Someone wonders, “Why aren’t we meeting in the conference room?”
“Top secret stuff,” someone in the back says. “That room could be bugged.”
“Shhh!” Dr. Diaz shoots her laser beams around the room, trying to identify the culprits.
I hoist myself onto a lab counter and sit so I can see over the taller people’s heads. Dr. Mendelson is flanked by two other senior researchers. She raises both of her hands and begins to wave. Her shining halo of blond hair and wide brown eyes make her look almost elfin. Except when she’s concentrating, which is almost always, and then her eyes take on a demonic quality that makes one step back when she approaches.
“Settle down, everyone,” she booms.
It’s disconcerting to hear such a trucker’s voice coming from a short, middle-aged woman.
The entire room stills and readies itself for the news that has been creeping through the labs.
“Now, some of you may have been privy to the latest round of gossip. I want to address these rumors.” Dr. Mendelson takes her time, eyes locking on various faces around the room.
Will is leaning against a counter on the far left side of the room. He catches me glancing at him and winks. I quickly revert my attention back to Dr. Mendelson.
“There has been a development.” She lowers her voice. “The information that I am about to share with you cannot leave this building. All of you will be asked to sign a document before leaving tonight.”
A few people shuffle their feet. Someone in the back claps briefly. Another complains, “We already signed a confidentiality agreement when we came to work here.”
Dr. Mendelson barks out a laugh like a seal and seems to know exactly where to look when she says, “Well, now you’ll be doubly careful about opening your big mouth.”
She smiles serenely and waits a few beats, allowing the room to grow tense in anticipation. Finally, after another pass with her eyes, she continues.
“Tomorrow we will be announcing that C4-511 will commence a phase one clinical drug trial.”
Shoulders begin to slump with the announcement; the phase one trial was expected, even late. After all, the approvals from the FDA had been posted last summer. The latest antipsychotic drug was just a minor victory, but a useful one for funding, Dad had said. With the anticlimactic announcement, restlessness descends. I lean forward, watching all the scientists whispering to one another like schoolkids at a boring assembly.
Dr. Mendelson is pacing back and forth as though she is thinking. Suddenly she stops. “Nothing is certain.” She runs her hands through her hair and then places them palms together, as though in prayer. “We are at a momentous point in this lab.”
A ripple of silence spreads across the room. A few people lean forward.
Dr. Mendelson lowers her hands. “We are on the cusp of history. Each procedure, each measurement, each move that you make will either aid or detract from this occasion. Each one of you can and will make a difference.” She pauses, letting her words expand and grow. “We believe we have located a gene. SIC-5 holds the key to understanding how the other cluster of risk genes play a role in the development of schizophrenia.”
My heart stops beating as I gasp. A gene. I can hear the distant slam of a door closing. The slight scrape of a chair leg on the concrete floor. The brush of denim rubbing together as a leg is crossed.
A lightning charge passes through the room. A few stand up from their chairs, craning to see Dr. Mendelson’s face. “This is the critical juncture. We need everyone on board. This is the Rosetta Stone.”
I can feel the energy swirling around me. The air becomes thick with voices. They found a universal genetic marker. How many years has Dad been waiting for this news? How many jobs? How many moves? How many years of hoping? Does this news change anything? A wave of nausea makes my mouth fill with saliva. The past is the past and nothing can bring her back.
Dr. Mendelson raises one hand and beckons. “I need senior scientists in my office in ten minutes. The rest of you can sign the paperwork that will be waiting for you out in the hall. Thank you, everyone.”
Voices erupt.
“Did she just say what I thought she said?”
“Which test group? Mango?”
“I heard it was Richardson’s group, Odin.”
“I heard it was Dillon’s.”
“That prick.”
I let the crowd of hips and shoulders carry me toward the door. The cavernous hallway begins to fill with people. Everyone is talking about the SIC-5 gene. How many of us have been working on that discovery without even knowing?
At first all I can do is stand there. Even as I feel people brush past me, I stand in place, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Along one side of the hallway, a few of the office people from upstairs are standing behind folding tables loaded with papers. The excited chatter of the discovery reaches a crescendo.
I walk to the far end of the hall. Safely away from everyone, I lean my back against the wall and let my legs finally buckle beneath me. As I sink to the ground, I taste the first warm, salty tears. They found it. I clutch my legs and press my forehead to my knees.
Mama, they found it.
Autumn
“Mama,” she called.
Her mother stood at the sink, her face turned toward the window. She had been standing there for such a very long time. Standing without moving or even breathing, it seemed. She was so still the light moved over
