Childless: A Novel (21 page)

“Very nice,”
Dr. Vincent said as he watched Sarah walk away after delivering two steaming mugs to the table. “A friend of yours?”

“Sarah and I worked together,” Matthew said, still enjoying the lingering scent of her
good to see you again
embrace. “We got pretty close.”

Campus Grinds looked as it had every day of every year that Matthew had started and ended a shift. But it
felt
different sitting across from his mentor enjoying conversation instead of rushing to clear used napkins and empty mugs.

Both men took a first sip.

“How close?” Dr. Vincent asked with a wink.

Matthew’s first instinct was to confirm the professor’s suspicion with a bluff. But he had already exaggerated his progress with Maria, so decided to tell the truth. “Nothing like that. Just coworkers chatting to pass the time.”

Dr. Vincent pulled out his phone, pointing and zooming toward the counter where Sarah was taking an order, and clicked a photo. Then he began voicing letters as he tapped “S. A. R. A. H.” He paused, looking back at Matthew. “How do you spell her last name?”

Matthew recognized the professor’s pattern. “She has a partner,” he said protectively.

Dr. Vincent frowned like a wine connoisseur shaking an empty bottle. He hit the
DELETE
key.

“So, this girl in Denver,” he said, getting them back to the conversation interrupted by the arriving drinks. “Any chance she’ll keep you from returning to school next year?”

“Maria, from Littleton. And no, I don’t see her keeping me from school. Although I do face other obstacles.”

Dr. Vincent glanced at the time. “What do you say we spend twenty minutes overcoming your obstacles and leave the last ten for you to tell me about Maria?”

If only his financial problems could be solved so quickly.

“Actually, I wanted to discuss a different topic if that’s OK with you.”

The professor smiled. “You made the drive and bought the coffee so I suppose I should let you set the agenda. What’s on your mind, Mr. Adams?”

“I’m working with a man who should transition,” he said abruptly. “But he thinks it’s wrong. And his daughter, who really needs him to volunteer, is scared to talk to him about it.”

Dr. Vincent enjoyed a second drink while waiting for Matthew to say more.

“Well, not scared. More like perplexed. I think she likes the idea but vacillates between what she knows would be best and what she thinks would be wrong.”

“So you’ve discussed this with both the father and the daughter?”

“I have. I raised it with my client after lunch a few days ago. Then I spoke to his daughter yesterday. That’s when I decided I needed your advice.”

Dr. Vincent seemed pleased by Matthew’s deferential regard. “I’m glad I was available. Tell me about the conversation with…what’s the daughter’s name?”

“Marissa. She’s a bit older than me. Has two young kids.”

“No partner?”

“Died a few years back. That’s part of the reason the old man should transition. If he doesn’t he’ll need to move in with her and the kids.”

The look on the professor’s face told Matthew he didn’t entirely see the problem.

“They don’t get along,” said Matthew.

Dr. Vincent continued to stare.

“And he’s about to run out of money.”

Finally an understanding nod. “I see. And his health?”

“Pretty bad. He can’t walk. Breathes through a tube. Can’t really be left alone.”

“We decay,” the professor said. They were the same words he had used when Matthew asked about his own ailing mother. And the words he used to explain Manichaeism to students and readers.

“Exactly!” Matthew said. “He’s in decay and plans to make himself a burden to Marissa, Isabelle, and little Pete.”

“The kids?”

“Yeah. Twins. About five or six years old.”

“Hmm. Do they get along with their grandpa?”

The question carried weight, as if the professor thought affection might trump pragmatics.

Matthew recalled little Pete’s secret conversation in his grandfather’s room. “They get along,” he replied. “But they’ve never had to live with Reverend Grandpa.”

“Reverend Grandpa?” A chuckle.

“Don’t ask,” Matthew replied with a roll of his eyes. “He’s sort of eccentric.”

“I bet.”

