Seizure (17 page)

“I'm not suggesting I find it funny either,” Stephanie said. “I'm trying to use humor to defuse my real feelings.”

Daniel looked up. “What are you talking about?”

Stephanie shook her head and breathed out forcibly. She successfully fought back tears. She was trembling. “I'm upset. This kind of unexpected event really disturbs me. I feel violated that someone was in here, invading our privacy. It emphasizes the reality that we're always living on the edge, even when we don't know it.”

“I'm disturbed too,” Daniel said. “But not philosophically. I'm disturbed because there is something here I don't understand. It seems pretty clear to me that this intruder wasn't a run-of-the-mill burglar. He was looking for something specific, and I have no idea what it could be. That's troubling.”

“You don't think we just came home before he had a chance to take anything?”

“He'd been here for a while, certainly long enough to take some valuables, if that was what he was after. He had time to go through the desk and maybe even the file cabinet.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just know because of my own brand of compulsiveness. This man was a professional, and he was looking for something in particular.”

“You mean like intellectual property perhaps associated with HTSR?”

“It's possible, but I doubt it. That's all covered with adequate patents. Besides, then the break-in would have been at the office, not here.”

“Then what else?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I started to, but that was when he bolted out of here. Now I'm not sure we should.”

“Why not?” Stephanie was surprised.

“What would they do? The man's obviously long gone. We don't seem to be missing anything, so there's no insurance issues, and besides, I'm not sure I want us to be asked a lot of questions about what we have been doing lately, if that were to come up. On top of that, we're leaving tomorrow night, and I don't want anything to mess that up.”

“Wait a sec!” Stephanie said suddenly. “What if this episode has something to do with Butler?”

Daniel stared across his desk at Stephanie.

“How and why would it involve Butler?” Daniel asked.

Stephanie returned Daniel's gaze. The sound of the refrigerator compressor turning on in the kitchen broke the early evening silence. “I don't know,” she said finally. “I was just thinking about his connections with the FBI, and the fact that he had had you investigated in some form or fashion. Maybe they haven't finished.”

Daniel nodded as he considered Stephanie's idea, realizing it couldn't be dismissed out of hand, despite its outlandishness. After all, the clandestine nighttime meeting with Butler two nights previously had been equally outlandish.

“Let's try to forget this incident for the moment,” Daniel said. “We've got a lot to do to get ready. Let's start!”

“Okay,” Stephanie said, marshaling her fortitude. “Maybe concentrating on packing will get me to relax. But first I think we should call Peter in the event this character is planning to break into the office as well.”

“Good idea,” Daniel said. “But we're not going to tell him about Butler. I mean, you haven't told him, have you?”

“No. I haven't told him a thing.”

“Good!” Daniel said, as he picked up the phone.

11:45
A
.
M
., Sunday, February 24, 2002

 

As accustomed as
Stephanie was to mercurial New England weather, she was still surprised at the balmy, beautiful day Sunday turned out to be. Although the winter sunlight was pale, the air was warm and the birds were loud and omnipresent as if spring were just around the corner. It was a far cry from her frigid Friday night walk home from Harvard Square with a dusting of snow on the ground.

Stephanie had parked Daniel's car in the city garage at Government Center and walked east into the North End, one of Boston's quaintest neighborhoods. It was a warren of narrow streets lined with three- or four-story brick row houses. Southern Italian immigrants had adopted the area in the nineteenth century and transformed it into an ersatz Little Italy, complete with the usual sights and smells. There were always people engaged in animated conversation on the street, and the aroma of simmering Bolognese sauce permeated the air. When school was out, there were children everywhere.

Everything seemed familiar to Stephanie as she descended Hanover Street, the commercial avenue that bisected the neighborhood. In general, the community had been a nice,
social, and warmly nurturing environment for her to grow up. The only problems were the family issues she had recently admitted to Daniel. That conversation had reawakened feelings and thoughts she'd long since suppressed, the same way Anthony's indictment did.

Stephanie paused outside the open door of the Café Cosenza. It was one of her family's holdings and offered Italian pastries and gelato as well as the usual espresso and cappuccino. A babble of conversation mixed with laughter and accompanied by the hiss and clank of the espresso machine drifted out, as did the smell of freshly roasted coffee. She had spent many pleasant hours enjoying cannoli, ice cream, and the camaraderie of her friends in that room, with its kitschy wall painting of Mt. Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, yet from her current perspective, it seemed like a hundred years ago.

