F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (6 page)

 
          
Car
horns started blaring behind Julie, and she looked over her shoulder to see a
line of frenzied cabs blocked by a delivery truck.

 
          
The
park seemed like a peaceful island, alive with people enjoying the day,
oblivious to the trash. Moms pushed their kids on swings and dog owners sat and
talked while their pets ran free in the fenced-in dog run.

 
          
"Where'd
this fire happen?"

 
          
"Up
in Putnam County. A sleepy town called Millbum."

 
          
"For
a complete change of scenery he could have taken you to California. I still
don't
—
"

 
          
"Eathan
didn't think much of American culture. Still doesn't. Whenever he's compelled
to put the words
Ameri' can
and
culture
together, he inevitably
divides them with
soi'disant."

 
          
Dr.
Siegal pursed his lips. "A snob, in other words."

 
          
"Yes,
but a very good, decent snob. He was an Anglophile. And he couldn't have been
more supportive as we were growing up. Too supportive sometimes, I
think."

 
          
"Ah,"
Dr. Siegal said, and leaned forward. "I have a feeling we've arrived at
the matter of your twin. Do I take it he tended to favor her?"

 
          
"Not
a bit. He was remarkably evenhanded, I'd say. But he didn't know how to be a
parent. He wasn't cut out for it, and I think he knew that. Thus his bachelorhood.
But we were thrust upon him and he did the best job he could. He made an excellent
guardian, but a lousy parent. He should have reeled Sam in when she was little.
But he didn't know how. He tried counselors and psychiatrists and special
schools, but nothing worked. She was a first-order flake. Eventually she turned
self-destructive."

 
          
"And
toward others?"

 
          
Julie
laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm sure she's hurt a lot of people."

 
          
Dr.
Siegal was looking at her and Julie realized that she was revealing more than
she intended. She spotted a hot-dog stand at the corner of University Place and
Waverly.

 
          
"You
hungry? There's the Sabrett's man."

 
          
Dr.
S. shook his head, catching her attempt to shift the discussion.

 
          
"No.
So tell me, how does one as bright and focused as you have an identical twin
who's a flake? How could Samantha be so different?"

 
          
"I
wish I knew. You know all this right-brained and left-brained stuff? Sam is
definitely right-brained. She's even left-handed. Enormously talented but can't
focus on anything practical long enough to become good at it. First she was
going to be a dancer, then a singer, then a writer, then an actress, then a
painter, then back to a singer again. God, it was a merry-go-round. She started
with the boys early on
—
word got around the village
pretty quick that"
—
Julie heard her voice slip
easily into a thick Yorkshire accent
—
"the
American bird, Sammi Gordon, was a right sure thing for a bit o' die ol' in an'
out."

 
          
"Certainly
not the first teenage girl to be generous with her favors."

 
          
"Damn
lucky she didn't wind up pregnant, although she might have had a dozen
abortions for all I know. After a while Uncle Eathan kept her secrets, and he
was always saving her butt one way or another. And then it was anorexia, then
bulimia. And mixed in with everything was booze and drugs. She's had
overdoses, she's had disastrous affairs...."

 
          
Julie
leaned back and took a breath. She was getting worked up just talking about it.
Even thinking about Sam put her on edge. Why? It was long gone, done, over,
finis. So why the hell was her adrenaline flowing?

 
          
"You
were never close?" Dr. Siegal said.

 
          
"Never."

 
          
"Do
you hate her?"

 
          
Julie
hesitated. It was a question she'd often asked herself. She answered
truthfully. "No. Of course not."

 
          
"Do
you love her?"

 
          
Julie
opened her mouth, then closed it again. Sam was her sister. You're supposed to
love your sister. You don't have to
tike
her, but somewhere, somehow,
it's generally assumed that you love her.

 
          
Did
she love Sam? How could she love someone she'd never understood, never had
anything in common with beyond DNA and disaster?

 
          
"I
sense indecision here," Dr. Siegal said. "Tell me, Julie: Do you love
anyone?"

 
          
"Yes.
Of course. I
—
I love my uncle
Eathan."

 
          
"I
won't contest that, and he certainly sounds like a wonderful man, but
gratitude is often mistaken for love."

 
          
"I
love my work."

 
          
"Yes!
I'm so glad you said that. No question about it. You
do
love your work.
And that, I fear, is the rub. You see, your work is incapable of loving you
back. And it appears to these old eyes that you love your work to the exclusion
of everything else in life."

 
          
That
wasn't fair. "Not true. I swim or jog every day, I sail in the summer
—
"

 
          
"All
solitary pursuits. Good pragmatic exercise. Do you have any friends?"