“He insists everyone call him Reverend. So the kids call him Reverend Grandpa.” Matthew matched his mentor’s smile as he thought of the comical man. “He used to be a preacher of some sort. Loves to read and quote from a vintage Bible he keeps in the front room.”

The description flattened Dr. Vincent’s grin into a disapproving sneer. “A literalist?”

Matthew didn’t understand the question. “A what?”

“Does this Reverend Grandpa read the Bible as if it were literally true?”

“Seems to. Why?”

“What about the daughter?”

“What about her?”

“Does she share the old man’s beliefs? You know, does she read the Bible literally?”

“I don’t think she reads it at all. Like I said, she and her father don’t get along.”

“So she doesn’t object to her dad volunteering for religious reasons?”

“I don’t think so. She never mentioned any religious reasons. She just seemed afraid to talk to him about it.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“Well,” Matthew said, trying to recall. “I told her that I had asked Reverend Grandpa whether he had ever considered volunteering. She seemed both surprised and intrigued, especially when I explained your ‘spirit good, body bad’ concept.”

“It’s not entirely my concept,” Dr. Vincent said with a reluctant hint of modesty. “Did Marissa seem open to transitions in theory?”

“I think so.”

“So she didn’t dismiss the process as immoral out of hand?”

“No.”

“But she got nervous when you suggested a transition could help her specific situation?”

“Exactly! How’d you guess?”

“I’ve been teaching about enlightened spirituality for a long time now. The easy part is getting students to accept ideas in the abstract. It’s much harder getting them to connect the dots to concrete realities like life and death. Humanity is hopelessly addicted to the embodied-personhood paradigm.”

Matthew pretended to follow. “I guess,” he said, returning to his dilemma. “One thing’s for sure. Marissa Gale will never suggest a transition to Reverend Grandpa.”

“But you did.”

“Yes. I sensed he was depressed and assumed he had been considering volunteering. Boy, was I wrong!”

The two shared a laugh.

“Bit your head off, did he?”

A nod. “Yep. But I also sensed a tiny crack in the door, as if I had raised an option he would only consider under dire circumstances. That’s why I mentioned it to Marissa. I even offered to help.”

“Help? How?”

“I said I’d raise the topic with him again at the right moment. Possibly when he’s feeling depressed or when he asks me to deposit his reverse mortgage check.”

“Reverse mortgage?”

“He’s been living on the house equity.”

A nod of recall. “Right.”

“Anyway, I said I could raise the subject at a time when he might be open to a different solution than burdening his daughter and grandkids. That’s why I called your office. I was hoping you could help me come up with a few arguments that he might hear.”

“I take it he doesn’t like Manichean philosophy.”

“Not at all. Dismissed my best points without a thought.”

“I’m not surprised,” the professor said. “Bible-thumpers aren’t exactly known for their ability to think.” He chuckled derisively.

“I guess. But he seems pretty smart. He’s even read a book by Augustine.”

“
City of God
?”

Matthew didn’t recognize the title. “No. The book where Augustine described his religious conversion.”

The former priest grimaced. “
Confessions
.”

“So you know it?”

“All too well.”

“Should I read it?”

“No.”

The answer surprised Matthew. “No?”

The professor corrected himself. “I mean, yes, of course. But Augustine wrote
Confessions
after ditching Manichaeism for Christianity. His books won’t help you convince an old literalist that it’s OK to escape a decaying body.”

“I see.”

A brief silence.

“Let’s get back to the daughter,” the professor said. “Did she accept your offer to talk to the father about volunteering?”

“She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.”

“Then you need to do it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” Dr. Vincent appeared to have overcome any concerns about affectionate grandkids. “Does the family have money?”

“Not much. Like I said, he’s burning through a reverse mortgage. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered whether the daughter would be willing to pay down your school loan if you convince the old man to go through with it. You know, sort of like a finder’s fee.”

“Would that be, you know, ethical?”

Dr. Vincent rolled his eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be? Anyone can donate to a university.”

