Daisy was having a hard time getting
motivated today. She'd spent the better part of the morning digging her
car out from under a four-foot drift which the snowplows had thoughtfully
left behind, and now her back was sore. Her arms ached. She'd shoveled and
shoveled and shoveled, and she was sick of all this snow. Melt already!
Last night a bilious force had
buried half the State under a moonscape of white, dumping a good six
inches on the city of Boston and launching a fleet of snowplows and
school cancellations. Her head was Splitting. For once in her life,
she didn't feel like working. Instead, she wanted to sit at her desk and
watch the plump white flakes drift down from the sky and collect against
the windowpanes. The snow piled up and caught in little patterns on the
screens. It was beautiful. She felt about as distant from her work as if
she were covered in gauze. Across the street from the medical school,
a line of parked cars was buried under vast drifting vistas, and beyond
the parking lot, the city trees were dark as wrought-iron bones.
Daisy propped her chin in her hands
and wished that last night hadn't happened. Just her luck to have been there
when Truett was drunk. Now she was going to have to deal with the fallout.
She was going to have to explain to him that she didn't want to hurt their
working relationship. She'd been avoiding him all morning long and was
dreading the encounter. She checked her watch. Time to get back to work.
Inside the Mouse Facility, she
washed up at the sink and put on a pair of latex gloves, shoe coverings
and a disposable face mask, then entered the sterile holding room and
flipped on the light. There were two light switches on the wall-the top
one activated a red light-bulb, the bottom one activated a white
lightbulb
. Since mice weren't able to detect color,
the red light registered as darkness and didn't disrupt their sleep patterns.
"It's okay, guys," she whispered. "Keep on snoring."
Like most animal and plant species,
mice had a circadian rhythm, and the lab used a Standard light/dark
cycle-twelve hours of light, twelve hours of darkness. Inside cage number
A, four adult mice slept soundly while a fifth one shuffled around restlessly,
trying to get comfortable. She recognized Louis XIV by his floppy left
ear and little blue dye mark on his back. "Hey," she said, raising
the wire lid of the cage and lifting him out by his tail. There were new
Scratches on his body she would have to monitor, since wounds were
signs of aggression among
cagemates
. Louis'
hind legs scrambled for a foothold as she checked his balance. "Looking
good. This looks real good," she cooed as she cupped him in her
palm.
Six months ago, she'd divided
thirty mice into three groups of ten: one group of normal mice, and two
groups of mice with the genetic defect that caused
Stier-Zellar's
disease. Of the twenty mice with the disease, ten had been randomly selected
to receive the corrective gene. In order to administer gene therapy,
Daisy had encoded DNA with the missing enzyme, then loaded it into a
harmless virus that'd been stripped of its own genetic Information.
She injected this "viral vector" into the brains of the affected
mice and now, six months later, the results were nothing short of astonishing.
The latest MRI images showed marked improvements in myelin levels across
the board. The brain cells were clear at the injection site and in the
areas around them.
Children born with
Stier-Zellar's
disease had an enzyme deficiency
that caused the erosion of myelin, an essential part of the nervous
System. The sad result was the same in every case-gradual paralysis,
mental retardation and early death. To date, there was no cure.
Stier-Zellar's
became apparent when an infant was
around two years old. Symptoms included lack of head control and abnormal
muscle tone, also known as floppiness. The disease slowly wiped out
the ability to think and move, and most children born with
Stier-Zellar's
rarely lived beyond the age of eight.
Now Louis XIV paused to sniff at
the air, his whiskers twitching delicately. He was very special. All
the mice named Louis were special, since they'd been bred to have the
mutated gene. The trial results looked promising, but Daisy was cautious
in her assessment-there were still too many unanswered questions. Gene
therapy worked, but for how long? A year? Two years? And how would her success
with the mice translate to human subjects?
She carefully grasped the mouse
by the scruff of his neck and, working quickly, collected a blood sample.
"Easy, big guy," she said, smoothing the spot on the back of his head
with her finger. "All done. Not so bad, huh?" Very gently, she lowered
him back in his cage and released him onto the bedding, then watched for
a moment as he settled down.
There was a sharp rap on the glass,
and she panicked, knowing how much it would distress her mice. She pulled
off her face mask and gloves and hurried out of the holding room, where
she ran smack into
Truett's
arms.
"Hey, you," he said with
a warm smile.
Daisy untangled herself and smiled
nervously back. "You startled me, Truett."
"Have you been avoiding
me?"
"What?" She frowned.
"No. Why?"
