Charles marveled at the depths of his loneliness, as if Michelle had already been taken from him. He didn’t understand these feelings although he guessed it might have something to do with guilt; if he had only been more attentive to Michelle’s symptoms; if he had only paid more attention to his family; if he had only carried out his research faster.
He wished he could put everything aside and just work on his own project. Maybe he could find a cure in time for Michelle. But Charles knew that was an impossible goal. Besides, he could not oppose Dr. Ibanez so openly. He could not afford to lose his job or the use of his lab. Suddenly Charles understood the directors’ cleverness in putting him on the Canceran project. Charles was disliked because of his unorthodoxy, but he was respected because of his scientific ability. Charles was a foil who lent the desired legitimacy that the project needed and a perfect scapegoat if the project failed. It was a decision of administrative genius.
In the distance Charles heard Cathryn’s voice calling his name. In the frigid air the sound was almost metallic. Charles didn’t move. One second he felt like crying, the next so weak that physical activity of any sort was impossible. What was he going to do about Michelle? If the chance of a remission faded, could he stand to watch her suffer with the treatment?
He moved over to the window and scraped off the frost his breath had created. Through the clear areas he could see the silver-blue snowscape and the patch of water directly in front of him. Guessing that the temperature was close to zero, Charles began to wonder about that open water. His original explanation to Jean Paul that morning had been that the current prevented it from icing over. But that was when the temperature hovered about the freezing mark. Now it was some thirty degrees below that. Charles wondered whether there was much current at that time of year. In the spring when the snows melted in the mountain to the north, the river raged and the pond rose by a foot-and-a-half. Then there would be current, not now.
Suddenly Charles was aware of a sweet aromatic smell. It had been there all the time but had not penetrated his consciousness until that moment. It was vaguely familiar, but out of context. He’d smelled it before, but where?
Eager for a distraction, Charles began to sniff around. The odor was about equal in intensity in the two rooms and strongest near the floor. Sniffing repeatedly, Charles tried to place the smell in his past. Suddenly it came to him: organic chemistry lab in college! He was smelling an organic solvent like benzene, toluene, or xylene. But what was it doing in the playhouse?
Braving the cold wind, Charles went out into the knife-sharp night. With his right hand he clutched his sweater tightly around his neck. Outside the aromatic odor was diminished because of the wind, but by bending down at the side of the playhouse, Charles determined the smell was coming from the partially frozen mud around and under the structure. Making his way down to the pond’s edge, Charles scooped up some of the icy water and brought it to his nose. There was no mistaking it: the smell was coming from the pond.
He followed the gradual curve of the pond, walking along the edge of the open water to the point where it merged with the inlet from the river. Bending down again, he brought some water to his nose. The odor was stronger. Breaking into a jog, Charles followed the inlet to the juncture with the Pawtomack River. It, too, was unfrozen. Again, Charles brought a sample to his nose. The odor was even more intense. The smell was coming from the river. Standing up, shaking from the cold, Charles stared upstream. Recycle, Ltd., the plastic/rubber recycling plant was up there. Charles knew from his chemistry background that benzene was used as a solvent for both plastics and rubber.
Benzene!
A powerful thought gripped his mind: Benzene causes leukemia; in fact it causes myeloblastic leukemia! Turning his head, Charles’s eyes followed the trail of the unfrozen, open water. It led directly to the playhouse: the one spot Michelle had spent more time than any other.
Like a crazed man, Charles sprinted for the house. The uneven snow tripped him and he fell headlong, landing on his chest with his palms outstretched. He was unhurt save for a cut on his chin. Picking himself up, he ran more slowly.
When he reached the house, he thundered up the back steps and banged open the door.
Cathryn, already taut as a tightened bowstring, involuntarily shrieked as Charles hurled himself breathlessly into the kitchen. The dish she was holding slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.
“I want a container,” gasped Charles, ignoring Cathryn’s reaction.
Gina appeared at the door to the dining room, her face reflecting terror. Chuck materialized behind her, then pushed past to gain access to the kitchen. He stepped between Charles and Cathryn. He didn’t care if his father was bigger than he was.
Charles’s breathing was labored. After a few seconds, he was able to repeat his request.
“A container?” asked Cathryn who’d regained some of her composure. “What kind of a container?”
“Glass,” said Charles. “Glass with a tight top.”
“What for?” asked Cathryn. It seemed like an absurd request.
“For pond water,” said Charles.
Jean Paul appeared beside Gina who stuck out her arm to keep him from entering the kitchen.
“Why do you want pond water?” asked Cathryn.
“Christ!” managed Charles. “Is this an interrogation?” He started for the refrigerator.
Chuck tried to step in his way, but Charles merely swept the boy out of his path. Chuck stumbled, and Cathryn grabbed his arm, keeping him from falling.
Charles turned at the commotion and saw Cathryn restraining his son. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Chuck struggled for an instant, glaring at his father.
Charles looked from one face to another. Gina and Jean Paul looked shocked; Chuck, furious; and Cathryn, frightened. But no one spoke. It was as if the scene was a freeze frame in a motion picture. Charles shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention to the refrigerator.
He pulled out a jar of apple juice and closed the door. Without a moment’s hesitation he dumped the remaining contents down the sink, rinsed the jar thoroughly, and yanked his sheepskin coat off its hook. At the door he turned to glance at his family. No one had moved. Charles had no idea what was happening but since he knew what he wanted to do, he left, closing the door on the strange scene.
Releasing her hold on Chuck, Cathryn stared blankly at the door, her mind going over the disturbing discussion she’d had with Dr. Keitzman and Dr. Wiley. She’d thought their questions about Charles’s emotions had been ridiculous, but now she wasn’t so sure. Certainly, flying out of the house in anger in the dead of winter without a coat, only to return a half hour later in great excitement, looking for a container for pond water, was curious at best.
“I’d never let him hurt you,” said Chuck. He pushed back his hair with a nervous hand.
“Hurt me?” said Cathryn, taken by surprise. “Your father’s not going to hurt me!”
“I’m afraid he’s let in the devil,” said Gina. “Once he’s done that, you can’t tell what he’s going to do.”
“Mother, please!” cried Cathryn.
“Is Charles going to have a nervous breakdown?” teased Jean Paul from the doorway.
“He’s already had one,” answered Chuck.