Lessons in Chemistry (33 page)

“We’re making some cuts,” Frask said.

“What do you mean
we
?” Donatti said, snapping back.

“
I’m
making some cuts,” Frask said.

“You’re a
secretary,
” Donatti exhaled, as if he were tired of this charade. “Fired, remember?”

“Frask is our new head of Personnel,” Wilson informed him. “We’ve asked her to find a new director of Chemistry.”

“But
I’m
the head of Chemistry,” Donatti reminded him.

“We’ve decided to offer the job to someone else,” Avery Parker said. She nodded at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, surprised, took a step back.

“Out of the
question
!” thundered Donatti.

“I wasn’t really asking a question,” Avery Parker said, the termination notice hanging limp in her hand. “But if you’d like, we could leave your employment status up to someone who really knows your work.” For the second time, she tilted her head in Elizabeth’s direction.

All eyes turned to Elizabeth, but she didn’t seem to notice; she was already fixated on the sputtering Donatti. Hands on hips, she leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowed as if peering into a microscope. There were two beats of silence. Then she leaned back as if she’d seen enough.

“Sorry, Donatti,” she said, handing him a pen. “You’re just not smart enough.”

Stillborn

“Very few people surprise me, Mrs. Parker,” Elizabeth said as she watched Frask escort Donatti out. “But you have.”

Avery Parker nodded. “Good. The offer’s sincere. We hope you’ll accept. And by the way, it’s Miss Parker. I’m not married. Actually,” she added, “I’ve never been married.”

“Nor have I,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes,” Avery Parker said, her voice dropping an octave. “I’m aware.”

Elizabeth noted the change in timbre and felt an instant prick of irritation. Thanks to
Life,
the entire world knew Madeline was born out of wedlock, and because of it, she heard that tone all the time.

“I’m not sure how much you know about the Parker Foundation,” Wilson began as he wandered around the lab, pausing briefly to read a description on a file folder.

“I know your focus is scientific research,” Elizabeth said, turning toward him. “But that your roots were Catholic charities. Churches, choirs, orphanages—” She stopped dead, suddenly acutely aware of that last word. She looked at Wilson more closely.

“Yes, our founders were devoted to Catholic causes; however, our mission is entirely secular. What we do is try to find the best people working on the most critical issues of the day.” He set aside the file folder in a way that communicated that it was definitely
not one of them. “Seven years ago, when we funded you, you were doing just that—abiogenesis. Whether you know it or not, Miss Zott, you’re the reason we came to Hastings in the first place. You and Calvin Evans.”

At the mention of Calvin’s name, she felt her chest tighten.

“Strange about Evans, isn’t it?” Wilson said. “No one seems to have any idea what became of his work.”

His casual words hit her like a cyclone. She pulled out a stool and sat down, watching as he poked around the lab like an archeologist, examining a tiny corner of this or that as if it might lead to something much bigger below.

“I know you’ve already made your position clear,” he continued, “but I thought you’d be interested to know we plan to upgrade a lot of the equipment.” He pointed to a shelf where an out-of-date distillation apparatus sat unused. As he raised his arm, a shiny cuff link peeked out from under his suit sleeve. “Like that, for instance. That thing looks like it hasn’t been touched in years.”

But Elizabeth had no reaction. She’d turned to stone.

When Calvin was ten, he’d written about a tall, rich-looking man with shiny cuff links who’d arrived at the boys home in a fancy limo. He seemed to think it was because of this man that the home was given new science books. But instead of being glad for the reading material, Calvin was devastated.
I’m here even though I should not be,
he’d scrawled.
And I will never ever forgive that man, him. Never. Not as long as I live.

“Mr. Wilson,” she said, her voice wooden
.
“You say your foundation only funds secular projects. Would that include education?”

“Education? Well yes, of course,” he said. “We support several universities—”

“No, I mean, have you ever supplied a school with textbooks—”

“On occasion, but—”

“What about an orphanage?”

Wilson stopped short, surprised. His eyes darted to Parker.

In her mind, Elizabeth saw Calvin’s letter to Wakely.
I HATE MY FATHER. I HOPE HE’S DEAD.

“A Catholic boys home,” she clarified.

Again, Wilson looked to Parker.

“In Sioux City, Iowa.”

A thick silence fell, interrupted only by the sudden whoosh of an exhaust fan.

Elizabeth stared at Wilson, her face unfriendly.

It suddenly seemed clear: the job they were offering her was a ruse. They were there for one reason and one reason only: to claim Calvin’s work.

