A white plume streaks through the blue sky as a jet races up toward the heavens. A moment later a deep rumble thrums and beats down on me. Hannah crouches beside me, her hair falling into her face. I sit up. Gingerly, my fingertips trace the swelling bump on the back of my head.
“Grace, are you okay?” Hannah whispers.
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” I say. “He said the worst shit—I couldn’t control myself. . . .”
“What did he say?”
“He said something about faith and adoption or some kind of bullshit.”
Hannah’s lips press together, her face draining of color. “Adoption.”
I let out a deep breath. “Hannah, you can do anything. This is your body. This is your decision.”
She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and looks away from me toward the woods. She stands up and I follow after.
“I have to get away from here.” Her hands wander over her belly.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask. “I don’t want you to be alone like this.”
“Thanks, Grace.” Hannah smiles at me and I know all has been forgiven. “I just need to be alone right now.”
I watch Hannah cut into the woods and then disappear from view. I head toward the only place that I know makes sense, even if it feels like jail most of the time.
• • •
Driving to work in the afternoon, the comforting thought of performing mindless duties, which will keep my mind off the fight with Dave and the look on Hannah’s face before she turned away, unknots the tension in my shoulders. I ache for the numbers that will soothe me.
At Genentium, when the glass doors close with a quiet shush behind me, I stand for a second in my place and savor the peace. I know who I am here. Walking through security, taking the elevators down to level B4, even gazing at the numbers illuminated on the elevator panel bring me comfort.
I check the bulletin board as soon as I walk into the lab to see what duties I have been assigned. Next to my name, instead of instructions, I find a sheet folded in half with my name on the front. A thumbtack lances it closed. I take it down and open it up to find a time and name scribbled inside. Why does Dr. Mendelson want to see me? I check the clock. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. This I do not know how to process.
I run to the nearest bathroom and lock myself in a stall. Shit, what does Dr. Mendelson want with me? Pacing in a tight circle, I tell myself to get it together. Don’t go crazy now, Grace. I check my watch. Shit. I race out of the stall and run over to the sink to check my appearance in the mirror. For the first time in what feels like forever, the reflection of my face emerges crystal clear—my strange bloated features and dark circles under my eyes. Turning from side to side, I see a large matted section of oily hair and I slowly work it with my fingers, combing through the knot as best as I can. When was the last time I brushed it? A memory of Mama, her disheveled clothes and greasy hair, flits through my mind. I think about all the cans of soup filling the recycling bin. The few pizza boxes and odd to-go containers mixed in. The nasty food has been taking a toll. I run some water over my hands and pat down my hair as best I can. I tuck in a stray strand behind my ears.
At the door to Dr. Mendelson’s office, which is closed and, unlike all the other doors in the lab, made of solid wood instead of opaque glass per her instructions, I knock twice.
Her muffled voice calls out, “Come in.”
I turn the knob and walk into her office.
“Hello, Grace,” Dr. Mendelson says without looking away from her computer screen. “Have a seat.”
I carefully sit down at one of the two leather chairs arranged in front of her desk. Dr. Mendelson quickly types and then her fingers pause. She glances over at me before her fingers resume working until she finally pushes the keyboard away.
“Thanks for coming to see me at such short notice. I hope I haven’t pulled you away from anything too critical.”
I stare at her face, wondering if she is joking or being serious. Would sterilizing beakers be considered critical work? I think I know the answer to this one. I shake my head no.
She abruptly stands and comes over to the other leather chair, sitting down beside me before I even have a chance to shift my body around from facing her desk.
“Grace, I want to apologize for not checking in on you more since your father’s passing.” She angles closer and I begin to worry that she might reach for my hand.
I cross my arms and hide my hands. “I’ve been doing fine.”
“As you know, the pacing has ramped up since we were approved for the clinical trials this summer.”
I nod.
She pauses for a moment and kneads the back of her neck with one hand. “And I suppose I believed somehow that to really honor your father was to do the work that he wanted most. We have been searching for this universal marker for a very long time.”
I nod again.
She reaches out for my hand and when she can’t find it, she reaches over and pats my knee. “But that doesn’t take the place of really making sure to check in on you. I know your father had some very personal reasons for wanting this research to move forward.”
She is talking to me, but all I can think about is the feel of her
