PURSUIT OF A SCIENTIST’S GENETIC RESEARCH JEOPARDIZES HIS CAREER AND ENDANGERS HIS FAMILY
GENE-IUS
Assistant Professor Deren Patterson hopes his ground-breaking research will guarantee his promotion at Buchanan College. Wrapped up in his own work, Deren and his wife Molly clash over domestic issues, mounting debt, and his time away from family. Soon after Deren submits his manuscript and before being made public, a number of disturbing events occur. A scientist, whose research is similar to Deren’s, is brutally murdered. The next day Deren receives a generous offer to purchase part of his research. How did the caller get access to the privileged document? And why the interest in a mouse gene? Deren’s indecision on how to handle the situation sets off a cascade of events. His research is stolen and his career is in jeopardy. Can he keep his family safe?
GENE-IUS
SHARON L. WENGER received her undergraduate
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degree at Thiel College and a Masters and PhD in Human Genetics at the University of Pittsburgh’s School of Public Health. Following a fellowship in cytogenetics at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, she joined the faculty at the University of Pittsburgh, then later at West Virginia University. where she was responsible for the clinical cytogenetics lab, teaching, and research. She is a member of Pennwriters and Sisters in Crime. An avid reader, Sharon and her cat Sherman live in Pittsburgh near her three grown children, brother, and twin sister.
Sharon L. Wenger
GENE-ius
Sharon L. Wenger
Publisher Page
an imprint of Headline Books
Terra Alta, WV
GENE-ius by Sharon L. Wenger copyright ©2026 Sharon L. Wenger All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page. To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781958914762 Library of Congress Control Number: 2025944859
P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A
To Nicholas, Holly and Andrea
Acknowledgements Many thanks to my current and past critique members Carol Silvis, Darla Grieco, Annette Dashofy, Peter Hayes, Audrey Snyder, and Anne Slates. The novel wouldn’t be what it is today without your encouragement and support. Thanks also to beta readers Holly Fromlak, Karen Wenger, Brian Colella, and Erin Krol. A special thank you to Cathy Teets and her team at Headline Books for making this happen.
Chapter One Second Friday in May The clack of heels in the hallway grew louder and then stopped. Deren Patterson looked up from his paperwork to see Barbara Russo standing in the doorway of his office. “Deren, I want to review your curriculum vitae and supporting documents.” The department chair held up her hand as if to ward off any protest. “I know the Promotion and Tenure Committee doesn’t meet until spring semester, but identifying any deficiencies now will give you plenty of time to fill in any gaps in your resume.” “I’ll work on it over the summer.” Her vigorous head shake threatened to unleash strands of gray hair from her messy bun. “I want the material on my desk first thing Monday morning.” Really? His shoulders sagged. He planned on grading senior papers over the weekend. “B-but—” “You knew Keyes, didn’t you? Such sad news.” She clicked her tongue, pivoted, and walked away before Deren could object to her deadline. He tossed his pen on the desk. Finals week was hectic enough. He didn’t need anything else dumped on him. Besides, what was the rush to beef up his professional resume? The committee wouldn’t meet for another eight months. And what was her
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comment about Keyes? Deren checked the time. His heart raced. Late for class, he grabbed his notes and sprinted down the hall. While Deren gave his general biology lecture, Russo’s demand kept intruding into his thoughts. “Any more questions?” He scanned the sea of blank faces. “Be sure to check the schedule for the date and time of your final exam. Have a good weekend.” He couldn’t imagine the weekend before finals would be good for any of them. The classroom erupted in a mixture of loud chatter, jostled desks, and footsteps of students stampeding for the exit. The decibel level plummeted as the classroom emptied. Back in his office, Deren located his CV document on the computer. His last entry was over a year ago. His stomach clenched. An update would take longer than a weekend. He cradled his head in his hands. How could he get everything done during the final week of the school year? Then he remembered Russo’s comment about Keyes. Seven years ago, Keyes spoke on recent advancements in genetics at a symposium held at the University of Pittsburgh. Afterward, Keyes took the time to talk to each graduate student in the department. Deren benefited from the interaction with the accomplished researcher. He even utilized several of the man’s techniques for his Ph.D. work as well as in his current research. What could have happened to Keyes? Had he been in an accident? Deren ran a Google search and clicked on the first link. Victor Keyes, Ph.D., pioneer of a gene isolation technique, has been murdered. Murdered? Deren rocked back in his chair as if gut-punched. How could something like this happen? He continued to read. Keyes’ body was discovered late last night in his Berkeley laboratory by one of his graduate students. 8