The boxes. They knew about them. Maybe Frask had told them; maybe they’d made an educated guess. In any case, Wilson and Parker had bought Hastings; legally, Calvin’s work belonged to them. They were plying her with compliments and promises, hoping that would be enough to coax the boxes out of the woodwork. But if that didn’t work, they still had one last card left to play.

Calvin Evans had a blood relative.

“Wilson,” Parker said, her voice trembling. “Would you mind? I’d like to speak with Miss Zott alone.”

“No,”
Elizabeth said sharply. “I have questions; I want the truth—”

Parker looked at Wilson, her face deflated. “It’s all right, Wilson. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

As the door latched closed, Elizabeth turned on Avery Parker. “I know what’s going on here,” she said. “I
know
why you asked me here today.”

“We asked you here to offer you a job,” Parker said. “That was our only goal. We’re longtime admirers of your work.”

Elizabeth searched the woman’s face for signs of deceit. “Look,” she said in a calmer voice. “I don’t have an issue with you. It’s Wilson. How long have you known him?”

“We’ve worked together for nearly thirty years, so I’d say I know him very well.”

“Does he have children?”

She gave Elizabeth a peculiar look. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” she said. “But no.”

“You’re
sure.
”

“Of course I’m sure. He’s my lawyer—this is
my
foundation, Miss Zott, but he’s the face of it.”

“And why is that?” Elizabeth pressed.

Avery Parker looked at her, unblinking. “I’m amazed you have to ask. I may have considerable assets, but like most women in the world, my hands are tied. I can’t even write a check unless Wilson cosigns.”

“How can that be? It’s the
Parker
Foundation,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Not the Wilson Foundation.”

Parker snorted. “Yes, a foundation I inherited with the proviso that my
husband
make all the financial decisions. As I was unmarried at the time, the board appointed Wilson as trustee. As I’m still unmarried, Wilson continues to hold the reins. You’re not the only one who’s fought a losing battle, Miss Zott,” she said as she stood up, tugging hard on her suit jacket. “Although I’m lucky: Wilson’s a decent man.”

She turned and walked away as Elizabeth asked another question, but instead of responding, Avery Parker ignored her.
What had she been thinking?
Elizabeth Zott was not interested in returning to Hastings, and maybe, based on her pointed questions about Wilson—not to mention all the
other
issues—it would be better
for all if she did not. Distracted, Avery reached up and touched her finger to her cheap daisy brooch. What a foolish woman she’d been. Buying Hastings, coming here, meeting Zott. Yes, she’d always been fascinated by Zott and her research—she’d once dreamed of becoming a scientist herself. But instead, she’d been raised to be one thing and one thing only: nice. Unfortunately, according to both her parents and the Catholic Church, she’d failed at that, too.

“Miss
Parker
—” Elizabeth pressed.

“Miss
Zott,
” Avery returned just as emphatically. “I’ve made a mistake. You don’t want to come back to Hastings; fine. I’m not going to beg.”

Elizabeth took a short breath in.

“I’ve been begging my entire life,” Parker continued. “I’m sick of it.”

Elizabeth brushed a few stray hairs aside. “It’s not even me you want,” she said hotly. “Isn’t that right? You’re only here for the boxes.”

Avery cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Boxes?”

“I understand. You bought Hastings; they belong to you. But this charade—”

“
What
charade?”

“— I want to know about All Saints. I think I have a right to know.”

“Excuse me?” Parker said. “You have a right? Let me tell you a little secret about rights. They don’t exist.”

“They do for the wealthy, Miss Parker,” Elizabeth insisted. “Tell me about Wilson. About Wilson and Calvin.”

Avery Parker stared back perplexed. “Wilson and Calvin? No, no…”

“Again, I think I have a right to know.”

Avery pressed her hands down on the counter. “I wasn’t planning on doing this today.”

“Doing what?”

“I wanted to get to know you first,” Avery continued. “I think that’s
my
right. To know who
you
are.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms.
“Excuse me?”

Avery reached for the chalkboard eraser. “Look. I…I need to tell you a story.”

“I’m not interested in stories.”

“It involves a seventeen-year-old girl,” Avery Parker said, undeterred, “who fell in love with a young man. It’s a rather standard story,” she said brittlely, “where the young girl got pregnant and her prominent parents, shamed by their daughter’s promiscuity, sent her away to a Catholic home for unwed mothers.” She turned her back on Elizabeth. “Maybe you’ve heard of these homes, Miss Zott. They’re run like prisons. Filled with young women in the same kind of trouble. They have their babies, then relinquish them. There was an official form to sign and most signed. Those who refused were threatened: they’d have to endure the delivery alone; they might even die. Despite the warning, the seventeen-year-old girl still refused to sign. Kept insisting she had
rights.
” Parker paused, shaking her head as if she still couldn’t believe the naïveté.

