Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Itasca, Minnesota
After Molly presented the details, Liz was quick to agree. By all means, Caden should do the project he wanted to do, and do it full-out, testing Cecily, Liz, Molly, and himself, so he could track Cecily’s DNA as it traveled and diminished down the line: half of it would be present in Liz, a quarter in Molly, and an eighth in Caden. Liz even insisted on paying for the tests, so Molly wouldn’t have to feel beholden to Evan—“It’s our family, after all,” she’d said—then sat back and smiled, swirling her black coffee in its paper cup. They were sitting by the window in the hospital cafeteria overlooking the icy river; Molly had taken her lunch hour to visit Cecily, but, after just a short chat, Cecily had needed to rest.
It was unnerving, to say the least, to see Cecily laid out this way, so Molly had been glad to have something practical to discuss with Liz, something she could at least pretend to be in control of. Though God knew it wasn’t easy to want to help Caden right now, after the things he’d said last night. But, as she was always telling her clients, she had to take the long view. Yes, she was angry and hurt today, but: lab coat. Ph.D.
“Thank you, Mom,” she told Liz now, “but it’s too much. I could split it with you?”
Liz waved that off. “Listen, what if we made this a surprise for your grandma’s ninety-fifth birthday? We’ll have the results by June?”
Molly laughed, glad to see Liz seeming like herself again, as well as to think ahead to Cecily’s birthday. Surely Cecily would be back to herself by then, too, right? “Yes, long before June.” Molly had done some research this morning. “Six to eight weeks, the website said.”
“Perfect! Wish I’d thought of this myself. How do we get started?”
Molly explained about ordering the kits online, and Liz dug into her purse for her phone and wallet. “You know, not that she’s talked about it often, but your grandma’s said a few times that she wished she knew more about her parents, where she came from. She doesn’t even know what ethnicity she is—she thinks Irish and French, so that’s what we’ve always said, but really: Can you imagine living almost ninety-five years like that? Never really knowing who you are?”
“And we don’t know who we are, either, as a result.”
“True! And I’ve never been able to get her to tell me one thing about her childhood. She says she doesn’t remember! Only that she was in an orphanage and that her life really began when your grandpa and I came along. I stopped asking years ago. Even Dad wouldn’t talk about his childhood, and he grew up right here! I mean, I know he had Norwegian ancestry, and his father was the doctor here in town, but that’s about it. Mom said it was a sore subject for him, but I never understood why.”
Molly nodded. “Grandpa never told me anything, either, and all Grandma ever mentioned was meeting Grandpa when he was her doctor at the sanatorium out in Rhode Island.” Molly had always loved that story, though Cecily had never filled in enough details to satisfy her, no matter how she’d begged. When Molly had lived in Newport, she’d always meant to drive up to see the old sanatorium building, which, though long ago repurposed, was still standing in the far northwest corner of the state, on the Massachusetts border. Cecily’s consistent reluctance to say anything about the time she’d spent there (and who could blame her, really?) had probably discouraged Molly from making the journey—or else, with the way life seemed to go, she’d simply never found the time.
Liz sighed. “I don’t know any more than you do, Moll.” She seemed to have something else on her mind, but, after a second, just gave her trademark decisive nod. “Yes, this project will be good for all of us. What’s the website?”
A few clicks later, Liz was asking for Caden’s email address. “I’ll make him the administrator, so the results will go straight to him.”
“Maybe you should make me the administrator, Mom,” Molly said, “and I can help him.”
Liz looked up. “It’s his project. You’ve got to trust him with his own business at some point. Anyway, he’s the one studying this—he probably knows more about genetics than you do, right?”
Molly sighed. Once again, the gap between her own instincts and what she’d advise a client was glaring. Don’t let your mother dominate you. Trust your teenager with more than you think you can.
Don’t let your ex-husband sleep on your couch.
Right. Though, actually, Liz, moments earlier, had offered a great solution to that problem: Evan could stay at Cecily’s house, keep an eye on things, make sure the pipes didn’t freeze—as long as Cecily approved. Liz was going to ask her about it later.
Molly didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of the idea herself, but it was certainly a relief to think Evan might not need to spend the weekend in the bungalow.
After a couple minutes, Liz was done. “Four kits, on the way! I expedited shipping, so they’ll be here Friday.” She smiled, tucked away her phone, and sipped her coffee again. She really did seem like the old Liz. Pre-widowhood Liz, even! Maybe it had taken a fresh crisis to jolt her out of her lingering grief? Molly had certainly seen all kinds of stranger things happen, when it came to grief. “Four hundred forty-five dollars seems a small price to pay for my mother to finally get some answers about where she came from. For all of us to get some answers.”
Molly agreed, then remembered something. “I don’t know how we’ll be able to surprise Grandma, though. The test requires a saliva sample. It isn’t just like a hair from a hairbrush, you know?”
“Oh!” Liz thought for a second, then smiled a little, wicked smile. “How about you ask your old friend Stacey to pretend it’s something the doctors here need?”
“Mom!” Now, this seemed not like Liz at all, not Liz pre- or post- anything. But to see her seeming excited—even up to some mischief—was wonderful. Maybe this project of Caden’s would do more good for all of them than Molly had even imagined. Molly grinned. “Okay, I’ll ask her.”
After work, Molly, warming up her car, found a new text from Liz, sent at 5:56 p.m.: Grandma doing ok. Was awake for a while. They even had her get out of bed for a minute. She says Evan can stay in the house as long as he wants, lol. I think it’s a great idea.:)
Lol? A smiley face?
Uh oh. Despite the good show she’d put on earlier, Liz was clearly, seriously stressed.
Okay, so maybe it was good Evan was coming to town. Maybe it actually would be a help. Molly shot off a quick reply telling Liz she’d let Evan know, then opened a new text to him. My mom wants you to stay at my grandma’s house and keep an eye on it, she wrote, before she could think twice. So you can stay as long as you want. Lots of games coming up in the next week plus, at least unless they lose. She wrinkled her nose and clicked Send.
He replied instantly: Great!
Molly rolled her eyes and put the car in gear. Caden was at George’s house; they’d had practice after school, and George’s parents, bless them, had offered supper again.
She was almost out of town when a new message from Evan came through the Bluetooth. She gave the command to read it, and through the stereo speakers came the electronic voice: I should be able to stay a week. Maybe two? Will check with the guys and let you know.
She laughed out loud and turned on the radio. The guys—his business partners in the brewery the three of them had started in Newport after college. How often had Tony and Matt seemed to be more in control of her life than she was?
Molly turned up Demi Lovato’s “Skyscraper” and soon was hollering along, letting her whole range of post-divorce pent-up emotions rip—the grief and the fear, the hope and hopelessness, the anger and regret, relief and sorrow, memory and joy.
Then the song was over, and she turned down the radio, wiped her face with her glove, and composed herself, inwardly rehearsing the cool, chipper tone she’d use when she saw Caden.
Guess what? Your dad’s going to get to stay a little longer!