“I don’t know. It feels sort of—”

“In fact,” the professor interrupted, “I have a research project that’s been on hold since the end of last semester when I lost my grant. If you can find me a donor I could easily create a full-scholarship intern position.”

“Wait. You mean if Marissa donated to your research project you could get me back into school?”

“Not just Marissa. Anyone.”

Matthew considered the possibilities.

“What about my mother’s estate?”

The question seemed to confuse the professor. “I thought your mother’s estate was held up until the NEXT appeal gets resolved.”

“Yeah. But it’s only held up because I’m the direct beneficiary. What if the money got donated to the university instead?”

Dr. Vincent smiled at the idea before showing a look of concern, as if trying to figure out how to avoid getting into trouble with the IRS. After a few seconds he appeared to imagine a loophole, or possibly a cheat. “We might just be able to make that work.”

Ten minutes later Matthew sat alone at the same table staring at the bottom of an empty coffee mug. His breath quickened with excitement as he considered his next steps.

First, call estate trustee Benjamin Cedillo to relinquish his inheritance money to the University of Colorado.

Second, ask Maria Davidson on a date in order to celebrate his pending return to college.

Troy looked
at Julia from his side of the sofa without saying a word. He had seemed distracted while reading the first draft of her story. It had made her nervous watching facial expressions and hearing sighs that she couldn’t quite decipher. Was he impressed? Confused? Did he love it? Hate it? Perhaps the pause meant he was trying to think of what to say without hurting her journalist ego.

“Be honest. What do you think?”

Another, deeper sigh. One that she recognized.

Troy was agitated.

“Say something.”

“They sold their babies on the black market?”

Julia felt relieved knowing she had appalled her first reader. That was the purpose of the feature, after all. To put a human face on dark zone trends. Although, in the case of Austin Tozer and the woman Amanda called Hen,
inhuman
might be the more fitting word.

Troy continued. “The guy convinced his fifty-eight-year-old mom to transition just so he could avoid getting a job?”

“I didn’t say he said that, did I?” Julia asked, fearing she had misrepresented Austin’s rationale.

Troy glanced down at the tablet to rescan a section of the article. “No. I guess I read that between the lines.”

Good,
thought Julia. The story had accomplished both of her goals. First, give the facts as presented. Second, show the truth as observed.

“And I didn’t call what they did ‘selling on the black market’ since it’s legal to sell a fetus. Right to privacy.”

“But I specifically remember a provision in the Ethical Embryotics Act stating companies can only accept
donated
embryos from unsuccessful in vitro implantation.”

“True,” Julia said. “But that law only applies to companies supplying materials for medical uses. It never mentioned cosmetics, health supplements, or a dozen other product categories.”

“Health supplements?”

“Embryotic-enhanced protein powder. Bodybuilders add it to shakes.”

Troy’s face took on a greenish hue. “We ingest human embryos?” he whispered as if asking forgiveness.

“
Soylent Green
come to life,” Julia said.

“
Soylent Green
?”

“An old movie where human beings became part of the food supply due to overpopulation. Too many people for too little food.”

Troy winced, then sighed. “Too
many
people? Oh for the days we worried about
that
problem.”

“Austin Tozer and his partner fit the dark zones themes to a tee,” Julia said. “They took two thousand dollars per potential kid to spend on video games and Pop-Tarts, clueless to how badly we will need those kids a few decades from now. How badly
they
might need them. I thought their story was poetically appropriate.”

“Tragic poetry,” Troy scoffed.

Julia waited for more.

“You did good, babe,” Troy said as he kissed her forehead. “It captures the ugly side of dark zone trends. I can’t imagine anyone reading this piece without questioning common assumptions behind the Youth Initiative.”

“Thanks,” Julia said. She sensed he wanted to say more. “And?” she asked.

He hesitated before speaking. “Well. I also can’t imagine RAP Syndicate publishing this story as is.”

“I have a deal with Paul. He promised to run what I deliver. No changes that I don’t approve first.”

“That’s good,” Troy replied. “But can we trust him?”

