Living Proof, стр. 36

“It was Charlotte who inspired me to go into biochemistry. My family used to say how nice it was that I wanted to research for her, but they had me all wrong. It was the most selfish career I could have chosen, to the extent that my happiness depended on her well-being.

“After I finished graduate school, we married. We moved to a small apartment near Columbia, where I taught and researched. She would have terrible mood swings out of nowhere, and she started getting tired and depressed. I worked like a fiend, but I wasn’t even coming close. Then the genetic breakthroughs in 1998 finally gave us the map to the answer: human embryonic stem cells.

“I joined a group at the school that was doing all kinds of innovative techniques like gene splicing and targeting and regenerative organ growth.… We were doing so goddamned well, we never could have dreamed that religious politics would kill it all. It was sixteen years ago in February, the day when science died, when the DEP came into being. I didn’t take those bastards seriously, I just couldn’t. In less than a year, I was in jail. But how the hell could they have expected me to obey their stupid laws? Would you expect a starving man not to eat the filet mignon on his plate because it came from a fucking cow?”

“Sam—,” Arianna cut in. His face scared her; it was the color of a heart attack.

He looked straight at her, breathing hard. “The DEP might as well have killed her.”

“Sam—”

“Not only did they wipe out her chance for a cure, but the year I spent in jail, she just got sicker and sicker, and I couldn’t take care of her. Do you know what it’s like to sit in darkness while your wife’s body rots alive, to know you had the chance to save her, but no, you’re stuck in a wretched cell next to real killers, and you’re alone with your mind. No one can save you from the torment, the guilt, the rage, not the alcohol or the drugs or the sick fantasy that deludes half the men who get out of prison alive—that goddamned farce known as God. There’s nothing and no one to help you.”

He went on, shaking: “When I got out, I was already destroyed, but watching her die … No wonder I became a fucking alcoholic!” He kicked the side of his chair and then stumbled away, limping.

“Sam,” Arianna said, softer this time. She got up and walked over to him, expecting him to lash out. But he allowed her to touch his arm, and then to gently pull him back toward his chair.

He sat down forlorn, but when they locked eyes, he grabbed her hand. “For you,” he said, “it’s not too late.”

She squeezed his hand with both of her own, overcome with a hope so fierce, it sucked her breath away.

“As long as we all keep pushing,” he said. “I should go back right now.…”

Her heart filled with tender warmth, and she kneeled down to his level. “Your mind is exhausted, Sam; your soul is worse than that. Sleep here tonight and start fresh tomorrow.”

He looked down.

She lowered her voice. “There was nothing you could have done about any of it.”

After a second, he closed his eyes, but whether in defiance or acceptance she couldn’t tell. She decided to let him be. Something about their exchange needled her: the look on his face when they locked eyes. It was pure adoration. Arianna knew he probably thought of her as a daughter, but their dynamic was delicate. He was risking his life to save hers. His ferocious work ethic—sleeping at the lab, for God’s sake … Could it be that she was unintentionally manipulating his affection to drive him to work harder? When she cooked him meals and charmed him with unannounced visits, was a tiny part of her pushing, pushing as much as she could get away with? She had been told before that she sometimes had a coercive effect on people, though she was oblivious of it. But the thought that she could be exploiting Sam was too disturbing to contemplate. It was also preposterous, she told herself. She knew their friendship was sincere. And he wanted nothing more than to research embryos like the old days; hell, she had practically exhumed him from the liquor cabinet when they first regained contact. Giving him a private lab had been hands down the best thing she could have done for him. She searched his face as if for validation. His eyes glazed over from exhaustion.

She rose uneasily and glanced at Megan, who gave her a pleading look.

“We should go,” Arianna said to him. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbled.

Arianna smiled tentatively, and then bent down and kissed his forehead.

The gratified look in his eyes reassured her that he would, indeed, be fine alone.

“Good night,” she said. “We’ll show ourselves out.”

He nodded.

“Bye,” Megan called. “Sorry to have imposed.”

Outside the apartment, Arianna turned to Megan and held up a hand.

“I know, I know. I didn’t expect that. It’s my fault. I should have warned you not to mention his wife.”

“Yeah, thanks. But no wonder he’s so bitter.”

“Welcome to the Dark Ages,” Arianna said as they stepped into the elevator. She spoke quickly, to distract herself from that needling worry. “But I think it’s good for him to retain that anger, to feel it through and through sometimes, as long as he doesn’t go overboard. It keeps his humanity intact—imagine if he just became this jaded shell. I’ve seen so many old people retire, and then slowly lose their memory and their reason. When the mind loses purpose, it withers. Passion keeps it alive. I just wish he would just direct less rage at himself.”

The elevator doors opened, and they walked through the lobby.

“You should just be careful with him, Ar,” Megan said.

Arianna’s stomach clenched. “What do