“I’m afraid you’ll need to speak to Dr. Pike about that, Mr. Adams. His order was very specific and I’m afraid I can’t override it without express permission. If the food isn’t to your liking, a new shopping list has been preprogrammed into the refrigerator. There are over one hundred and fifty items within the allowable parameters. Or I have a list of permissible items I can have sent to you right away, if you prefer.”
“That list wouldn’t happen to include any normal cheese, by any chance. Maybe a variety that is actually made from cheese? I’m trying to make lasagna.”
“There are several fat-free varieties of cheese.”
“Is there any decent beer on your list?”
“There are several selections of low-calorie beer, too. Should I read the menu?”
“No,” he said. “Never mind. Thanks.” He hung up the receiver and turned to Brent. “It would appear I’ve been put on a diet,” he said.
“And me, too, it seems. This stuff is like dishwater.” Brent poured the contents of the beer can down the sink. “There’s some ham in there. I’ll make us a sandwich. But I’m afraid the bulky rolls are gone. And there’s no mayonnaise, either.”
“Whatever,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll get Pike over here. I’ll straighten this out.”
They returned to the living room, set the food on the table in front of them and sat down just as the monitor switched on. Jeremiah was alarmed to see the clone entering his mother’s room at the assisted living home. He hadn’t expected that. He visited her every Tuesday after work, but never on a Friday.
“Hi, Mom,” the clone said. Jeremiah felt a little sting on hearing that word come out of the clone’s mouth.
His mother was sitting on the little stool in front of her mirror, brushing her hair in careful, smooth strokes. Her face was powdered and she was wearing a green dress with a silver brooch at the collar, in the shape of a star. She turned when she heard the clone come in and looked at him strangely for a long moment. So strangely, in fact, that for just an instant Jeremiah entertained the thought that she knew she was looking at an imposter. There was such a sense of confusion in her eyes and she scrutinized him silently.
“You’re late,” she said at last, and turned back to her own reflection. Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want his mother dragged into any of this. “I can’t seem to fasten this damn thing. If you’ll just help me, I’ll be ready to go in two shakes.”
The clone walked over to her and took an ornately carved wooden barrette from her shaky hand. He said nothing as he gathered her auburn hair into a long ponytail, smoothing the sides of her head to catch the loose strands, and fastened it behind her neck.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him without expression. “Now if I could just find my bag. I can never seem to find that thing.” She shifted her gaze toward the doorway and then back at the clone. “You know,” she said in a whisper, “I think they hide it on me. I really do. I think they’re playing tricks on me.”
“Who’s hiding it? No one is hiding anything on you,” the clone said.
She stood up and walked to her closet, shifting the rows of blouses and dresses in a flurry until she got thoroughly flustered.
“And someone has stolen my rabbit fur coat,” she said.
“Rabbit fur?” the clone asked, confused. “Mom, you got rid of that coat thirty years ago. Don’t you remember?”
Jeremiah remembered. She had been given the coat some years before, a gift from one of many admirers in her younger days. She loved it at first, and wore it everywhere, always commenting on how warm it was and how it was no wonder rabbits could stay outdoors all winter. She used to invite total strangers to run their hands over it. He didn’t know when, exactly, she had a change of heart about it, but knowing her, it likely involved a wild rabbit spied outside the kitchen window. When he was sixteen, she made a very big deal about needing some sort of atonement for the transgression of owning a coat made from another creature’s skin. She included Jeremiah in that endeavor, too, likely seeing an opportunity to instill something noble in her son.
She spent a great deal of time deciding how best to get rid of the now-offensive garment. In typical fashion, she wanted something symbolic and meaningful. At first, she looked into donating it to a homeless shelter, but quickly decided it wouldn’t do to simply pass the sin on to some other poor, unsuspecting soul. She spoke briefly to animal rights’ organizations, but they were too quick to chastise her for having the thing in the first place. Finally, she found a hippie priest woman or something, who presided over a complicated ritual that involved burning and burying the coat in an effort to return it to some animal spirit realm. He could still remember the smell and the oily black smoke rising up from the backyard. There was also chanting involved, he seemed to recall. Afterward, she wrote a sizable check to a local animal shelter and began leaving carrot sticks out in the garden in neat little piles—something she still did to this very day, even at the assisted living home.
On the monitor, his mother stopped and turned to look at the clone. Something in her expression looked lost for a minute, as though she might be remembering the exact same story, and then her lips straightened with a firm resolution.
“I know that,” she said, and then repeated it as though to convince herself. “I know that.”
“Why do you need a coat, anyway?” the clone asked, an uneasy smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“Well, I can’t very well go to the party without a coat,” she said. “It’s
