33

I SIT AT THE KITCHEN island, playing a word game on my handheld computer. It was one of the activities Dr. Devonaire said may improve or, at the least, stabilize my diminishing communication skills.

Morgan pauses her dinner preparation to respond to a text message on a computer screen embedded into the wall in the kitchen.

“Good,” she mumbles.

“What?” I used to be able to shut out the world when I was working, but my attention span is about as long as my average sentences nowadays.

“Oh,” she glances at me over her shoulder as if she was surprised to see me there. “Savannah’s flying down in her boyfriend’s private jet to spend a weekend with us.”

“Is she bringing, uh, Mary Nell?”

The teapot begins to whistle on the stove and she drops a tea bag into a porcelain cup. “No, she isn’t, Ray.”

She pours the hot water into her cup, acting like she’s offended that I even asked.

“Why not?”

At first I think she is not going to answer. Then finally she mumbles a belated response. “I think it’s quite obvious why not.”

“Not to me.”

She responds with her right hand planted firmly on her right hip, exaggerating the slit in her silk nightgown. Her left hand grasps the handle of her teacup like she is tempted to toss the hot liquid at me.

“What, Morgan? Why are you upset? She’s in the last weeks of her life. Don’t you have any natural affection for, uh, um . . . ” My mind goes blank. Ugh! I could thrash my skull against the wall when this happens!

“You’ve grown rather attached to that defective girl . . . ”

“Mary Nell!” I snap my fingers, recalling her name.

“I think it would be in the best interest of all that you grow unattached to her.”

“Why do you keep talking about what’s best for all without, without, uh, without thinking about what’s best for her?”

She huffs at me, drops a sugar cube in her chamomile and, without even bothering to stir it, stomps from the room with an exaggerated hip wag, as if she is letting me know what I am not going to enjoy with my inappropriate inquiry.

I pick up the hardline phone and speed-dial Savannah’s mobile number. My hippy of a daughter refuses to upgrade to a nanophone. She doesn’t answer. I hang up and dial her home. Again, she doesn’t answer. Surprisingly, there’s another voice on the answering machine. I leave a message. “Savannah, call me immediately. It concerns your inheritance.”

Within thirty seconds, she calls me back, but not before Morgan stomps into the room, having overheard my voicemail.

“Shh!” I order her. “She’s calling me back . . . ”

Morgan snatches the phone out of my hand.

“Hey!” I reach for my phone.

She holds it out of reach. “Don’t you dare make this more difficult for everybody than it already is!”

Then she presses the button to hang up the phone and slams it down on the marble countertop.

“There you go again, Morgan!”

She stomps from the room.

“Shouldn’t everybody include Mary Nell?”

“I’m telling Dr. Devonaire about this outburst.” She disappears down the hall toward the bedroom.

“My outburst?”

The phone, thankfully, rings again. I answer. “Hello, Savannah. How are . . . ”

She doesn’t even wait for me to finish my introduction. “What about my inheritance?”

I take a deep breath. I am treading on tenuous ground.

“Has your mother told you what’s been happening to me the past few weeks?”

Her tone relaxes when she realizes that I’m not mad at her. “No. What?”

“I’m developing some strange form of dementia.”

“What?”

“Yes. I’m more confused and forgetful, and the doctors don’t know why. They say it won’t get worse as long as I don’t have any more strokes. My bloodwork is normal, and all the brain scan shows is that some diseased small arteries in my brain are getting more clogged, putting me at high risk for more strokes.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” There’s a hint of satisfying sadness in her tone.

“If this progresses, I think it’s a good idea to be surrounded by those I love. My business has always come first in my life, but I’m changing a bit, for the better, I believe.”

“We’re coming this weekend. I want to introduce you to Argentino, my new beau.”

“You’ve got a new man? What’s the matter with the old one? Uh, what was his name?”

“He was, well, too much like you. All work, no play. This fellow will make for a better long term relationship, and he has the credit to keep us comfortable in spite of his short work weeks.”

I try not to be offended at her comment that her ex-boyfriend was too much like me. “I look forward to meeting him. But the one I am looking forward to meeting more than anybody is Mary Nell.” There is silence on the other end of the line. “I love her. I think about her all the time, Savannah.”

“But what does this have to do with my inheritance?”

I sigh heavily. “To be blunt, Morgan gets half, Louie gets a fourth, and you a fourth. I’m willing to take the portion devoted to my children—you and Louie—and divide it by three, and set one-third of that aside for Mary Nell. So you’d be responsible for twice Louie’s portion.”

“For my daughter?”

“Yes.”

“That would be nice, Daddy. We have already begun an account to save for her college.”

She’s talking about the dupe scheduled to replace Mary Nell in three months. Mary Nell would never be admitted to any college. “No, Savannah. I’m not referring to Mary Nell’s clone. Different brain, different person. I don’t love her, not yet. I will, I’m sure, but I’m talking about your daughter.”

She growls. “Oh, Daddy, why are you doing this?”

“I love her, Savannah.” The thought of Mary Nell’s affectionate hugs moistens my eyes. “Can you blame me?”

“This is a difficult decision, Father.” She sobs for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry, Savannah. I don’t want to make you cry.” I’m stroking a spoiled brat who needs a thrashing more than anything, but with my granddaughter’s life hanging in the balance, I don’t want to upset Savannah more than I have. “She reminds me of you when you were a little squirt. Do you remember being that age?”

“Not a lot of fond memories, Daddy.”

“And that’s my fault, I know. But they could have been worse. Imagine being in your daughter’s shoes, with your momma planning to trade you in—”

“Father!”

“Please, please don’t hang up on me, Savannah.”

“Well, quit, then! You make me not even wanna come anymore.”

“Because I tell you I want her here in my final days? Savannah, I tell you what. You bring her this weekend and we’ll talk some more about the amendments to my will. I’m open to your advice.”

“I’d rather not.”

Mary Nell may not even have a mother figure anymore. Savannah is not just withholding love from her daughter—she’s probably actively spurning her affection. I hope Mary Nell’s not suffering emotionally or physically.

“Mary Nell’s spirit will live on, Daddy. Trust me. I feel right about it.”

My heart pounds with a mixture of fear and rage. She is going to kill my granddaughter because she “feels right about it.”

“You tell yourself that if you want, but I’m a scientist. There are two people right now—one residing in the Verity wing of the New Body Research Center and one with you, perfect only in her demented Gwampa’s eyes.” Here, Savannah giggles nervously. “One’s a genetically perfect dupe and one’s not. But make no mistake—there are two of them. Sisters.”

A moment of silence. My daughter’s respiratory rate has increased slightly, making me suspect that I have kindled a discomfort deep in her heart. Good. I’ve been there, and without this inward pain, there can be no genuine change.

“Perhaps we could trade, Savannah. You let me see Mary Nell, I’ll let you see her perfected dupe.”

Savannah’s voice bursts with renewed enthusiasm. “You can do that?”

“I can.”

“I’d love that!”

“Is it a deal?”

She sighs. “We were planning on leaving her with a sitter, but I suppose we could bring her.”