"Because this morning you ignored
me for a moment before you changed your mind and said hello. I can detect
even the smallest slight, you see."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm
not avoiding you." It embarrassed her that she was lying to him. Why
was she lying to him? She needed to be honest. "Truett," she said,
"about last night…"
"I was drunk. I'm sorry I behaved
badly."
She glanced at the open door and
pulled him back in-side the holding room with her, the red light washing
across their faces. "Because I wouldn't want anything to hurt our
relationship." agree.
"You do?" She pinched
the bridge of her nose. "I was really worried…"
"Relax. I'm the bearer of good
tidings. The FDA has approved our proposal for human clinical trials
for
Stier-Zellar's
."
"Are you serious?"
"As a preacher's wife."
She felt a warmth rushing through
her. It was great news. The best.
"We'll Start next month, ten
kids, ages one through six. You did it, Daisy. Congratulations."
"We did it," she said excitedly.
"I think there's room on that
shelf for another bottle of Champagne, don't you?"
She glanced at the shelf with its
dusty bottles and laughed, her mind reeling. There was so much work to be
done. She wanted to get started right away.
"By the way," he told her,
apropos of nothing, "Julia and I are getting a divorce."
She could feel herself suddenly
spinning out of orbit. "What?"
"Julia and I…"
"A divorce?"
"Is there an echo in here?"
He read the panic on her face. "Daisy," he said in that condescending
tone he sometimes used with her. "You're hardwired to be miserable,
aren't you?"
"This isn't because of last
night, is it?"
"No."
She didn't believe him. Outside,
the wind was blowing the trees around in gray swirls, and wet snow lashed
down from the turbulent sky. She rubbed her forehead with vigorous fingers.
"Because, listen… it would be really awkward."
"Oh really?" He crossed
his arms. "Just what was so awful about it?"
"Not awful. Awkward. You
know what I mean."
"Not really."
Her cell phone rang just then, rescuing
her. The line was riddled with static. "Mom? I can't hear you."
She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and said, "I have to take
this, Truett. Can we talk later?"
"Look, my marriage has been
on life support for years," he told her. "Julia thumps her foot
when she eats. She's got a mouth like a feeding fish. Things have gotten
so bad between us she'll wave at me with one finger." He raised his
middle finger in a mocking salute. "There. Feel better now?"
She walked out of the Mouse Facility
and was half-way down the corridor by the time she realized Lily was
crying. "Mom? What's wrong? What is it?"
"Anna's missing."
She grew instantly annoyed.
"Again?"
"Yes, again," Lily said.
"And this time I'm worried."
The following morning, Daisy wore
the bright red scarf her mother had given her last Christmas, a red wool
muffler that made her neck itch. She drove her Mustang over the railroad
tracks and across the covered bridge at McCallum Creek, then began the
winding up-hill ascent through the dense, familiar woods that gave off
the aroma of pine sap and
woodsmoke
. She couldn't
believe she'd been dragged back into the same old drama. Anna’s missing,
Anna's sick, Anna's gone off her meds. Wheeler's Pond was frozen solid today,
covered with laughing kids and silent ice-fishers, old men hunched over
their fishing poles and little girls in raggedy pink parkas like the
kind she and Anna used to wear, their tiny figures making lacy zigzags
across the ice. Edgewater was one of those quaint Vermont villages that
relied mostly on tourism for its existence, although it had once been
a booming
miining
town. Now it sprouted inns and
antique barns like fast-food chains. "Step Back a Century" was
the town motto. In the fall, the woods crawled with hunters, and when the
girls were little, they used to put curses on the bad men’s heads and hope
that the huge-eyed deer would spot their phosphorescent-orange vests
and flee before the booming sound of their guns could thud against the
distant hills.
Today was April Fools' Day, yet
everything was white, the relentless snows of winter having bludgeoned
last year's Vegetation into the ground. They would probably skip
spring this year and go directly to summer with its oppressive humidity
and black flies. She drove through downtown Edgewater, past the redbrick
eighteenth-century buildings and gleaming white church spires, then
crossed the rusty bridge that spanned the ice-covered river. After a few
more miles of breathtaking vistas, she climbed the short hill to Woodpecker
Road, where stubborn cornstalks poked out of the drifts like dead fingers.
Daisy's stomach cinched with a familiar worry. What if Anna was in trouble
this time? How could they possibly help her? Los Angeles was three
thou-sand miles away.
Lily Hubbard stood hatless and coatless
on the front porch, batting her arms against the cold. She waved as she spotted
her daughter's fiery red Mustang, and Daisy sighed, "Oh, Mom."