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Keyes had been stabbed multiple times, his lab trashed, and animals released from cages. The dean of the university issued a statement. “This is a tragic loss for the school. Keyes was a gifted and well-funded researcher. Police suspect animal rights activists.” “Hey, Buddy.” Hands on either side of the doorjamb, Stan Edelman leaned into Deren’s office. “You hear the news about Keyes?” “I just read about it. A huge loss for the field of genetics.” Edelman’s eyes darted around. “You think we should be worried?” “About what? Because we work in genetics, too?” Edelman ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “Because we used his technique for our project.” “Keyes developed a number of innovative techniques,” Deren said. “If it was activists, they wanted to save the animals, not make a statement about Keyes’ scientific work. Sounds like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” “I hope you’re right. Gotta get ready for my next class. Catch you later.” With his last two lectures of the semester to give, Deren couldn’t dwell on the death right now. Resting his chin on fisted hands, he stared at his notes. The words blurred. As hard as he tried to concentrate, Stan’s question reverberated in his head. “You think we should be worried?” *** Deren hated spending this Saturday away from his family, but he needed files in his campus office. Shaken by the recent loss of a genetic giant, Deren had trouble focusing and even forgot his cell phone. 9
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In the mailroom, Deren made copies of Monday’s exam. Checking his mail slot, he found two more senior papers stuffed inside. Back in his office, he pawed through the stack of documents on his desk, wishing he’d kept better records of his accomplishments during his five years at Buchanan College. What was the title of the seminar he gave last year? He opened a side drawer and leafed through a folder. A copy of the flyer had to be around somewhere. Not many places to check in his closetsized room, which the college called an office. Just enough space for a bookcase, a filing cabinet, a desk, and two chairs—one for him and one for a guest. He sidestepped the open desk drawer to get to the filing cabinet. The top metal drawer screeched in protest. Checking file tabs, he located a promising folder and riffled through the papers. The ringing of his office phone interrupted his search. He tensed. He’d told his wife to call only in an emergency. Was there a problem at home? Were his sons all right? The folder slipped from his fingers. Papers scattered on the floor. Diving for the phone, Deren smacked his knee on the open desk drawer. Spots danced before his eyes. Gasping in pain, he clutched his knee, then collapsed in the chair. He wanted to answer before the call went to voicemail. Would the news be worse than his own banged knee? “Molly?” “Sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Patterson. My name is Patrick Novack, and I’m calling about your gene.” Your gene. Unable to breathe as if in a vacuum, the pain in Deren’s knee took a back seat to this new situation. During the week, several callers asked for Eugene. Or so Deren thought. Had they all said “your gene?” “W-who are you?” Deren winced at the sound of his childhood stutter, reappearing under stressful situations. 10
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“I’m Patrick Novack, CEO and founder of Recom, Incorporated, a successful biotech company headquartered in San Francisco.” The confident voice put Deren on guard. The only person who knew about the work besides co-authors Stan Edelman and Peter O’Malley was Barbara Russo who provided departmental monies for the project. Deren couldn’t imagine they would discuss the research with anyone outside the college. “How do you know about the gene? My work isn’t published.” Novack said, “Hmm, can’t recall where I heard about it, but it piqued my interest.” “W-what are your plans for the g-gene?” “Does it matter?” Deren tightened his grip on the receiver. “I used that gene to demonstrate the efficiency of a technique for treating genetic diseases.” “Hmm, yes, that’s wonderful, a truly noble undertaking.” The slick tone of the man’s voice took on a hard edge. “But I’m interested in the gene.” “B-but, it’s a mouse gene.” Punching the speaker button, Deren cradled the receiver, then wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis. “I’m willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars.” “For a mouse gene?” Deren swallowed hard. The conversation was going nowhere. Didn’t this guy get it? The value was the technique, not the gene. “I-I’ll have to think about it.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop—one more thing to deal with during the busiest week of the school year. “Don’t take too long with your decision. I am not a patient man.” The threat oozed through the telephone line, followed by a dial tone. Great. The last thing Deren wanted to do was talk to this Novack character again. Elbow on the desk, he propped his chin on a fist. 11
