“Chances are great I won’t die from cancer,” said Bentley.
He spoke with a studied casualness.
“The antioxidants from vitamin C in the orange juice?” I asked. “Or the omega-3 fatty acids from our salmon?”
We were sitting in one of our family courtyards, a scene straight from a glossy architecture magazine, complete with perfect sunshine bouncing off the perfect umbrella above our glass-topped table and wrought-iron chairs. The paving stones around the infinity pool had been imported from Italy, the designer furniture from France, the freshly squeezed orange juice from Florida, and the smoked salmon on cheese from Denmark.
“You should have noted the singular in my statement, and the absence of plural. Chances are I won’t die of cancer. Not chances are we won’t die of cancer. While we are sharing the biochemical benefits of orange juice and salmon, my use of singular implies that something limited to me means my chances of dying from cancer are lower than yours. Care to guess what that might be? Hint: I’m shorter than you.”
Not only was it unusual for Bentley to refer to his size, but there was also something in his tone that put me on alert. This was not our usual banter of one brother trying to out-intellect the other.
“Just got this great book out of the library,” I said. “It’s called Twenty Yards to the Outhouse.”
“Written by Willie Maykit,” Bentley said in an irritated voice. “Illustrated by Betty Wont. Reviewed by Andy Dint. Why did you hire a private detective to deliver an information dump when you'd already asked me to do it?”
“I’m not going to bother to ask you how you know,” I said. “I think the key point is why are you spying on me? This is just a routine missing-persons request.”
“Deflection isn’t going to work here, Jace,” said Bentley calmly. “If you’re looking for Elias Lang, I’ve found him for you.”
I had been reaching for my glass of orange juice when he said these words. I wanted to drop my hand. I couldn’t. That would reveal too much. I hoped my hand wouldn’t shake as I lifted it. That would reveal more.
I managed to sip without any trembling.
“At first,” Bentley said, “I was hurt. I thought you and I were a team. I thought you needed me. Going to someone else shows you don’t.”
I started to speak, but he waved me off.
“But your source isn’t that good,” Bentley said. “So at least I can retain a little pride and dignity. Your source is still looking for Elias. I’m not. I’ve found him. He’s in a remote village in the south of Ecuador.”
“You know this because…?”
“Don’t try more deflection. All the other times I hack for you and Raven and Jo, you don’t ask how I find it out. The methods I used matter little compared to what else I know. Like, take this for a bit of interesting trivia. Elias Lang has the exact same birthday as you. Mere coincidence, I’m sure, but still a little weird.”
My body felt as if my heart had actually stopped. Was Bentley toying with me? Did he know the real reason I wanted information about the Lang family?
“And like the fact that he’s in a village with a very high percentage of people with Laron syndrome,” Bentley said. “A community with one hundred people just like me. Any guesses as to why he might have run away to Ecuador without telling anyone? I mean, he’s your age. That’s not your typical teen-runaway destination.”
“He’s got Laron syndrome,” I said.
“Oh, so you did know that,” Bentley said. “Which makes me wonder even more about your motivation to look for this Elias Lang among all the runaways out there who need to be found. Pity for the short guys? Or were you thinking it would be nice to find a matching freak for your brother so I wouldn’t feel so alone in the world?”
Bentley had never referred to himself as a freak before.
“That would be so wonderful,” he continued. “He and I could start a club. We have so much going for us, matching genetic defects and all.”
Did Bentley also know about the results from the DNA test done on Victor Lang’s discarded tissue? I wondered if my heart would ever start beating again. I felt rigid.
“Yeah,” Bentley continued. “Matching genetic defects. He and I both have parents who each carry a mutated GHR gene. As you might know, that means Elias and I were born with defective receptors in the liver that ensure our bodies can’t manufacture the right growth hormones. Therefore, it’s extremely unlikely that we’ll ever face the runaway cell production typical of most cancers. And I know this because…”
I stayed silent. I didn’t trust my voice. Plus, my stopped heart made it difficult to breathe.
“Because,” he repeated, “the obscure remote village he picked as a runaway destination is a mecca for researchers trying to decipher the anti-disease properties that seem to go hand in hand with Laron syndrome. I’m sure that’s how he heard about it. He’s probably just hoping he can fit in there instead of trying to get around in a world like ours where people judge us for our size. I mean, now that I know about this place, I might have to visit it myself.”
“Bentley…” I said.
“Nope. You don’t have the right to speak about this to me. I’m not interested in making friends with some other dwarf I’ve never met, no matter how good your intentions were.”
Blood began to flow through my veins again. He didn’t know the real reason. The connection between Elias and Bentley was so obvious that Bentley couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” I said to Bentley as softly as possible. “Just let me know when you’ll be ready to accept my apology.”
“How about we just let this go instead?” Bentley answered. “Just go ahead and let the Lang family know where Elias is and that he’s okay. I can understand you wanting to help them with that. As for the fact that he also has Laron syndrome and you were hiding that from me…mad as I am, it’s not like we’re going to break up or anything. I’m stuck with you, just like you’re stuck with me. That’s the way it is with brothers.”
If only, I thought. If only.