Julia knew what was behind the question. Paul Daugherty was the same editor who had radically altered Julia’s
Breeders
feature a year earlier. He had merged Julia’s work with a smear piece by Monica Garcia, a rising star at RAP thanks to great legs rather than winning prose.

“No, we can’t trust him,” she said. “But that’s a risk we take.”

He nodded in reluctant acceptance of the gamble. “Regardless,” he said, “it’s one of the most powerful things you’ve written. I’m proud of you.” He gave her another kiss, this time on the lips. “And I’m grateful to you. I think this will help Kevin.”

“Wait till you see my second story. Polar opposite of this one. My first bright spot family.”

She began describing an interview she had done the prior afternoon: a couple married almost twenty years, with three kids, running a software support business they operated out of their home. The oldest son, seventeen years old, worked in the business part-time after school. The grandparents lived in the same house. Or rather in an apartment that adjoined the main structure and provided easy access so the younger kids could get Grandpa’s help with homework or assist Grandma chopping vegetables. Her favorite part of the story, she explained, was how the older and younger couples had pooled their resources after the crash, an ideal arrangement that enabled the younger pair to launch the business.

Midway through her description Julia realized Troy was nodding his head without really listening. She stopped talking, folded her arms with a huff, and waited the ten seconds it took for him to notice.

His distant stare finally saw her scolding face. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “I’m listening.”

“No. You’re
trying
to listen. Not the same thing.”

She was right.

“You might as well tell me what’s on your mind,” Julia insisted. “You’ll find out what I was saying later when you read my second story.”

He smiled sheepishly before he groaned. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

Her mind jumped to Troy and Kevin’s business. Another setback? Had the needed venture capital deal fallen through? “Now you
have
to tell me,” she insisted.

“I spoke to Kevin about an hour ago. He said it seems like Senator Franklin may be up to something.”

“Something bad?”

“Not necessarily bad. More like calculated. Franklin encouraged Kevin to approach a guy named Dimitri to help us fund getting the Center for Economic Health off the ground.”

“Evan Dimitri?” she asked. “Isn’t he the brains behind the Saratoga Foundation?”

“The brains and a big chunk of the cash,” Troy said. “He’s a major player behind Franklin’s campaign. He even gave a large gift to Kevin’s reelection PAC last year. That’s why Franklin suggested Dimitri as a potential source of seed funding.”

“Makes sense. So why the concern?”

“There’s more. Kevin said Franklin is acting all chummy again, like he did before…”

Troy stopped.

“Say it. Before my
Breeders
story tarnished Kevin’s reputation?”

A faint nod.

“Anyway, rumors are floating around that Franklin sees Kevin as a key ally to win the White House next year.”

“I thought Franklin had been trying to distance himself from Kevin.”

“He was. It appears that’s changing.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Julia asked. “I mean, it can only help Kevin to gain access and influence, right?”

“Perhaps,” Troy said warily. “But Franklin isn’t known to do favors for other party leaders, even young up-and-comers like Kevin, unless he sees how it will advance his agenda or bolster his poll ratings. I can only think of one reason Franklin would start courting Kevin now.”

Troy paused, giving Julia a moment to fill in the punch line.

“He wants Kevin’s endorsement?”

Troy appeared confused by the suggestion. “No,” he said. “Kevin’s endorsement wouldn’t mean much at this stage of the game. He’s only a second-term congressman from a medium-size state.”

“What then?” Julia asked impatiently.

“I think he might be considering Kevin for the ticket.”

Julia gasped. “As in,
Tolbert for vice president
ticket?”

“Exactly. Think about it. The
Breeders
story tapped the disdain of a large swath of the population against people like Kevin Tolbert.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said.

“But it also forced the party to face facts. They now acknowledge the existence of a sizable voting bloc that seems to be growing and that can afford to donate more than dark zone citizens.”

“Franklin wants support from the breeders.”