“True to their word, when her labor started, they put her in a room by herself and locked the door. She stayed there, alone, crying out in pain, for a full day. At some point, the doctor, infuriated by the noise, finally decided he’d had enough. He went in and anesthetized her. When she came to hours later, she was given the grim news. Her baby had been stillborn. Shocked, she asked to see the body, but the doctor said they’d already disposed of it.

“Fast-forward ten years,” Avery Parker continued, turning to face Elizabeth, her jaw tight. “A nurse from the unwed mothers home contacts the now-twenty-seven-year-old woman. Wants money for the truth. Tells her the baby didn’t die; rather, it, like all the other babies, had been put up for adoption. The only unusual thing: this child’s adoptive parents died in a tragic
accident, then the child’s aunt died. The child was sent to a place called All Saints in Iowa.”

Elizabeth froze.

“That was the day,” Avery Parker said, her voice turning sad, “the young woman began her quest to find her son.” She paused. “My son.”

Elizabeth drew back, all the color draining from her face.

“I’m Calvin Evans’s biological mother,” Avery Parker said slowly, her gray eyes filling with tears. “And with your permission, Miss Zott, I’d very much like to meet my granddaughter.”

The Acorn

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Elizabeth stared at Avery Parker, uncertain how to proceed. This couldn’t be true. Calvin’s own diary had revealed that his biological mother had died in childbirth.

“Miss Parker,” Elizabeth said carefully, as if picking her way across hot coals. “A lot of people have tried to take advantage of Calvin over the years. Many have even pretended to be long-lost family members. Your story is—” She stopped. She thought back to all the letters Calvin had kept. Sad Mother—she’d written to him several times. “If you knew he was in that boys home, why didn’t you go get him?”

“I did,” Avery Parker said. “Or rather, I sent Wilson. I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t brave enough to go myself.” She got up and walked the length of the worktable. “You need to understand. I’d long ago accepted that my child was dead. Now to suddenly learn he was alive? I was afraid to get my hopes up. Like Calvin, I too have been a target for countless scams, including from dozens of people claiming to be
my
so-called relatives. So I sent Wilson,” she repeated, looking down at the floor as if reviewing this decision for the fiftieth time. “I sent him to All Saints the very next day.”

The vacuum pump started a new cycle, and with it a hissing sound filled the laboratory.

“And—” Elizabeth prodded.

“And,” Avery said, “the bishop informed Wilson that Calvin was…” She hesitated.

“Was what?” Elizabeth urged.
“What?”

The older woman’s face sagged. “Dead.”

Elizabeth sat back, floored. The home needed money, the bishop saw an opportunity, there was a memorial fund. Facts came pouring out of the woman in a dull, lifeless rush.

“Have you ever lost a family member?” Avery suddenly asked in a flat voice.

“My brother.”

“Illness?”

“Suicide.”

“Oh god,” she said. “So you know what it is to feel responsible for someone’s death.”

Elizabeth tensed. The words fit snugly, like laces knotted twice. “But you didn’t kill Calvin,” she said with a heavy heart.

“No,” Parker said in a voice sick with remorse. “I did something much worse. I buried him.”

From the north side of the room, a timer beeped, and Elizabeth, trembling, went to shut it off. She turned to take in the woman standing at the chalkboard. She leaned to the right. Six-Thirty got up and went to Avery. He pressed his head against her thigh.
I know what it’s like to fail a loved one.

“My parents had long funded unwed mothers homes and orphanages,” Avery continued, fiddling with the eraser. “They thought this made them good people. And yet thanks to their blind allegiance to the Catholic Church, they managed to make an orphan out of my son.” She paused. “I funded my son’s memorial before he was dead, Miss Zott,” she said, her breath shallow. “I buried him twice.”

Elizabeth felt a sudden wave of nausea.

“After Wilson returned from the boys home,” Avery continued,
“I sank into a deep depression. I’d never had the chance to see my own son, never held him, never heard his voice. Worse, I had to live with the knowledge that he’d suffered. He’d lost me, then his parents, then he ended up in that garbage dump of a boys home. Each of these losses signed, sealed, and delivered in the name of the church.” She stopped abruptly, her face reddening. “YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN GOD FOR SCIENTIFIC REASONS, MISS ZOTT?” she suddenly exploded. “WELL, I DON’T BELIEVE IN GOD FOR
PERSONAL
REASONS.”

Elizabeth tried to speak but nothing came out.