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Over the past several years, Deren, Stan, and Peter sacrificed evenings and weekends to perfect the gene transfer technique. Recognition for the scientific breakthrough was important to Deren’s academic career. Dealing with the offer for the gene would have to wait. His other obligations had deadlines. Deren rubbed and flexed his knee; the pain somewhat lessened. His concentration shot, he jammed papers into his backpack, anxious to distance himself from the office landline. He scanned the room. Did he have everything? Heck with it. His focus needed to be on finals week. He’d ask Russo for an extension on his CV. Besides, would the biology chair even look at the material over the summer? He doubted it. Slinging one strap of his bag over his shoulder, he hobbled out of the science building. The walk home helped work some of the soreness from his knee. Deren mulled over the department chair’s request. By the time he arrived home, he decided to make an effort to update his CV to stay in Russo’s good graces. When he opened the front door, his wife Molly greeted him, novel in hand. “Done with your work already?” He took in her freshly cut hair, a wavy bob with every strand in place, just like she kept order around the house and their lives. “Not yet. I need some quiet time to finish my paperwork. Don’t let the boys disturb me.” “Mike and Tommy are outside. You have about an hour before we eat.” She poked him in the stomach. “And try to put on some weight. We’ll be seeing your mother next week. I’m tired of Arlene accusing me of starving you.” He grinned and grabbed her finger. “My mom says that every time we see her. It’s just the way she is.” “I know, but she shouldn’t compare you to your brother.” Deren’s hand dropped to his side. He felt the same way. Why was he always being compared to his six-minute-older twin brother? “My mom should say something to Damien about his 12
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weight gain. He drives to work and sits at a desk all day.” He kissed the top of Molly’s head and breathed in the fragrance of her shampoo. He retreated into a narrow room off the kitchen—a pantry converted into office space by modifying the shelves into a table and bookshelves. When Molly called him to dinner, he put aside his work and joined the family around the dining room table. After helping six-year-old Tommy with his serving, Molly passed the platter. “I saw you brought home the laptop. Would it be all right if you worked at the dining room table tomorrow? I want to use the desktop to complete the general store’s balance sheet.” Deren placed a slice of meatloaf on his plate. “I wanted to work in the office where it’s quieter. Besides, my reference materials are in there.” She tapped a finger on the table. “Bill Winslow needs the spreadsheet by Monday.” Deren frowned—another demand on his time. “Tell you what. Let me get done what I can in the morning, and you can have the office in the afternoon.” “Thank you.” Molly smiled. “But what about your work?” “I don’t need the office to read senior papers.” Deren turned to his older son. “How’s your day, Mike?” “Great.” Mike, eight-going-on-thirteen, set down his fork before responding. “I found the best hiding place. Tommy took forever to find me.” Mike went into great detail explaining his thought process for selecting the ideal spot, while Tommy made faces at his brother. Deren took a bite of mashed potatoes. Feeling a vibration, he shifted in his chair and slipped his cell phone out of his back pocket. Holding the phone below the table, he stared at an area code he didn’t recognize. A scammer? Or was it Novack? The mashed potatoes in his mouth turned to cement. 13
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The boys’ giggles broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see Molly’s pursed lips. “This is family time, remember?” He stuffed the phone back in his rear pocket, berating himself for not leaving it in the office. As parents, they wanted dinner time to be free from the distraction of electronics. And here he was setting a bad example for his sons. “Sorry.” “Do you need to take the call?” Molly asked. “Not important. Just a persistent caller.” Molly crooked an eyebrow, like she didn’t believe him. “What’s persistent?” Tommy asked. “It’s when you eat one bite after another until your plate is clean.” Deren ruffled his son’s hair. “Like this?” Tommy shoveled a large spoonful of food in his mouth. A few peas fell onto the table. Molly gave Deren a questioning look. He shook his head ever so slightly, not wanting to talk now. His mind raced. How could anyone, other than the editor, get a copy of his unpublished manuscript? Even more disturbing was how someone got his cell number. His fork clattered onto the plate. Just like that, his appetite disappeared.
