused him in the past of not really looking at her? What strangers they had become.

But it occurred to him that she was putting on some kind of performance, to entertain him, distract him from something. The phone call with her sister? Something else she

didn't want him to know? New ideas about herself, her marriage, that made her tense, worried, perhaps frightened, unpredictable. 'A few more days,' she said after their dinner at the Goldners'. But then she'd had the accident. Well, he could wait until she was ready to talk to him, and, meanwhile, she was trying to change their routine - a glass of wine together before dinner, showing interest in Vivian and the university, even cooking steak a new way.

He bent down to kiss her forehead. 'Take a nap. You'll need all your strength for dinner tonight; Penny and Cliff insist on cooking it.'

She looked alarmed. 'Can't they heat up Linda's casserole?'

'I'll recommend it. Call me if you need anything.'

'When will you be home?'

'As soon as I can. I hope by four or four-thirty.'

All through that afternoon and the next two days of meetings with graduate students, organizing his campus schedule and helping out at home. Garth thought about his wife. He had not thought about her this much in years - but then she had not puzzled him this much in years. He found himself hurrying home eagerly at the end of the day to be with her, and then he could not stop watching her. She would turn around and catch his steady gaze, and he would ask, quickly, how she was feeling.

'I'm much better,' she said with some impatience as they sat at dinner on Wednesday night. 'I shouldn't get so much attention. This is an excellent pot roast. Which of our benefactors made it?'

'Vivian brought it to the office this afternoon. She said she talked to you today.'

'Yes, we made a lunch date for next week. And she brought me the new issue of Newsweek. Why didn't you tell us you're in it?'

'A few paragraphs in a long article.'

'Dad's in NewsweeJL?' Cliff shouted. 'Where is it?' He bolted from his chair.

'The living room,' Sabrina called after him. 'Even a few paragraphs,' she said to Garth. 'They're part of something so important. And incredible.'

He looked at her curiously. 'You read the whole article?'

'Well, of course. You were in it, even your picture. But I would have read it anyway; it's a fantastic story.'

Cliff came back with the magazine folded to a page with photographs of three genetic engineering researchers: a blond woman at Harvard, a gray-haired professor from England and Garth in shirtsleeves in his laboratory. 'So stem,' Sabrina said, looking over Cliff's shoulder. 'As if you're about to flunk the whole university.'

Penny and Cliff giggled. 'What's it about. Dad?* Cliff asked.

'Read it. It's not too complicated.'

'Okay; but what's it about?'

As Garth took the magazine from Cliff and leafed through the article, Sabrina studied his face. Once, a long time ago, she had thought him stuffy and dull. Now, suddenly, he fascinated her. When she read the article that described him as one of the leading scientists in the field of genetic research, when she thought of him in the center of miraculous discoveries, he seemed to her like a being fit)m another planet, mysterious and powerful, who knew things and did things she had never dreamed of. We're complete strangers, she thought. And without knowing why, she felt it was terribly important that she understand him.

'Yes, tell us,' she said. 'It isn't so simple. It's like a mystery with a new clue every time you turn the page.'

'Well put.' He smiled at her and she smiled back. 'It'sbeen a long time since you felt that way.* Her smile faded, but Garth did not notice; he was pouring coffee. He looked up at his family and began to talk about his work.

When Garth had begun teaching, scientists had known little more than the structure of DN A and how it worked. But in the 1960s there was an explosion of knowledge in genetics and he found himself in the center of it. His calm manner and careful work, combined with daring leaps in his published papers, led to the invitation to participate in the month-long international seminar in Berkeley the August before Stephanie's trip to China. With that, he joined the ranks of the world's leading geneticists.

By now they were learning how to cut apart the DNA

molecule, ten-thousandths of an inch long, and replace a missing or damaged part by splicing in a healthy part from another DNA molecule. Gene splicing, genetic engineering, recombinant DNA - the phrases were dry and dull, but as he described them Garth's voice lifted, ringing with excitement at the marvels behind them.

And his family listened, absolutely still, absorbed in his words. As he looked at them sitting around the table, the blood coursed through Garth's veins; he felt alive and powerful and hugely happy. A man needed to talk about his work, to share it with his family. If he couldn't, no matter how important it might be to the rest of the world, it became somehow insignificant - a part of his life that filled hours of every day but still could not attract the interest of the most important people in his life.