Standing outside and looking in, Stephanie realized how separated she felt from her childhood and her family except, perhaps, her mother, whom she frequently phoned. Excluding her younger brother Carlo, who had gone into the priesthood, a calling she could not fathom, she was the only person in her family to have gone to college, much less get a Ph.D. And most all of her elementary school and high school girlfriends, even those who had gone on to school, were presently either living in the North End or in the Boston suburbs along with houses, husbands, SUVs, and children. Instead, she was cohabiting with a man sixteen years her senior, with whom she was struggling to keep a biotech start-up company afloat by secretly treating a U.S. senator with an unapproved, experimental, but hopefully promising therapy.

Continuing down Hanover Street, Stephanie pondered her disconnect with her previous life. She found it interesting that it did not bother her. In retrospect, it had been a natural reaction to her discomfort about her father's business deals and her family's role in the community. What she found herself wondering was whether her life story would have taken a completely different track had her father been more emotionally available. As a young child, she had tried to break through the barrier of his self-centered male chauvinism and his preoccupation with whatever it was he was doing, but it had never
worked. The vain effort had eventually nurtured a strong independent streak that had carried her to where she was today.

Stephanie stopped when a curious thought occurred to her. Her father and Daniel had some things in common, despite their enormous and obvious differences. Both were equally self-centered, both could be brash on occasion to the point of being considered asocial, and both were fiercely competitive within their own worlds. On top of that, Daniel was equivalently chauvinistic; it just involved intellect rather than gender. Stephanie laughed inwardly. She questioned why the thought had never crossed her mind, since Daniel in his preoccupations could also be emotionally unavailable, especially lately, with the advent of CURE's financial difficulties. Although psychology was far from her forte, she vaguely wondered if the similarities between her father and Daniel could have had anything to do with the attraction she felt for Daniel in the first place.

Recommencing walking, Stephanie promised herself she'd revisit the issue when she had more time. Now she had too much to do with the Turin departure scheduled for that evening. She'd gotten up at the crack of dawn to finish packing. Then she had spent a good part of the morning at the lab with Peter, describing exactly what she wanted him to do with Butler's culture. Luckily, the cells were progressing commendably. She'd given the culture the name of John Smith, taking the hint from Daniel's conversation with Spencer Wingate. If Peter had any questions about what was going on regarding why they were going to Nassau, and why he was going to be sending down some of John Smith's cryopreserved cells, he didn't mention them.

Stephanie turned left on Prince Street and quickened her pace. This area was even more familiar, especially when she passed her old school. Her childhood house where her parents still lived was half a block beyond the school on the right.

The North End was a safe community, thanks to an unofficial “neighborhood watch.” There was always at least a half dozen people in sight who were socially addicted to knowing what everybody else was doing. The downside as a child was that you couldn't get away with anything, but at the moment Stephanie savored the sense of security. Although Daniel had
seemingly recovered from the intruder the previous afternoon and had dismissed the episode as unimportant in the grand scheme, Stephanie hadn't gotten over it, at least not completely, and being back in her old surroundings was reassuring. What Stephanie continued to find unsettling was that without an explanation, the incident tended to exacerbate her unease about the Butler affair.

Stopping in front of her old house, Stephanie eyed the fake gray stone that covered the brick on the first floor, the red aluminum awning with white scalloped trim over the front door, and the gaudily painted, plaster statue of a saint that stood in its niche. She smiled at how long it had taken her to recognize how tacky these embellishments were. Prior to that revelation, she hadn't even noticed them.

Although she had a key, Stephanie knocked and waited. She'd telephoned from the office to say she'd be stopping by, so there was to be no surprise. A moment later, the door was pulled open by her mother, Thea, who welcomed her with open arms. Thea's grandfather had been Greek, and subsequently female given names had been favored on the family's maternal side down through the years, Stephanie's included.

“You must be hungry,” Thea said, pulling back to eye her daughter. With her mother, food was always an issue.

“I could use a sandwich,” Stephanie said, knowing that refusing would be impossible. She followed her mother's slight frame into the kitchen that was redolent with the aroma of simmering food. “Something smells good.”

“I'm making osso buco, your father's favorite. Why don't you stay for dinner? We'll be eating around two.”

“I can't, Mom.”

“Say hello to your father.”

Dutifully, Stephanie poked her head into the living room immediately adjacent to the kitchen. Its décor hadn't changed one iota from Stephanie's earliest memories. As per usual, prior to a Sunday dinner, her father was hidden behind the Sunday paper clutched in his beefy hands. A brimming beanbag ashtray was perched on one of the La-Z-Boy's arms.

“Hi, Dad,” Stephanie said cheerfully.