 
          
"Of
course."

 
          
"Close
friends?"

 
          
"Well..."

 
          
"How
about a fellow? A young man? Are you seriously involved with anyone?'

 
          
Julie
began to feel more uncomfortable. She didn't like these questions. Where was
all this leading? What was he getting at? Julie had rummaged through the
intimate corners of other people's minds, but just talking about her own
memories, her feelings, made her want to jump out of her skin.

           
On cue, for comic relief, an old
man/woman
—
hard to tell which
—
came rolling by pushing a supermarket cart filled with soda
and beer cans, singing a garbled version of "I'm Too Sexy."

 
          
She
loved this city.

 
          
"No,"
she said. "No 'fellows' at the moment. I'm fresh out of young swains. But
there's been
—
"

 
          
Dr.
Siegal waved his hand between them. "I'm not asking for names, but what
happened between you and the young men that you're no longer together now,
hrnm? Do you break it off or do they? What makes it go wrong?'

 
          
Now
she was really uncomfortable. She glanced at the entwined couple sucking face
on the other half of the bench and thought of Todd, of how, against her better
judgment, she'd let him move into her one-bedroom co-op in the East Seventies,
how they'd lived together for three months... and how one day she'd come home
from the lab
—
late as usual
—
to find he'd moved out, leaving a note that accused her of,
among other things, being a cold fish.

 
          
Truthfully,
she'd been glad to see him go.

 
          
I've
got my apartment back, she'd thought at the time.

 
          
And
there'd been others before Todd, none of whom lasted very long.

 
          
"It's
usually just a... combination of things. I don't think I want
to
get
into it much deeper than that." She grinned. "This is the nineties.
Relationships are tough."

 
          
"Fine,
fine. I'm not looking for details. I'm just trying to establish a
pattern."

 
          
"A
pattern? Of what?"

 
          
"Of..."
He grasped her right hand and held it between both of his. "Julie, dear,
I've been watching you since you came to work for me, and you are the most
brilliant theoretician I've ever seen. You've got a mind like a steel trap.
You're heading for world fame, maybe even a Nobel Prize. The work you'll
eventually do will change lives. Someday people will go to sleep blessing your
name."

 
          
She
never blushed, but if she did, she'd be blushing now.

 
          
"I
bet you say that to all the girls."

 
          
"I'm
quite serious," he said. "But amid all that approbation, I fear you
won't be happy. I fear you'll never be happy. Because you don't connect with
people, Julie. You won't have anyone to share the honors with, to tell of your
latest victory, to share the wonderful glow of success well earned. No, you'll
sit there alone in your hotel room after the ceremony and wonder, Is this it?
Is this all there is? Where's the rest of it?"

 
          
Being
alone never bothered her. Was that something she should worry about?

 
          
"You're
a wonderful scientist, Julie, but you're only living half a life. You get
results because you're not only brilliant, you're a workaholic. There's a piece
missing, my dear. You need to balance your professional life with your personal
life. It's a lesson I've learned over the years and it's stood me in good
stead. And a big part of that personal life is family."

 
          
"I
told you
—
"

 
          
He
squeezed her hand. "Yes, I know. You say you don't have a family. But you
do.
You have a sister who needs you right now, and a loving uncle who could
probably use someone to lean on a little. He was there for you. Now you could
be there for him. This is part of life, Julie
—
go
to them."

 
          
"I
can't. I've got to stay with the project. You know as well as I do what a
crucial juncture we're at."

 
          
"We'll
survive
—
at least for a while. You
won't be gone that long. We'll get the paperwork started without you, and
you'll be back to finish it up. Besides, I'm not giving you a choice: I
insist
that you go. Visit your sister. Even if you can't do anything definitive
to help her, be there for her. Let her hear your voice. Find a way to renew an
old bond or forge a new one. Make contact with
someone,
Julie."

 
          
Reach
out and touch someone? she thought, then instantly regretted it... because the
sarcasm only confirmed what Dr. Siegal was saying. She did live in an emotional
vacuum. Relationships took a backseat to... everything.

 
          
But
dammit, it's not like I'm just punching a clock to collect a paycheck. This
isn't just a job. This is a career. More than a career, it's a vision, a quest.

 
          
She'd
have plenty of time for relationships later, when things slowed down, plenty of
time.

 
          
But
she didn't believe that either.

 
          
"You're
going to Paris, my dear," Dr. Siegal was saying. "You're going to
burn some of that accumulated vacation time you never use and you're going to
unwind and try to be someone who's not working on a research project, try to
find that other part of you. At least for a while."