'-and nauseous.' She finger-waved and walked away. 'Bye now.'
I followed her. 'Stains,' I said. 'You have to be a little touched.'
'Sadly, I kind of am,' she said.
Forget what I said before about motherhood smothering her spirit. Esperanza was still the best.
We moved past Mr. Waaaay Too Much Information and toward Coach Bobby. I heard the Asian man ask what the difference was between a plasma TV and an LCD TV. Coach Bobby puffed out his chest and gave the pros and cons, none of which I understood. The man then asked about the DLP televisions. Coach Bobby liked DLPs. He started explaining why.
I waited.
Esperanza gestured with her head toward Coach Bobby. 'Sounds like he deserved what he got.'
'No,' I said. 'You don't fight people to teach them a lesson-you fight for survival or self-protection only.'
Esperanza made a face.
'What?'
'Win is right. You can be such a little girl sometimes.'
Coach Bobby smiled at the Asian couple and said, 'Take your time, I'll be right back and we can discuss free delivery.'
He came over to me and held my gaze. 'What do you want?'
'To say I'm sorry.'
Coach Bobby didn't move. Three seconds of silence. Then: 'There, you said it.'
He spun around and headed back over to his customers.
Esperanza slapped me on the back. 'Boy, that was cleansing.'
DR. Freida Schneider was short and stocky with a big trusting smile. She was an Orthodox Jew, complete with modest dress and beret. I met her in the cafeteria at Terence Cardinal Cooke Health Care Center on Fifth Avenue by 103rd Street. Esperanza was out front making some calls. Dr. Schneider asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I declined. She ordered a complicated sandwich. We sat down. She said a prayer to herself and began to devour said sandwich as though it had called her a bad name.
'I only have ten minutes,' she said by way of explanation.
'I thought it was fifteen.'
'I changed my mind. Thanks for the donation.'
'I need to ask you some questions about Sam Collins.'
Schneider swallowed the bite. 'So your colleague said. You know all about patient-client confidentiality, right? So I can skip that speech?'
'Please.'
'He's dead, so maybe you should tell me your interest in him.'
'I understand he committed suicide.'
'You don't need me to tell you that.'
'Is that common in patients with Huntington 's?'
'Do you know what Huntington's disease is?'
'I know it's genetic.'
'It's an inherited genetic neurological disorder.' She said this between bites. 'The disease does not kill you directly, but as the disorder progresses, it leads to a great deal of life-ending complications like pneumonia and heart failure and you-don't-want-to-know. HD messes with the physical, the psychological, the cognitive. It is not a pretty disorder. So, yes, suicide is not uncommon. Some studies show that one in four give it a try with about seven percent being successful, ironic as the term 'successful' is when discussing suicide.'
'And that was the case with Sam Collins?'
'He had depression before being diagnosed. It's hard to say what came first. HD usually begins with a physical disorder, but there are plenty of times it starts with the psychiatric or cognitive. So his depression could have actually been the first signs of HD misdiagnosed. Doesn't really matter. Either way he is dead due to HD-suicide is just another life-ending complication.'
'I understand that Huntington 's has to be inherited.'
'Yes.'
'And that if one of the parents has it, the child has a fifty-fifty chance.'
'To keep it simple, I will say, yes, that's accurate.'
'And if the parent doesn't have it, the offspring won't either. That's it. The family line is clean.'
'Go on.'
'So that means one of Sam Collins's parents had it.'
'That's correct. His mother lived to be in her eighties with no signs of Huntington 's, so it probably came from his father, who died young and thus never had a chance to display any symptoms.'
I leaned closer. 'Did you test Sam Collins's children?'
'That's not really your concern.'
'I'm speaking specifically of Rick Collins. Who is also dead. Murdered, in fact.'
'At the hands of a terrorist, according to the news reports.'
'Yes.'
'Yet you think his father's diagnosis with Huntington's disease has something to do with his murder?'
'I do.'
Freida Schneider took another bite and shook her head.
'Rick Collins has a son,' I said.
'I'm aware of that.'
'And he may have a daughter.'
That stopped her mid-bite. 'Excuse me?'
I wasn't sure how to play this. 'Rick Collins may not have known she was alive.'
'You want to elaborate?'
'Not really,' I said. 'We only have ten minutes.'
'True.'
'So?'
She sighed. 'Rick Collins was tested, yes.'
'And?'
'The blood test shows the number of CAG repeats in each of the HTT alleles.'
I just looked at her.
'Right, never mind. In short, the results sadly were positive. We don't consider the blood test a diagnosis because it could be years, decades even, before the onset of symptoms. But Rick Collins was already exhibiting chorea-basically, jerky movements you can't really control. He asked us to keep it confidential. We of course agreed.'
I thought about that. Rick had Huntington 's. He had symptoms already-what would his last years have looked like? His father had asked himself that question and ended his life.
'Was Rick's son tested?'
'Yes, Rick insisted, which I confess is a bit unconventional. There is a lot of debate over testing, especially with a child. I mean, let's say you find out that a young boy will eventually contract this disorder-isn't that a terrible burden to live with? Or is it better to know now so you live life to the fullest? And if you're positive for HD, should you have children yourself who will have a fifty-fifty chance of contracting the illness-and even if you know that, isn't it still a life worth leading? The ethics are fairly mind-boggling.'
'But Rick tested his son?'
'Yes. Rick was a reporter through and through. He didn't believe in not knowing. The son, thankfully, was negative.'
'That must have been a relief to him.'
'Yes.'
'Do you know the CryoHope Center?'
She thought about it. 'They do research and storage, I think. Mostly stem cell banking and the like,