Garth put his hand over his wife's and smiled at her, grateful because she had done this for him. And then he went on to tell them what was happening in laboratories all over the world, the subjects of the conferences he attended and the seminars he taught.

First there was research into genetic disease. In hemophilia, for example, the instructions for making blood-clotting chemicals are absent or not complete in the DNA. Scientists would isolate one cell with the damaged DNA and one from a healthy person, remove the part fi^om the healthy DNA that carried the instructions for clotting and fiise it to the damaged DNA. Then they would put the repaired cell into a culture to reproduce until there were enough cells to inject into the hemophiliac, where they would continue to reproduce. And that person would no longer be in danger of bleeding to death with every cut.

At the same time, they were learning to make vaccines against disease. They would remove fi-om a cell certain genes whose function was to make antibodies against a particular disease and splice those genes into bacteria. In a culture, this new strain of bacteria would multiply by the billions, becoming a factory for the production of those antibodies. And the antibodies could then be used to make a vaccine against that particular disease. For example: interferon, ready for testing to fight viral infections and cancer.

Or they would splice genes that control hormone-making into bacteria. And when the bacteria multiplied and the hormones were removed, they were used to fight disease. For example: insulin, being produced for use against diabetes.

Sabrina looked puzzled. 'I haven't read that hemophilia and diabetes have been cured.'

'They haven't. What I've told you is what we will be able to do soon, when we answer the questions still remaining.'

Sabrina looked at Garth's eyes» burning, intense, far-seeing, and heard in his voice the lure of limitless horizons. 'Not easy to come home,' she said lightly, 'and cut the grass or change a broken faucet, after you've been cutting DNA and changing forms of life.'

He gave her a long look. 'Thankyou.' His voice was husky. 'That means more to me than anything you might have said.' He paused and looked around the table. 'But I note with astonishment that the dishes have not been washed.'

'We were listening to you,' Cliff said indignantly. 'Do we still have to clean up?'

'Have you created a new bacteria to do it?'

'You know I haven't.*

'Then I regret to say that leaves only you and Penny. Go on, now, both of you. It's late.'

It's late, he thought, leaning back with a sigh of pleasure. When did we last sit around the table, talking, being a family? I can't remember. But how hard have I tried lately to make it happen? He smiled at his wife. She had made it happen. 'All clear to you now?'

'I want to read more about it. It seems a little scaiy.'

'Awesome is more like it. The wonder of it, the leaps forward, the hope for people who never had hope before... But, at the moment, the best part for me is that you read the article and got us talking, shared my work for once, so ycu could understand why I get caught up in it and sometimes forget my family. Though right now I find it impossible to believe I could ever forget you.'

He went to her chair. Standing behind it, he put his hands on her shoulders and slid them down to enclose her breasts. Leaning down, he moved his lips along her hair, brushing it back fix)m her ear. 'I think—'

*No,' she said tightly, and broke out of the circle of his arms to stand a little distance away.

She was very pale, her eyes averted, her face closed and frozen. 'Not now, not yet, at least not—'

Garth was stunned, and furious. He had been teased, then slapped down and dismissed. His wife indulging her whims. He strode to the door to get out, to get away from her, but her voice caught him.

'I'm sorry. I am sorry.' The words trembled, but she would not look at him. 'It hurts when I move ... my bruises ... I thought you knew how much it hurts me—*

'Bullshit.' He stood in the archway to the living room. 'Dolores isn't the only one who puts up barriers, is she, when the situation gets uncomfortable? She could take lessons from you.' His voice cut like steel. 'You needn't worry; I won't trouble you again. Force doesn't amuse me. Or arouse me. I'll take care that you don't, either.'

He slammed the front door and walked to the lake, breathing hard, damning his wife, and himself for allowing her to fool him. What the hell did she want from him? If she didn't want him at all, why didn't she just say so?

He walked for miles, coming home late to a sleeping house with lights burning in the living room and kitchen. Someone had put a plate of cookies for him on the counter. He left it untouched and went to the study, worn out from his seething anger. He slept on the couch without bothering to open it into a bed.

The anger was still deep and harsh when he woke the next morning, early, before anyone was up. He left without breakfast and went to the cafeteria in the student union for coffee.