It was like mashing up all the languages of the world and then attempting to pluck the correct letters of the right alphabets to spell a specific word.
Arianna eyed Sam more closely. He was using an inverted microscope, which held a petri dish with cells. He lifted his head. She held her breath as he turned around.
Despite the face mask covering his nose and mouth, Arianna could tell that his eyes were solemn. Her heart felt as if it were bleeding out into her stomach.
Patrick put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought supplies.”
She nodded, afraid to speak. But one thought prompted her to ask.
“What about the embryos Ian was working with? What happened to those?”
“Sam and I split them, but took out a few to make clones for the clinic.”
Arianna frowned; it was already the last Friday of December, which meant that there would be an inspection Monday. And the freezer was missing dozens of embryos that still needed to be stocked.
“Don’t tell me you’re behind schedule.”
Patrick smiled. “In fact, we’re a step ahead. We already have the right amount for Monday all prepared and frozen. So, we’re using Ian’s batch to get a head start for January, since we’re always rushing to make all the clones at the end of the month. Ian usually did the cloning, so I figured I would take over.”
“Can’t Sam help you?”
Patrick shrugged. “He’ll throw a fit if he has to do anything mildly bureaucratic. It’s easier for me to do it alone and let him research.”
“I don’t blame you.” She rubbed her temples, feeling a sudden darting pain near her eyes. “I can’t wait to get another month’s inspection over with.”
She glanced over at Sam, wondering if he was finally ready to come over and speak to her again. He had stepped into the tiny bathroom in the rear of the basement. The door was ajar, and through the crack, Arianna could see him leaning over the sink, vigorously scrubbing out the glass petri dish.
* * *
A copy of Saturday’s New York Times lay discarded on their table at the restaurant, a noisy bar and grill place that Trent had suggested for its dependable chaos. Trent elbowed the newspaper aside as he sat down in the booth across from Arianna and loosened his shirt collar. Jed and Megan had yet to arrive. Not far from their table, a crowd of rowdy patrons sat around the bar. It was as far from the suffocating quiet of fine dining as he could take them.
The deception he would have to pass off tonight was troubling him: as far as Arianna knew, Jed was simply his college friend and a freelance reporter. Jed was also not supposed to know about her MS, so Trent could say nothing about that. And what was the name of the fraternity he and Jed were supposed to have been in? Had they even invented a name? Trent planned to say as little as possible, for if he and Jed contradicted each other at any point, it could be disastrous.
Trent looked into Arianna’s watery blue eyes, desperately wishing they could share the night alone. Thin red veins stretched like map roads across her corneas. She was in a terrible mood: the scientists were getting nowhere, and she had just made the crushing decision to stop treating patients full-time because her strength was failing. Trent tried to reassure her it was only temporary, but her anger and frustration ran too deep.
She seized the newspaper on their table and flung it to the floor. “Screw the news.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This old OB-GYN on the Upper East Side is getting sued by the DEP for misplacing embryos. The man’s been in practice for forty-two years!”
Trent winced, looking behind her to make sure Jed wasn’t approaching.
“That’s horrible,” he said.
“Those DEP scum thrive off using scare tactics at the expense of good doctors like him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brian Hanson.”
“Brian Hanson? On the Upper East Side?”
Arianna frowned. “Yeah, you know him?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I think I know someone who went to him once.”
The response satisfied her, as Trent’s mind reeled from the connection. He thought about the day Dopp had disciplined the doctor in his own waiting room, how privileged Trent had felt to witness the chief in action. Now he wondered how gaunt the doctor’s face had become—and whether he was idealistic enough to fight or resigned to lose. Guilt seeped into Trent’s conscience like a foul mist, and he fumbled for a distraction.
“By the way,” he said, “how is Sam treating you lately?”
Her face fell to sadness. “Still ignoring me. You’re obviously not a threat, but whenever I say so, he gets even angrier.”
“You can’t blame him, though. It’s a tremendous risk to even refer to what you’re doing at all. You really shouldn’t talk about it.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s just hard for me to believe that there are people who don’t support what we’re doing, and not only that”—from behind her, Jed’s figure drew closer—“they are actually doing everything they can to—”
“It’s disgusting,” Trent interrupted. “But, hey, look who’s here.”
Arianna turned around.
“Hey, guys,” Jed said. His reddish hair was slicked back, oily as his smile.
Trent scooted over in the booth to make room for Jed, ignoring his own rising hostility. Then Arianna’s face lit up and Trent followed her gaze across the room. A pretty woman with auburn ringlets was walking toward them. Arianna jumped out of the booth unsteadily and limped over to hug her.
“How’s it going?” Jed whispered to him. “Any headway?”
“Nothing much,” Trent muttered. “She’s tough as a brick.”
The women walked back to the table with linked arms.
“Jed, Trent, this is my cousin Megan—”
Megan gasped.
“Wait a second,” she said, squinting at Jed. “You’re that reporter who was outside the clinic!”
Trent’s mouth dropped open: These two had met?
Jed looked just as shocked to see her. “Wait, wait,” he said, looking at Arianna as if for the first time. “You’re one of the doctors at that clinic? I had no idea you worked