“Which Kevin’s smiling face and family photo would embody better than anyone in the party. Traditional marriage. Four kids. All he needs is some platform to give voice to and garner support from a constituency no one else has tapped. A large influx of cash to establish the Center for Economic Health as a credible voice would position Kevin well.”

“But you worry it would make Kevin beholden to Franklin.”

“I’m not as worried about Franklin as I am about the guy funding Franklin’s rise.”

“Dimitri.”

“Do you know what he did during the lunch meeting with Kevin? He flashed a two-million-dollar check in his face like a puppeteer dangling strings. The recipient line was blank. Then he placed the check in front of Kevin and handed him a pen. ‘Fill in the name of your new organization,’ he said.”

“Two million dollars?”

“Twice what we had hoped to raise in seed funding.”

“What did Kevin say?”

“He thanked Mr. Dimitri for the support, wrote ‘Center for Economic Health’ onto the check, and slid the pen back across the table.”

“So you have two million to work with? That’s terrific!” She noticed Troy’s frown. “Isn’t it?”

“It would be if not for what happened next. Dimitri slid the pen back toward Kevin and handed him another document. Kevin read it, then tore up the check.”

Julia’s eyes widened. “He tore up a two-million-dollar donation?”

“The document Dimitri wanted Kevin to sign would have made us promise that the Center for Economic Health will only advocate policies that encourage increased fertility while leaving the second bright spot trend alone. ‘I’m fine with you rallying support among voters who love kids,’ Dimitri told him. ‘That’ll help us. But if you do anything to undermine the core of the Youth Initiative I’ll drop you faster than a bowling ball!’”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning hands off the transition industry. No research showing it causes harm. No suggesting there have been abuses. No proposals that would curtail its growth.”

“Did Kevin explain to him that transitions aren’t bringing the promised growth?”

“He knows. He doesn’t care.”

“Why would a fiscal conservative like Dimitri support a practice that stagnates the economy?”

“Because he doesn’t believe the evidence.”

“But—”

“Correction,” Kevin continued. “He doesn’t
want to
believe the evidence because his company makes a fortune as the exclusive supplier of PotassiPass, the key chemical ingredient used in every NEXT transition.”

No wonder Troy had been so distracted. So agitated.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

“Me too,” he said, squeezing Julia’s hand. “I’ve had a bad feeling about Evan Dimitri ever since…well…since the first time I saw his name.”

“When was that?”

“A large donation check from out of the blue last year. No prior relationship. No connection whatsoever. Kevin met him for lunch alone and later with Franklin.”

Troy paused as if watching wheels turn in his head. Then he turned back toward Julia. “It took guts for Kevin to tear up that check. But he may also have turned one of Franklin’s most reliable friends into one of our wealthiest enemies.”

“Let’s hope not,” Julia said as she reached for a silver lining. Nothing came. She instead placed her hand on Troy’s tensed jaw. “Hey,” she whispered sweetly. “Where’s the man I married? The one who makes a living figuring out how to turn declining companies into thriving enterprises?”

She sensed his anxiety ease at her touch. She moved in closer, teasing his lips with her own.

“The man who discovered bright spots in an economy everyone else saw as a dark, mucky swamp?”

She wrapped both arms around Troy’s neck while sliding from her side of the sofa onto his lap. She began nibbling his earlobe.

“The man who brightens my life every day and”—she tasted his upper neck—“the man with whom I plan to join the bright spots movement.”

They kissed deeply for several seconds. Then Troy pulled his head back to look Julia in the eyes. “Wait. What did you just say?”

A sly grin followed by a fierce nod.

“So you want to? Now? Not in a few years?”

“Now,” she said eagerly, recalling Angie’s description of pregnancy and motherhood. It was like leaning over the railing at Niagara Falls, the fear overwhelmed by the wonder.

Her husband’s fingers slid around her torso. Her body tingled with anticipation. Julia knew she was about to enjoy the first unprotected sex of her life.

And it surprised her to realize nothing had ever made her feel so safe.