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Chapter Two Deren looked up from a student paper when Molly entered the living room. “Are the kids in bed already?” “Yes.” “How come the boys don’t settle down that fast for me?” “Mike listens, but you know Tommy. He sees what he can get away with. He knows you don’t always follow through on any disciplinary action.” She collapsed on the blanket-covered sofa. “Mind if I turn off the TV?” After Deren’s nod, she grabbed the remote lying on the scarred coffee table and hit the off button. “Are you going to tell me about your phone call at dinner?” “I think it might be about my research.” “Your gene therapy project?” She tucked her legs underneath her. He raised a finger. “A more efficient gene insertion technique. Yes.” “And?” She made a circling motion with her hand, coaxing him to continue. “Might be someone interested in the gene used in my research. I can’t understand the interest when the protocol is the star. I developed a highly efficient method for inserting a functional gene into cultured mouse skin cell lines. This technique could help treat some genetic diseases. Current gene transfer techniques are inefficient and ineffective, either by not incorporating into enough cells or by only providing a temporary fix. My hope is 15
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to revolutionize treatment for recessive genetic disorders, like Tay-Sachs, cystic fibrosis, and sickle cell anemia. Two weeks ago, I sent our manuscript to a very prestigious journal for review, which I hope will guarantee my promotion.” He held up both hands with fingers crossed. “I hope so, too. We could use a bump in your salary.” Molly planted her bare feet on the floor and rubbed an ankle. “A promotion will increase my salary by ten percent.” Her shoulders sagged. “That won’t be enough for me to quit my part-time job.” He nodded in agreement, if only to avoid discussing finances, which could escalate into a heated discussion. The extra money would help pay off their debt faster, but wouldn’t be enough to change their lives. Molly leaned forward. “Tell me more about this mouse gene. What makes it special?” “The best way to test my gene transfer technique would be to purchase mice with a recessive disease. However, they are expensive, and departmental research funds are limited. To validate the gene transfer, I needed a measurable trait. I extracted DNA from the blood of an albino mouse, hoping to isolate the gene for coat color. The protocol I used was developed by a researcher out in California. Actually, the researcher was murdered recently.” He heard Molly’s intake of breath as her hand covered her mouth. “What happened?” “They think some animal rights activists let animals out of cages, trashed the lab, and killed the researcher.” “How awful.” “Very sad.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Getting back to my research, each gene we isolated was inserted into a mouse embryo, which was implanted into a surrogate mouse. After birth, we looked for any unique physical or behavioral 16
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trait. One of the mice maneuvered through a maze faster than the others. That’s the gene we chose as our marker.” “You isolated a smart gene?” “Intelligence gene might be a better descriptor. Next, we wanted to determine how insertion of multiple copies of the gene would affect the Mus musculus genome.” “Mus muscu-what?” “Mus musculus, genus and species of the mouse.” “I seem to recall from my general bio class that PCR can be used to mass-produce DNA. Is that what you did?” Deren chuckled. “Polymerase chain reaction instrumentation is beyond the department’s limited research funds. With Stan’s background in culturing bacteria, we used a technique called recombinant DNA. The procedure’s been around since the 1980s, used to make products such as insulin.” Molly leaned forward. “Really? How does it work?” “A gene is inserted into a bacterial genome. A bacterium replicates every twenty minutes, resulting in another copy of the gene.” He spread his arms wide. “Rapid exponential growth.” “Now you have copies. What did you do next?” “We piggybacked the gene on a partial viral genome as a way to insert it into the DNA of mouse eggs. After fertilization and a few cell divisions, we transferred each embryo into a surrogate mouse to continue through gestation.” Deren paused when he saw Molly’s eyes start to glaze over. “It’s like making the dinosaurs in ‘Jurassic Park’.” Molly perked up. “I remember the movie.” “Peter ran tests on the transgenic mice. The time to maneuver through mazes seemed to correlate with the successful insertion of the gene. The mice quickly adapted to Skinner boxes.” “It’s been a while since I’ve had a psych course. Isn’t the Skinner box used for positive reinforcement?”