“The
only
decision I was able to make,” Avery Parker said, trying to bring her voice back under control, “was to ensure that all the memorial funds went toward a science education. Biology. Chemistry. Physics. Exercise, too. Calvin’s father—his biological father, I mean—was an athlete. A rower. That’s why the boys at All Saints learned to row. It was a gesture. In his honor.”

Elizabeth saw Calvin. They were in the pair, his face lit by the early morning sun. He was smiling, one hand on the oar, the other reaching for her. “That’s how he got to Cambridge,” she said as the vision slowly faded away. “On a rowing scholarship.”

Avery dropped the eraser. “I had no idea.”

Details slowly continued to fall into place, but something still nagged at Elizabeth.

“But…but how did you finally find out that Calvin—”

“Chemistry Today,”
Parker said, slipping onto the stool next to Elizabeth’s. “The one with Calvin on the cover. I still remember that day—Wilson came rushing into my office waving it in the air. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said. I picked up the phone right then and called the bishop. Naturally he insisted it was only a coincidence—‘Evans,’ he said. ‘It’s a very common name.’ I knew he was lying and I intended to sue—until Wilson convinced me the publicity would not only be ruinous for the foundation but embarrassing for Calvin.” She leaned back and took a deep breath
before continuing. “I cut off funding immediately. Then I wrote to Calvin—several times. I explained things as best I could, asked to meet him, told him that I wanted to fund his research. I can only imagine what he thought,” she said, depressed. “Some lady writing to him out of the blue claiming to be his mother. Or maybe I do because I never heard from him.”

Elizabeth started. The Sad Mother letters bloomed again before her eyes, the signature at the bottom of each, radiating a sudden cruel clarity.
Avery Parker.

“But surely if you’d arranged a meeting. Flown to California—”

Avery’s face turned ashen. “Look. It’s one thing to pursue a child with vigor. But once that child reaches adulthood, it changes. I decided to move slowly. Give him time to accept the possibility of me, research my foundation, realize I had no reason to delude him. I knew it might take years. I forced myself to be patient. But obviously,” she said, “given what happened—” She fixed her gaze on a stack of notebooks. “I was—too patient.”

“Oh dear
god,
” Elizabeth said, sinking her head in her hands.

“Still,” Parker continued in a monotone, “I followed his career. I thought maybe there’d be a chance, some way to help him. But as it turned out, he didn’t need my help. You did.”

“But how did you know Calvin and I were even…”

“Together?” A wistful smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “It was all anyone could talk about,” Parker said. “From the moment Wilson set foot in Hastings, all he heard were veiled references to Calvin Evans and his scandalous affair. It’s one of the reasons why, when Wilson told Donatti he was there to fund abiogenesis, Donatti did his very best to try to steer him elsewhere. The last thing he wanted was for Calvin or anyone associated with Calvin to succeed. And then there was the fact that you were female. Donatti rightly assumed that most donors would not fund a woman.”

“But why would you, of all people, put up with that?”

“I’m almost ashamed to admit there was a part of me that enjoyed the position we put him in. He went to such great lengths
to convince Wilson you were a man. But Wilson
did
have a plan to meet you without Donatti’s knowledge. In fact, he’d booked a flight. But then…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“But then Calvin died,” she said. “And your work seemed to die with it.”

Elizabeth looked as if she’d been slapped. “Miss Parker, I was
fired.
”

Avery Parker sighed. “I know that now, thanks to Miss Frask. But at the time I thought you might be trying to move on. You and Calvin never married. I assumed the feelings between you and my son hadn’t been mutual. Everyone said he was a very difficult man—that he held grudges. Obviously, I had no idea you were pregnant. You were quoted in the
LA Times
obituary as saying you barely knew him.” She took a deep breath in. “By the way, I was there. At his funeral.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“Wilson and I stood a few grave sites over. I’d come to bury him for the final time, and to speak with you. But before I could summon the courage, you left. Walked away before the service was even over.” She dropped her head in her hands, tears spilling. “As much as I’d wanted to believe someone had loved my son…”

With those words, Elizabeth slumped beneath the unrelenting burden of misunderstanding. “I
did
love your son, Miss Parker!” she cried. “With all my heart. I still do.” She glanced up at the lab where they’d first met, her face flattened by grief. “Calvin Evans was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she choked. “He was the most brilliant, loving man; the kindest, the most interesting—” She stopped. “I’m not sure how else to explain it,” she said, her voice beginning to break, “except to say we had chemistry. Actual chemistry. And it was no accident.”

And maybe it was finally using the word “accident,” but the crushing weight of what she’d lost overtook her and she laid her head on Avery Parker’s shoulder and sobbed in a way she never had before.