At the same time the microbivore molecular manufacturing project was under way, Berman launched a private investigation of Alzheimer’s disease. More than a few of the scientists Berman had hired at Nano were working on diagnostic tests for Alzheimer’s with the idea that the earlier the protein buildup could be detected, the better chance doctors had of slowing the spread of the disease. It stood to reason. It was around that time that Berman had allowed himself to be secretly tested for the predictive gene, which only served to heighten his general anxiety.
As the light began to fade outside the window of his mother’s room, Berman slowly got to his feet. He truly hated coming to visit her. In a strange way he thought it was disrespectful to her as a person. Inwardly he suspected that if she knew how she was going to end up, she’d be the first to tell him not to come but rather to remember how she had been as a loving mother.
Without trying to say good-bye, Zachary descended the long hall toward the lobby of the facility, breathing shallowly to avoid the smell. He was disgusted, and hated himself for it, knowing as he did how tenuous the threads of nerve fibers were that separated his mental state from that of his mother’s.
Berman emerged into the gathering gloom as the sun had settled behind the mountains to the west. Darkness fell rather quickly as he walked across the lawn and the parking area on his way to his Aston Martin.
With the engine purring under the hood, Berman checked his watch again. It was time to go back to the lab and find out what it was that Stevens, the investigative leader on the Chinese study, who had texted him yet again, wanted to talk to him about so urgently. It sounded ominous, and Berman did not like surprises. Pulling out onto the road, Berman laid a strip of rubber as a defiant adolescent gesture.
CHAPTER 8
George stirred from his place on Pia’s lumpy couch and felt his back complain. After settling in for the night, he’d woken every half hour or so and tried to get comfortable, but with little success. He sensed he wasn’t going back to sleep. He checked his watch, and it was early in the morning for Colorado but even earlier by his body clock, which was on Pacific time. It took George a second to realize where he was. Then he heard the shower come on, so Pia was obviously awake and getting ready for the start of her workweek. He thought about going into the bathroom and getting into a conversation with her while she showered, but he chickened out. He guessed she would think of it as an intrusion, not as an endearment. After not inviting him into her bedroom the previous evening, she had made it obvious that she wanted to maintain her space. He lay back down.
George’s visit was hardly going as he had intended, or hoped. He understood he had shown up unannounced and uninvited, but he had expected Pia to be more welcoming. Although she had allowed him to stay in the apartment, for much of the previous evening she had acted as if he weren’t there. Her nap had turned into a three-hour epic. It had gone on for so long that George started to wonder if she was done for the night. Since he’d come without much forethought, he’d brought nothing to read. Pia didn’t have a TV, or even a radio, so he listened to music on his iPod and flipped through some of the immunology textbooks piled on her dining-room table, hardly recommended pleasure reading.
Pia finally had surfaced in her bathrobe at eight, just after the sun had set, like some sort of vampire, or so George had thought, irritably. She clearly wasn’t in the best of moods or primed for conversation. This apparent depressive behavior caused George’s concern for her that had started in Los Angeles to ratchet upward. So far her actions there in Boulder weren’t doing much to alleviate his worries.
George couldn’t help but wonder about the simple necessities of life that Pia was obviously neglecting: there was the almost-empty fridge and a lack of personal possessions in her apartment. Pia always acted as if she were just passing through, but there was less of Pia’s stuff here in Boulder than an overnight traveler would bring to a hotel room. And then there was the situation with Zachary Berman, who his intuition was telling him was not as copacetic as Pia seemed to want him to believe. The last thing George wanted to do was fuss over Pia or nag her, because he knew she’d push back big time, but he wanted to show that he was thinking about her well-being without irritating her. The question was how to do it.
Pia had suddenly appeared from her nap and had gone into the kitchen. George had followed her, leaning on the countertop as she got out some green tea from a cupboard and put on the kettle to boil. As the water heated, she looked over at George. To George she appeared both sleepy and defiant at the same time.
“So, George. I sense from your silence and expression that you’re building up to one of your speeches.”
George had blushed. He truly had come to believe she could read his mind. “Well…” he began uncertainly. “You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that you haven’t really established any roots here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just look around this apartment!” George had said, sweeping his hand around the room. “The place is like a hotel room. Maybe that’s being too generous. Even hotel rooms have more pictures. Come on, Pia. I’m worried about you. It’s been two years since all that trauma you suffered, and you’re out here incommunicado, keeping yourself pretty much cut off from the rest of the world. That ain’t healthy.”
“I’ve never been a great fan of the rest of the world.”
“Okay, cut off from me, then.”
“George, I’m fine.” Pia had poured hot water into a cup with the green tea but failed to find a second cup. If it bothered her, she didn’t show it.
“I understand you’re okay at Nano,” George had continued, “and you’re really happy with your work, but what’s with this Berman guy?”
“What do you mean ‘with’ this Berman guy? I’m not ‘with’ this Berman guy. He’s my boss’s boss. And, yes, I’m okay at Nano. The work is great. You don’t need to think about me like I can’t take care of myself, really! It’s demeaning, if you want to know the truth.”
“I don’t mean for it to be demeaning. I think of it more as caring.”
Pia had ended the conversation by merely saying: “Let’s talk about something else.”
Later Pia had resisted George’s offer to take her out to dinner for her birthday, saying she didn’t want to get dressed, but agreed to drive to the grocery store to buy some food for dinner. Still in her bathrobe, she had stayed in the car while George had run in for the fixings for a simple pasta and salad. Back at the apartment, he did the preparation while she busied herself doing a load of laundry in the basement. The dinner had been pleasant enough, but Pia had kept the conversation away from herself, asking George about Los Angeles and what he was doing in his residency. Pia had turned in for the night after finding a sheet and a blanket for George. George had hoped for some sign of intimacy but there hadn’t been any, and as he lay on Pia’s couch before falling asleep, he had wondered whether he’d ever be able to reach her.
When George heard the shower go off, he debated what to do. Since he couldn’t decide, he did nothing. He just pretended to be asleep, curious as to what she would do. In his imagination he could see her come out and look at him longingly before coming over to wake him gently. She might even lie down with him for a moment or two, celebrating the fact that in the past they had made love on maybe a half dozen occasions.