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“Exactly,” Deren said. “Learned conditioning. I’ve transplanted this gene into different strains of mice, which all showed greater learning ability.” Molly’s eyes widened, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs. “That’s amazing.” “Intelligence is multifactorial, involving numerous genes.” Deren placed his hands on his thighs. “Two weeks ago, I submitted our manuscript describing this work to the Journal of Recombinant DNA Research. I got a few calls this week that I thought were wrong numbers. Today, Patrick Novack from a biotech company in California offered to buy the gene.” “How much did he offer?” When Deren mentioned the figure, Molly jumped to her feet. “You turned down a hundred thousand dollars?” She clamped her hand over her mouth and looked toward the steps. She eased back onto the sofa. In a near whisper, she asked, “If he was that interested, do you think you could ask for more? I’d like to get out of this money pit and move into a newer home.” Deren teased. “You want to move after we’ve replaced all the windows and half the water pipes?” His smile faded. “But seriously, I don’t understand the frenzy over a mouse gene. The protocol is what I’m interested in promoting, not the gene. Besides, the college benefits, not me.” “But it’s your work.” Deren shrugged. “Intellectual property rights. It’s in my contract.” Molly folded her arms across her chest, looking like she was spoiling for a fight. “You should negotiate something with the school. If it wasn’t for you, they wouldn’t benefit.” Deren slapped his thighs. “What really fries my bacon is how these people got access to my paper in the first place. Unpublished material is privileged information until it is in print.” Molly leaned forward. “Take advantage of this opportunity. Let the school deal with the offers, but work something out with 18
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the dean so you can share in the profit. It’s your work. Don’t get left out of the negotiations.” Deren huffed. “If the call at dinner was from Novack or someone else about the gene, how did they get my cell phone number?” “Who is this Novack guy, and why is he so persistent?” Deren welcomed Molly’s input since she often had a different viewpoint. He needed to think this through, but after his endof-the-semester deadlines. “Novack has a biotech company. We have a gene transfer protocol with an unprecedented ninety percent success rate, yet he and the other callers want a mouse gene.” He shook his head. “Let the college handle it.” Molly used her take-charge tone. Deren rubbed his temples. “What’s happened to research for the sake of knowledge? Everything’s so commercialized.” Molly’s voice softened. “I’m sure the school will recognize your achievement regardless of the outcome of any negotiations. Perhaps they could work out a deal for both the technique and the gene.” Deren folded his arms and tucked in his chin, retreating within himself. What a time for all this to happen. He didn’t want to discuss the phone calls anymore. What Molly said made sense, but he had more pressing matters requiring his attention. “I’ll find out who at the college would handle something like this.” “Don’t put it off.” He glowered. His wife knew him so well, but she didn’t understand all the demands on his time. He liked to tweak old exam questions and add some new ones since the old ones were being passed from one class to the next. Besides updating his CV, he would have to grade exams, read a dozen research papers, and submit grades. “I’ll take care of it when I get the chance. Even if the college agrees, it won’t happen any time soon.” Molly’s face crumpled, and her eyes filled with tears. “You’re telling me the school won’t share any money?” 19
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Deren instantly regretted his outburst. His wife had his best interests in mind. He sat next to her on the couch and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You worry too much about stuff. Things will work out. You’ll see. I know our house needs a lot of TLC, but we have so much to be thankful for. We live in a town where there’s not a lot of crime. We may not have the same stores as downtown Pittsburgh, but you can always order online.” She laughed and swiped at her wet cheeks. He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ve got everything we need. Right?” “I know.” She leaned against him. “I don’t mind working. It’s just…we never seem to make any progress. Before one bill is paid off, another more costly expense pops up.