three

A batch of gnats swarmed the porch light and tested my father’s patience as he swatted them away with a linen handkerchief. The bags beneath his eyes were swollen with grief and the corners of his mouth were bent so far south I thought he might have lost the ability to smile. We both hesitated, unsure whether or not to embrace. Before I had a chance to react, my father reached out to shake the detective’s hand.

“Detective DeRosa, you’re on your way out. I see you’ve already spoken to Constance.”

“Yes, he has,” I said, acknowledging the fact that I was the last to learn of my brother’s death.

“I’m sorry about that, I tried to get here earlier,” my father replied, his voice scratchy from overuse. “If you don’t mind, I need a minute with the detective and then I was hoping you’d invite me in.”

I left the two men to talk privately on the porch. I used the extra minutes to take stock of the house, assessing where best to receive my father. When one is raised as the child of a wealthy doctor, there are expectations, a certain level of decorum, even in the event of a death. I found myself reacting out of a habit engrained by good upbringing. I chose the room we had designated as the library, a cramped but organized storage room for our collection of eclectic, second-hand books.

I listened as DeRosa’s car backed down the driveway and quickly selected a chair for my father. “Dad, this one is more comfortable,” I said pointing to the lesser worn of the chairs. My father seated himself, pulling down slightly on his pressed trousers.

“I have to be honest,” I said swallowing hard. “I don’t know if I can do this with you.”

“You need to calm down.” My father started with the words he’d directed at me over and over throughout my childhood, even when I was perfectly calm.

“Teddy is dead,” I said ignoring his patronizing tone. “Am I to assume you think this makes sense? Guess what, it doesn’t. This doesn’t make sense.”

My father sat with his back straight and his forearms stretched tautly along the sides of the chair, like an airplane passenger preparing for a bumpy landing. “No, it doesn’t,” he replied, “but we’ve lost a lot of time, and I am willing to put our differences aside. I came here to discuss your brother. I was hoping we could be civil.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me yesterday and tell me about Teddy? He’s my twin, for God’s sake,” I said, shoving the small of my back into my chair.

My father’s hesitation was interminable. This was not a question he wanted to answer. I lifted my head from my hand and faced him full on.

“Dad,” I pushed, “Why didn’t you and Mom come to me sooner?”

My father sighed, and I sensed his growing impatience. This was a man who spoke and others bowed in awe. He did not take kindly to opposition, but my question was fair and I deserved a response.

“Because Theodore was an integral part of the labs and whether he died of natural causes or not, his passing must be presented to the scientific community with care,” my father said in defense of his delay. “Our funding, our partnerships and our relationship with the public are dependent upon our ability to deliver results with absolute consistency. Theodore was involved in a number of high-profile studies, and the board requested a short period of time to review his work and determine the impact of his absence. The police agreed because at this point there is no indication of foul play.”

“But—” I tried to interject, only to be cut off.

“Constance, this is not the time to be naïve,” he said, holding his palm flat as if I were a puppy learning to heel. “The world is significantly bigger and more complex than this idealistic commune you’ve created here.”

As I suspected, it took all of three minutes for our conversation to dissolve into disrespect.

My father rose from the heavily cushioned chair, and I could see the effort was a strain for his aging body. He walked to the bookshelves, his left hip showing the pull of arthritis. I’d never thought of my father as old until this moment. His frailty made me nervous. My father was a grand man, a pillar of strength. Now, he seemed beaten.

He ran his finger along a row of books, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. “You must realize that in the last ten years your brother has matured into a prominent and well-respected research doctor. I know that you and Theodore and your childhood friend—” My father pointed into the air to retrieve the name.

“Charlie,” I reminded him. “Teddy’s best friend is Charlie.”

“Yes, of course,” my father fumbled, trying to cover his oversight. “The three of you have socialized for years. But you must remember that every morning your brother returned to the labs, joining company with some of the medical profession’s key figures. You need to give your brother his due. This delay was proportional to his contributions.”

“Just once, could you put the labs aside?” I pleaded, remembering how the missed dinners and business trips ate away at our family’s dynamic. I’d never understood how Teddy was able to remain neutral all these years. He loved my parents and he loved me, but he kept his worlds separate. Now I wasn’t sure my father saw Teddy in the context of family at all. “He’s your son first,” I slurred as despair mangled my words, “and a scientist second.”

My father pulled his chin to the ceiling as if he were using gravity to draw his tears back into their ducts. I sensed a softening.

“In all my years as a doctor, I never thought I would attend the autopsy of my son,” my father began. “I want to assure you that I stood shoulder to shoulder with the medical examiner through the initial work-up.”

“And you found nothing?” I said, dragging my sleeve under my nose.

“On this first round, no,” my father said and then cleared his throat. “A more intrusive examination occurred after I left, and it will take a few weeks to receive the blood and toxicology reports.”

“Don’t protect me,” I said, recalling how my parents replaced my pet goldfish a dozen times rather than telling me the fish had died. “I’m okay with the truth.”

“The truth is I have no idea how your brother died, but I have asked the police to open an official investigation. That was my discussion with Detective DeRosa a few minutes ago. I came as soon as I got word from the board to proceed, and I’m here tonight to ask for your full participation. You and your housemates were close to Teddy. It’s important you speak freely with the police.”

“That goes without saying,” I answered, now wondering if my father had already tipped Detective DeRosa off to my challenging personality.

My father leaned toward me, and for a second I thought he had lost his footing. I reached out to steady him but was met by a cold, dry kiss on the side of my head. “Thank you, dear,” he said.