Her mother never changed. Lily had just recently recovered from the flu,
and now here she was, darting half dressed across the snowy front yard.
"Crazy lady," Daisy muttered
as she pulled into the driveway and parked next to Lily's balloon-blue
Toyota, feeling big and pushy in her American-built classic.
"You made it!" Lily said,
galloping down the snowy incline into her daughter's arms. She gave
Daisy a hug that didn't feel half as hearty as it used to; it felt fragile
and careful, lacking in muscle tone. Lily held on a microsecond longer
than Daisy wanted to be held, then they both pulled away at once. "You
look pretty sharp," Lily said, flipping the red scarf playfully.
"Where's your coat,
Mom?"
"Back inside. I'm just so
happy to see you."
"Your lips are blue. How long
have you been standing there?"
"You're very predictable,
sweetheart. You said you'd be here at ten, and it's five minutes
past." Her pale face was mottled and flushed from the cold, and her
breath came out in cottony puffs. She wore a thin white blouse, a lilac
sweater vest and a matching skirt that came to just below her knees. Her
winter boots were unlaced and partially filled in with snow, and behind
her, smoke puffed from the chimney and the icicled roof gleamed like something
out of a storybook. Clutching her shivering frame with both arms, Lily
said, "You're right. It is cold."
"Let's get you back inside before
you turn into a Popsicle." Daisy looped her arm through her mother's
and helped her up the incline and across the front yard. Lily's hair was
stylishly cut and dyed its former blond, and her fingers were swollen with
arthritis. In her early sixties, she took insulin for her diabetes,
and Daisy was constantly worried about her. Lily worked as an accountant,
certifying company books, and loved numbers more than people because,
she said, numbers were less confusing. They either added up or they
didn't.
Three enormous blue jays sprang
from the bird feeder as they approached the house. The two-story Queen
Anne with its original windows and wraparound porch sat in majestic
isolation on the western slope of a hillside overlooking the valley.
From this vantage point, they could see down into the bare winter woods.
The clapboard house was white with a green-shingled roof, and in the
springtime, the red window boxes were filled with geraniums. In the
front yard of this once-cheap-but-now-prime real estate, the elegant hickory
trees clung to a few withered leaves.
"I really think we should file
a missing-persons report," Lily said. "Five weeks is an awfully
long time to be out of touch, even for Anna."
Daisy sighed. "What happened?"
"She sounded really happy
last time we spoke. She was seeing Dr. Averill and taking her meds. Then
about five weeks ago she stopped returning my phone calls."
"She's done that before,
Mom. Cut us off without warning."
"I know, but it's never a good
sign."
Daisy refused to worry prematurely.
Her younger sister was always disappearing on them, always creating
scenes. Diagnosed as bipolar or schizophrenic, depending on which
doctor you talked to, Anna had been living with their mother for years
now, but every once in a while, she would venture out into the real
world and try to make it on her own. Sadly, these gambits never worked
out, and before too long, twenty-eight-year-old Anna Hubbard would come
running home with her tail tucked between her legs and swear she'd never
leave Edgewater again. Then she'd call Daisy in the middle of the night
to complain, "Guess what the
Monaster
did
today?"
This time Anna had stayed away
from home for ten whole months, almost twice as long as her longest prior
adventure.
"Oh, look, you've got burs on
the back of your coat," Lily said, whacking at Daisy's shoulders
with her hand. "Where'd you get these?"
"No idea, Ma." Daisy took
off her coat and scarf and went rummaging around in the pantry for the coffee]
mugs while her mother stepped out of her wet boots and into a pair of house
slippers. Daisy had a sinking feeling that things might be different this
time as she poured them coffee from the pot on the stove. She'd lost touch!
with Anna months ago and was feeling a little guilty] about it. Now she
fished around in the refrigerator for the nonfat milk, added a splash
and sat down at the kitchen] table with her mother. Lily's place mat held
the remain! of that morning's breakfast-pulpy orange juice, a half-eaten
pancake in a puddle of maple syrup.
"How are you doing?" Daisy
asked her. "Are you eating okay?"
Lily seemed more distracted
than usual. "
Hm
? Oh yes, fine."
"Are you following your diet,
Ma?"
"Oh, honey, I'm sure even Mother
Teresa cheated once in a while." Lily eyed her plate. "Would
you like something to eat? There's plenty of pancake batter left. Or I
could scramble you some eggs."
"No thanks."
"You look tired."
"I'm not tired."
"Your eyes are bloodshot."