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Maybe you could patent your technique. When you talk to the dean, ask if he’ll consider giving you a percentage of the royalties.” Now who was being persistent? “I’ll take care of it,” he agreed, if only to end the conversation. The two of them approached problems from opposite directions. Molly liked to take charge and get things done quickly, while he needed time to weigh options and evaluate all possibilities before finalizing his plan. “I’m going to bed.” Molly picked up her paperback and headed toward the stairs. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he called out, hoping she’d let the matter rest. He massaged his temple, but there was no relief from the start of a tension headache. His knees were almost level with his shoulders since the springs had given out on one side of the sofa. He needed time to think about all this, but finals week had to be his priority. Maybe he could let Russo deal with Novack’s offer. He leaned back on the couch. Why the interest in the mouse gene? Maybe the gene transfer protocol wasn’t as great an achievement as he imagined. Resting his aching forehead on his knees, he thought of all the time and effort he, Stan, and Peter 20
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put into the research only to have it discounted. With no time to complete another project before the promotion committee decided on his academic future, his career had a lot riding on this publication. Too tired to think anymore, he rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t let Molly pressure him into making a hasty decision. First, he had to get through finals week, then he could deal with Novack’s offer after his vacation. Until then, he wouldn’t answer any phone numbers he didn’t recognize. *** Patrick Novack paced in his office on the top floor of his biotech company. He glanced at the manuscript lying on his desk. His lab manager, Bernard Smittle, agreed that Novack’s pursuit of the gene could prove lucrative for the business. Although Recom, Incorporated’s well-equipped lab could handle the work, the materials and methods section of the article lacked enough information for Smittle to replicate the DNA sequence of the mouse gene. Patterson’s reluctance to sell the gene was disturbing. Had others made a bid for the gene? Novack paid his source a large sum for the manuscript. So much for the exclusivity promised by his source. Frustrated at Patterson’s dismissal of the offer, Novack balled his fists. He knew the gene would be a huge moneymaker. He also wanted to avoid college lawyers, with all their contracts and legal hoops. He needed to convince Patterson to hand over the gene. Thank goodness Novack had the foresight to send Leon Marcello to Buchanan, PA, to find some way to broker the deal. The Star Wars cut from the Flight of the Valkyries playing on his burner phone stopped Novack in his tracks. He stepped behind the desk and settled into his leather chair before answering the awaited call from his associate. “Leon, have you 21
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learned anything from the listening devices you installed outside the scientists’ homes?” “Sorry, Patrick,” Leon said, “So far, I haven’t picked up anything of interest. However, I overheard a few things when I was walking around campus. I have an idea how to get one of ’em to hand over the gene without costing you a dime.” Novack rested an elbow on the cherry wood desktop and picked at a piece of lint on the sleeve of his Canali jacket. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” “Seems some co-eds think this Dr. Patterson is a hunk.” Leon went into detail with his scheme. Novack smiled at the simplicity. He liked the idea, especially the part about him keeping his money. It just might work. “I knew I could count on you. Remember, Smittle needs both the gene and the research notes. We can’t have someone else come along and duplicate our efforts. I want exclusivity. I’ll continue to work on Patterson while you move ahead with your plan.” After disconnecting, Novack leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. First thing in the morning, he’d give Smittle the green light to prepare for the project. Novack swiveled his chair to look out his floor-to-ceiling window. With a near-cloudless sky, the sun’s rays shimmered off the ocean. A sailboat disappeared under the Golden Gate Bridge. Placing his hands behind his head, he envisioned his revenue stream from the gene. He had to get it, one way or another.
