even softer. “Now get out.”
“Sir, please—”
“Get. Out. Or must I escort you?”
With one swift, graceful movement, Karl sweeps his hat off the table and places it jauntily on his head. He nods at Bess, steps around Papa, and musses Nell’s hair as he goes out the door.
Papa doesn’t move until he hears the automobile crank up. Then he says tightly to Bess, “You know he’s not allowed to be here.”
“But he’s different. He’s got a new job in Milwaukee, and he’s got
“Fine. Let him find another girl.”
Nell leans back against the door. They have forgotten that she’s there.
“Papa.” Bess rises out of the armchair. In her high-buttoned shoes, she is almost as tall as her father. “Things are better. He promised.”
“Oh? Did he promise he would never hit you again, or did he just talk about money?”
Bess whirls away and looks out the window. “Papa, that’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not fair.” Papa pulls his watch from his pocket, opens it, and then closes it without looking at the face. “But I don’t want him back. After he hit you, I heard Nelly crying herself to sleep every single night.”
Nell’s face grows warm. She thought no one knew.
Papa stuffs his watch back into his pocket and adjusts his waist-coat. “Now, I would like some dinner.”
Nell slips out the front door and heads around the house to the pump. Her body is shaking. She remembers Bess’s swollen and bruised face, but she also remembers the fun they had laughing on the front porch with Karl. Her tears those nights hadn’t been just for Bess. They had also been for those summer afternoons filled with laughter, lemonade, and Karl mussing her hair!
Even though it was difficult, Nell liked to walk. She felt that each slow step added a minute to her life. Without her walker, she would have to use a wheelchair — and the wheelchair was a sign of weakness. Lifting the walker and then taking a step gave her the same sure feel that she used to have after hitting a home run the way Karl had taught her to.
Sometimes she spent the entire day walking up and down the hallways. She got to go outside on those rare occasions when her family visited. They took her out so that they could avoid talking.
Each household was painted a different color. The walls in Household 5 were robin’s egg blue and covered with artwork done”
by the residents. Shortly after Karl arrived, a painting of a multi-colored spiral had gone up beside his door.
Nell found her gaze drawn to the painting. She pushed her glasses up so that she could study it. The spiral had rungs, like a ladder. At the bottom, instead of a signature, was a notation that tugged at a memory she couldn’t reach: deoxyribose nucleic acid. She read the phrase twice, then saw with a start that Karl’s door was open. Strains of a Chopin etude slipped into the hallway. Intrigued, she leaned closer.
The residents were encouraged to fill their rooms with their personal effects. Most rooms had a television set, a stuffed armchair covered with a quilt, and a cross on prominent display. But Karl’s room was lined with bookcases, and the bookcases were full. Karl stood near the door, holding a book in his hand.
“It’s the pretty woman from across the hall.” His voice hadn’t changed. It was still rich and full, and it still sent shivers down her back. His black hair had become silver and his skin was covered with delicately etched lines. Age hadn’t bent him. He extended his hand. His movements were as graceful as ever. “Would you care to come and visit for a moment?”
Nell found herself staring at his hand. The last time she had seen it, it had been covered with blood. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m taking my walk.”
“Surely you have just a moment—?” He inclined his head toward her, waiting for her to give him her name.
“Eleanor,” she said.
“Eleanor?” He took a step back so that she could pass him. She hesitated, then smiled a little bit at herself, realizing that this was the man who had given her a taste for charm.
“A moment.” She turned her walker and started toward him, feeling awkward for the first time in years.
He watched her shuffling movements. “Arthritis?”
She shook her head. “I broke both hips pinch-hitting for some Little Leaguers in 1975. The doctors said I’d never walk again.”
“Did you win?”
She looked up at him, startled to find herself only a foot away.
“I’m walking, aren’t I?”
He chuckled. “No, no. The game.”
“Oh.” She pushed the walker through the doorway. Bookcases made the entrance narrow. His room smelled like ink and old books.
“We lost by three runs.”
“It’s a shame,” he said quietly. “You should always win your last game.”
She stopped near the window. He had a view of the back parking lot. “Who says it was my last game?”
She turned and looked at his room, then. It was filled with books.
A desk covered with papers stood in the center of the floor and a stereo, like the one her granddaughter was so proud of, took up a shelf of one of the bookcases. The bed in the far corner was neatly made and covered with a manufactured spread.
“Would you like to sit?” He pulled a chair back for her. Nell shook her head.
“Tea then?” He reached behind him and plugged in a coffee machine. Cups, canisters, and vials filled with liquid rested beside the machine.
“What are you doing here?” Nell’s question slipped out. He turned sharply to look at her. Nell felt herself blush. “I mean, you don’t look as if you need to be here.”
He smiled and the lines cascaded into wrinkles. “My grand-nephew runs this place. He figures I’m getting too old to live alone.”
“But there are other places to stay if you’re in good health. You don’t seem to need medical care.”
“I don’t yet.” He hooked his thumb in his front pockets and leaned against the door frame. Nell wondered if he’d stop her if she tried to leave. “I’m helping him with some research.”
Nell glanced again at the desk. Some of the papers lying there were covered with the same spiral that was near the door.
“We’re trying to find a way to slow down the aging process,” he said. “You’ve heard of Leonard Hayflick?”
“No.”
“Hayflick is a biologist who found that cells have a clearly defined life span. He figured that the life span was determined by the number of cell divisions instead of chronological age. But some cells deteri-orate before they reach their maximum divisions. And that, some believe, causes aging. Follow me?”
Nell realized she had been staring at him blankly. “Sorry.”
“Let me put it simply,” he said. “Everyone can live to a certain maximum age, but not everyone reaches that age because of physical deterioration. What we’re trying to do is prevent that physical deterioration so that people can live out their entire lives.”
“What is this maximum age?” Nell asked.
Karl shrugged. “We don’t know. But some people have claimed that they were well over a hundred. And I just read about a woman recently whose baptismal records prove she is a hundred and twenty.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“You asked, Nelly.”
Nell’s entire body went cold. She gripped her walker tightly and tried to think of a way she could get out of the room.
He took a step toward her, and she cringed.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have let you know right away that I knew who you were. My family