"Yeah, Ma. I've been hanging
out on street corners snorting Dristan."
Lily frowned. "Don't make fun
of me."
"I can't help it. You always
dance around what's on the tip of your tongue."
"Well, anyway. Thanks for coming."
"Of course I came. Why wouldn't
I? I'm the dutiful one, remember?" She couldn't help sounding bitter.
It was just that Anna was forever getting into trouble, and Daisy was
always cleaning up after her.
The morning sunlight gave the kitchen
a vintage glow. Lily took off her oversize, amber-tinted glasses, the
skin around her eyes creasing like crepe paper. She paused for a moment
to cough. She had a big cough for such a frail-looking person.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
She waved away the worry.
"Right as rain." Her mother wasn't always dependable about injecting
her insulin three times a day. Her diabetes was a self-managing condition
that got worse with stress or illness, and death was always a risk. At Daisy's
insistence, Lily now carried her insulin around with her wherever she
went.
"Okay, so what instigated
it this time?" Daisy asked. "Did you two have a fight?"
"No, that's what's so puzzling.
She's been calling home for months now-once a week, like clockwork.
Then poof, no more phone calls. I must've left a dozen messages on her
machine."
"She'll show up eventually.
She always does."
Lily shook her head. "It's
different this time."
"How do you know?"
"It just feels different."
Daisy twisted her fingers together
in her lap, more worried than she cared to admit. "Remember when
she joined that stupid cult?"
"You're right." Lily patted
her arm. "I'm getting worked up over nothing."
Sometimes Anna would disappear
for weeks at a time just to punish them. She'd camp out at a friend's house
or else take the bus to Rutland and hole up in some battered women's
shelter, pretending to be somebody else, two sisters were so different,
and yet all their lives, Daisy and Anna had been told how similar they
were. Daisy couldn't see it. The main facial feature they shared was a
mouth whose thick, curvaceous lips wrapped articulately around big
words. Daisy had her mother to that for the rest of her-same aristocratic
nose and light blond hair, same startling blue eyes and well-rounded figure
that skinny Anna was so jealous of. The girls' father had died when Daisy
was three, right before Anna was born, and as far as Daisy could tell, the
only trait she'd inherited from Gregory Hubbard was a permanently worried
look on her otherwise symmetrical face. Anna, on the other hand, had
inherited their father's towering stature and ail-American good looks,
same coppery red hair and dark blue eyes and those wide-open features,
which she accented to ghoulish effect with brushstrokes of Gothic eye
shadow and black lipstick.
"Did you call Dr.
Slinglander
?" Daisy asked. "Maybe he's heard
from her."
Lily shook her head. "They haven't
spoken since August."
"That long?"
Dr.
Slinglander
was Anna's psychiatrist in Edgewater.
Pushing seventy, he resembled a
white-haired Mr. Rogers with his comfy clothes and serene gaze. Over the
years, he'd managed to keep Anna pretty well stabilized and medicated,
but he kept encouraging her independence from Lily, often with disastrous
consequences. "What about
Maranda
?"
Daisy asked. "
Maranda
, Sylvia… nobody's heard
from her." She warmed her hands on the chipped brown mug they seemed to
have had forever, purchased from some craft shop that no longer existed.
"So nothing triggered it?"
"Back in January, I noticed…
oh, I don't know, something strange about her speech. But she kept assuring
me that everything was fine. Everything was 'cool.' She was seeing
Dr. Averill and taking her meds. So I figured, well, if anything happens,
Dr. Averill will catch it. But then one day she stopped returning my phone
calls. I tried not to panic. So I waited. And now I've waited long enough.
Maybe too long."
The house was homey rather than
elegant and smelled pervasively of gingerbread. The windowpanes were
frosted over with ice, each one its own crystallized continent. Since
when had this become an old lady's house, Daisy wondered, full of delicate
things artfully arranged? Hints of bargain hunting were everywhere,
and cobwebs gathered in places high on the ceiling where Lily could no
longer reach them.
"I mean, what's so great about
Los Angeles?" Lily asked rhetorically. 'The traffic is terrible.
They have drive-by shootings. They have earthquakes." "It's
not your fault, Mom. It's nobody's fault."
Lily sagged in her seat. "I
shouldn't have let her go off on her own like that. It was stupid of
me."
"Mom. Please. She's a grown woman."
"She's been out there an awful
long time, don't you think?"
"Ten months is a record,"
Daisy agreed.
"Ten months." She stood
up. "I've almost forgotten what she looks like."
"Mom? Where are you going?"
"Upstairs. I need to see her
face."