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Chapter Three Sunday Molly woke with a start. She pulled the blanket over her head to block the morning light streaming through the bedroom window. Why had Deren opened the curtains when she was still in bed? She rolled over. How long had she tossed and turned last night before finally drifting off to sleep? Too exhausted to move, the vivid dream that woke her replayed in her mind. White mice in a single file line, each taking turns placing its paw on a lever. When the light flashed, each mouse grabbed the reward of a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, then nibbled it to shreds. Then she thought about last night’s discussion, which had digressed into a disagreement about their finances. Why did they always bicker about money? She flung back the covers, her thoughts on how they came to their current situation. After Deren completed his post-doctorate fellowship, he searched for faculty positions in the Pittsburgh area. Unable to find any openings, he expanded his search. He was accepted at Buchanan College, over five hundred miles away. Their house was within walking distance of the college and public schools. Children rode bicycles down tree-lined streets or skateboarded on the sidewalks. A regular Norman Rockwell scene, so why wasn’t she happy? Maybe the upkeep on the house was wearing her down. Constant repairs devoured money faster than they could earn it. 23
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She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed. Deren’s salary wouldn’t change until his promotion. Why was he reluctant to benefit from his discovery? She stared at the mussed linen on Deren’s side. She hadn’t heard when he came in last night. He couldn’t have gotten much sleep. She poked her arms into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet hit the cold floor, a reminder she needed to get a throw rug. Would things have been better if they hadn’t left Pittsburgh? She snapped the covers toward the headboard in a hasty attempt at making the bed. She missed her friends and having her family closer. Now, the only time she got to see relatives was when her family travelled across the state to Pittsburgh. Although she understood, at times their busy schedules sounded like excuses not to make the trip. At least Molly’s dad, a sales rep for medical supplies, had made a few brief stops when he was in the area. Molly checked under the bed for her slippers. Not there. And now her best friend, Kelly Edelman, seemed distant. She and Kelly used to get together at least once a week, sometimes with their families. What had changed? Was it something Molly had said or done? Was she losing another friend? This reminded her of public school. Every few years, she had to find a new best friend because her old one moved away—or worse. After tying the sash of her robe, Molly gave up looking for her slippers and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen. She opened the cabinet doors and snatched the Bisquick box off the shelf. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Deren coming out of the office. “Oh, boy, pancakes.” He rubbed his hands together, a smile on his face. “Need any help?” “Nope.” She returned to her task. He seemed in a good mood despite getting less sleep than she had. The squeak of the China hutch door sent a shiver up her 24
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spine. How many times had she asked him to oil the hinges? She stirred the batter. When she heard the clinking of metal as Deren removed silverware from the drawer, the tempo of her whisking accelerated. He had a job he loved and thrived at, while she juggled everything else, the kids, housework, home repairs, bills, and a part-time job. Last night’s discussion came to mind. Deren usually went along with her suggestions. Why was he resisting? Perhaps she should approach the issue in a way that would make him more receptive to her viewpoint. She ladled the batter into the skillet. Deren’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Table’s set. Want me to call the boys?” “Thanks.” Curls of steam rose from the sizzling batter. She lowered the heat. The boys tore into the room and plopped onto the mismatched chairs, the legs scraping on the linoleum floor. Molly shook her head at their exuberance. “Yum,” Mike said. “I’ll get the syrup.” “Look, Mom. My shoe is talking to you.” Tommy moved the loosened sole of his sneaker back and forth. Molly gasped. How had she not noticed the condition of his shoes? Now she’d have to take Tommy shopping before they left on vacation. “Let me see.” Mike set down the syrup, grabbed the shoe, then flapped the sole. In a falsetto voice, he said, “I’m persistent about no phones at the dinner table.” The boys giggled hysterically, clutching their middles. Tommy almost fell off his chair. “Sounds like someone has a new vocabulary word.” Deren handed each son a napkin. Mike laughed and tucked the cloth into the collar of his T-shirt. Molly suppressed a smile. “Yes, Dad, you broke the rule by bringing your phone to the table. What should his punishment be, boys?” 25