Anthony D'Agostino Sr. lowered the top edge of his paper. He peered at Stephanie over his reading glasses with his
mildly rheumy eyes. A halo of cigarette smoke hung around him like thick smog. Despite being athletic in his youth, he was now the picture of corpulent immobility. He had gained considerable weight over the last decade, despite dire warnings from his physicians, even after his heart attack three years ago. As much as her mother lost weight, he gained in an unhealthy inverse proportionality.

“I don't want you upsetting your mother, you hear me? She's been feeling good the last few days.”

“I'll try my best,” Stephanie said.

He raised the paper back into position.
So much for conversation,
Stephanie thought, as she shrugged and rolled her eyes. She retreated back to the kitchen. Thea had gotten out cheese, bread, Parma ham, and fruit, and was arranging it on the table. Stephanie watched as Thea worked. Her mother had lost more weight since Stephanie had last seen her, which wasn't a good sign. The bones of her hands and face protruded, with minimal flesh. Two years before, Thea had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Following surgery and chemotherapy, she'd been fine until three months ago, when there had been a relapse. A tumor had been found in one of her lungs. The prognosis was not good.

Stephanie sat down and made herself a sandwich. Her mother got some tea and sat across from her.

“Why can't you stay for dinner?” Thea asked. “Your older brother is coming.”

“With or without his wife and kids?”

“Without,” Thea said. “He and your father have some business.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Why don't you stay? We hardly ever get to see you.”

“I'd like to, but I can't. I'm going away this evening for about a month, which is why I particularly wanted to come over today. I've got a lot to do to get ready.”

“Are you going with that man?”

“His name is Daniel, and yes, we are going together.”

“You shouldn't be living with him. It's not right. Besides, he's too old. You should be married to a nice, young man. You're not so young anymore.”

“Mother, we've been over this.”

“Listen to your mother,” Anthony Sr. bellowed from the living room. “She knows what she is talking about.”

Stephanie held her tongue.

“Where are you going?”

“Mostly to Nassau in the Bahamas. We're going someplace first, but only for a day or so.”

“Is this a vacation?”

“No,” Stephanie said. She told her mother the trip was work-related. She didn't give any specifics, nor did her mother ask, especially since Stephanie switched the conversation to her nieces and nephews. The grandchildren were Thea's favorite subject. An hour later, when Stephanie was about to make her exit, the door opened and in walked Anthony Jr.

“Will wonders never cease?” Tony said in mock surprise when he caught sight of Stephanie. He had a strong, cultivated blue-collar accent. “The high-and-mighty Harvard doctor has decided to pay us poor, working slobs a visit.”

Stephanie looked up and smiled at her older brother. She held her tongue like she had earlier with her father. She had long ago learned not to be baited. Tony had always derided Stephanie's schooling, as did her father, but not entirely for the same reason. With Tony, Stephanie suspected it was more jealousy, since he'd barely made it through high school. Tony's problem wasn't a lack of intelligence, but a lack of motivation as a teenager. As an adult, he liked to pretend he didn't care that he hadn't gone to college, but Stephanie knew better.

“Mom says your boy is turning out to be quite the hockey player,” Stephanie said, to turn the conversation away from the testy subject of schooling. Tony had a twelve-year-old son and a ten-year-old daughter.

“Yeah, a chip off the old block,” Tony said. He shared Stephanie's coloring and approximate height, but he was built more squarely, with a thick neck and large hands like their father. And also like their father, Tony projected in Stephanie's mind an unflattering, chauvinistic male animus, which made her feel sorry for her sister-in-law and worry about her niece.

Tony kissed his mother on both cheeks before stepping into the living room.

Stephanie heard the rustle of the newspaper as it was thrown aside, a slapping of hands that she could picture as a handshake, and an exchange of “How's it going? Great! How's it going for you? Great.” When the conversation switched to sports talk involving the various Boston professional teams, Stephanie tuned them out.

“I've got to be going, Mom,” Stephanie said.

“Why don't you stay? I can have the dinner on the table in no time.”

“I can't, Mom.”

“Dad and Tony will miss you!”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Stephanie said.

“They love you in their own way.”

“I'm certain they do,” Stephanie said with a smile. The irony was, she believed it. Stephanie reached across and squeezed Thea's wrist. It felt fragile, as though if she pressed too hard, the bones might break. Stephanie pushed back her chair and stood up. Thea did likewise, and they hugged.

“I'll call from the Bahamas as soon as I get situated and give you the details about where we're staying and the number,” Stephanie said. She gave her mother a peck on her cheek before sticking her head back into the living room. The cigarette haze was denser with both men smoking. “Goodbye, you two. I'm on my way.”

Tony looked up. “What's this? You're taking off already?”