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Tommy bobbed in his seat. “Take us to the park, Dad.” Molly settled Tommy in his chair. “What do you say, Dad? Do you accept your punishment?” She winked at Mike. Deren raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, you win. The park it is.” Tommy grinned, showing off the gap from a missing lower tooth. After flipping the pancakes, Molly aimed the spatula at her younger son. “Don’t be wasteful with the syrup. Would you like me to pour it for you?” “I can do it, Mommy.” Tommy reached for the bottle. She placed two pancakes on each plate before taking her seat. Tommy upended the bottle and squeezed. Syrup flowed over the entire surface of his pancakes, like molten lava covering everything in its path. “Save some for everyone else.” Molly restrained herself from grabbing the container. Tommy’s lower lip quivered. She took in a calming breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She rubbed his back. “Please pass the syrup.” With one final squeeze, Tommy handed the half-empty bottle to his older brother. After breakfast, she told her sons to get ready for church. The boys pounded up the stairs, in a race to see who would be first to their bedroom. Deren placed his hand over hers. “Things will get better. I promise.” “You’re right. They will.” She watched her husband swirl his finger in the syrup remaining on Tommy’s plate. He rubbed the liquid on his puckered lips. Leaning forward, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Eww,” she gasped and grabbed a napkin to wipe off the stickiness. 26
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“Gotta change for church.” Deren dashed out of the kitchen. Molly shook her head as she cleared the table. Was he avoiding her, afraid she’d bring up yesterday’s issue? The fight was out of her now. *** On the way to church, Deren walked next to Molly while their sons skipped ahead. Although cool, the heat of the sun’s rays seeped through his suit coat. He reached for her hand. Resisting at first, her fist finally opened. Relieved, he clasped her open palm and swung his arm, their hands moving like a metronome, in sync with their steps. Clearing his throat, he tried a neutral topic of conversation. “Did you talk to the boys’ teachers about them missing classes next week?” Molly kept her eyes on her sons up ahead. “I did. Mike’s teacher wasn’t happy, but how could she object when half the second graders were absent during the college’s spring break? The boys still have another month before school’s out. Why the public school and the college are on two different schedules, I’ll never know.” Deren shrugged. “That’s the way it is. Remember we talked about postponing the trip? Damien and Pam could use our help now. If we wait another month, my mom will be back in her own home.” Molly said, “Tommy, don’t walk backward. The sidewalk up ahead is uneven. I don’t want you to trip.” She looked over at Deren. “I’m sure Arlene will need help when she moves back to her own home and is on her own. I understand recuperation after hip surgery is a lengthy process.” “Caring for my mom with a three-year-old and nine-monthold underfoot can’t be easy.” “No, it wouldn’t be.” 27
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Deren made an attempt to defend his statement. “You know how my mom is. Everything has to be done a certain way.” “I remember. That’s where you get your stubbornness.” “What? Me stubborn?” He sensed the direction of the conversation. Before Molly could bring up the topic of his phone calls, he said, “Hey, I have an idea. How about instead of leaving Sunday morning as planned, we start our vacation right after Commencement? We can have dinner at that restaurant with the porcelain countertops and stay at a motel along the way, one with a pool. The boys would love it.” He jiggled her arm, eager for a positive response. “What do you say?” “The diner’s out of the way. Stopping there would lengthen the trip. No need to stay in a motel for a five-and-a-half-hour drive.” He squeezed her hand, knowing she was thinking about the cost. “A night in a motel isn’t expensive. That way, our trip will seem more like a vacation. We won’t be able to do much in Pittsburgh with my mom having to use a walker to get around. Besides, I need some downtime. Sounds like you do too.” “True, otherwise we’d never see our families.” “Maybe when my promotion comes through, we could take a trip out West. I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.” “That’s a long drive.” “It can’t be more than a four-hour flight.” Molly snatched her hand away. Drat. How could he forget about her fear of flying? As many times as he told her the chance of a plane crashing was exponentially less than a car accident, he couldn’t change her opinion of air travel. “Maybe we could think about a train trip.” Tommy yelled, “Choo, choo.” He bent his elbows and moved his arms, mimicking a locomotive.
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“Looks like another beautiful day. I’ll take the boys to the park after lunch. You’ll have uninterrupted time to work on the general store’s books.” “What about your papers?” Her wary gaze suggested a suspicion of an ulterior motive. He reassured her. “I can read them after dinner. Monday’s exam is done, and I finished tweaking questions for my other two exams. No way I can update my CV by Monday. I’ll ask Russo for an extension.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I am.” Molly’s fingers brushed his wrist. He took her hand and swung their arms. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.” She smiled. Deren’s spirit soared, relieved at having skirted the sensitive subject of flying. “But you have to promise to talk to someone about those phone calls. The sooner the better.” He cringed inwardly. “I’ll mention it to Russo when I see her tomorrow.” *** Deren called out, “We’re going to the park now.” Setting down the dried plate, Molly waved the dish towel at Deren and the boys. “Have fun.” Tossing the cloth onto the countertop, she left the rest of the dishes to air dry in the rack. This was the break she needed. With several hours of uninterrupted time, she should be able to finish the store’s balance sheet for last month. She breathed in the fresh air coming through the window over the kitchen sink. What a shame to waste such a beautiful day indoors. Suddenly, the thought of sitting in front of the computer in a windowless room lost its appeal. Maybe if she 29