“Brooke, honey,” her mother said, taking a step toward her. “I think you and I should discuss this—”
“There's nothing to discuss,” Brooke said. “I want you to stay away from me.”
“That's silly.” Her mother took another step forward. “We should be able to settle this, Brooke. Like adults. I'm your mother—”
“That's not my fault,” Brooke snapped. She glanced at the screen door again.
“A restraining order is for people who threaten your life. I've never hurt you, Brooke.”
“There's judge in Dane County who disagrees, Mother.”
“Because you were so hysterical,” her mother said. “We've had a good run of it, you and I.”
Brooke felt the color drain from her face. “How's that, Mother? The family that sues together stays together?”
“Brooke, we have been denied what's rightfully ours. We—”
“It never said in any of those contests that a child had to be born by natural means. You misunderstood, Mother. Or you tried to be even more perfect than anyone else. So what if I'm the first vaginal birth of the new millennium. So what? It was thirty years ago. Let it go.”
“The first baby received enough in endorsements to pay for a college education and to have a trust fund—”
“And you've racked up enough in legal fees that you could have done the same.” Brooke rubbed her hands over her arms. The day had grown colder.
“No, honey,” her mother said in that patronizing tone that Brooke hated. “I handled my own case. There were no fees.”
It was like arguing with a wall. “I have made it really, really clear that I never wanted to see you again,” Brooke said. “So why do you keep hounding me? You don't even like me.”
“Of course I like you, Brooke. You're my daughter.”
“I don't like you,” Brooke said.
“We're flesh and blood,” her mother said softly. “We owe it to each other to be there for each other.”
“Maybe you should have remembered that when I was growing up. I was a child, Mother, not a trophy. You saw me as a means to an end, an end you now think you got cheated out of. Sometimes you blame me for that—I was too big, I didn't come out fast enough, I was breach—and sometimes you blame the contest people for not discounting all those 'artificial methods' of birth, but you never, ever blame yourself. For anything.”
“Brooke,” her mother said, and took another step forward.
Brooke held up her hand. “Did you ever think, Mother, that it's your fault we missed the brass ring? Maybe you should have pushed harder. Maybe you should have had a c-section. Or maybe you shouldn't have gotten pregnant at all.”
“Brooke!”
“You weren't fit to be a parent. That's what the judge decided on. You're right. You never hit me. You didn't have to. You told me how worthless I was from the moment I could hear. All that anger you felt about losing you directed at me. Because, until I was born, you never lost anything.”
Her mother shook her head slightly. “I never meant that. When I would say that, I meant—”
“See? You're so good at taking credit for anything that goes well, and so bad at taking it when something doesn't.”
“I still don't see why you're so angry at me,” her mother said.
This time, it was Brooke's turn to take a step forward. “You don't? You don't remember that last official letter? The one cited in my restraining order?”
“You have never understood the difference between a legal argument and the real issues.”
“Apparently the judge is just as stupid about legal arguments as I am, Mother.” Brooke was shaking. “He believed it when you said that I was brought into this world simply to win that contest, and by rights, the state should be responsible for my care, not you.”
“It was a lawsuit, Brooke. I had an argument to make.”
“Maybe you can justify it that way, but I can't. I know the truth when I hear it. And so does the rest of the world.” Brooke swallowed. Her throat was so tight it hurt. “Now get out of here.”
“Brooke, I—”
“I mean it, Mother. Or I will call the police.”
“Do you want me at least to do the DNA work?”
“I don't give a damn what you do, so long as I never see you again.”
Her mother sighed. “Other children forgive their parents for mistakes they made in raising them.”
“Was your attitude a mistake, Mother? Have you reformed? Or do you still have lawsuits out there? Are you still trying to collect on a thirty-year-old dream?”
Her mother shook her head and went back to the car. Brooke knew that posture. It meant that Brooke was being unreasonable. Brooke was impossible to argue with. Brooke was the burden.
“Some day,” her mother said, “you'll regret how you treated me.”
“Why?” Brooke asked. “You don't seem to regret how you treated me.”
“Oh, I regret it, Brooke. If I had known it would have made you so bitter toward me, I never would have talked to you about our problems. I would have handled them alone.”
Brooke clenched a fist and then unclenched it. She made herself take a deep breath and, instead of pointing out to her mother that she had done it again—she had blamed Brooke—Brooke said, “I'm calling the police now,” and started toward the house.
“There's no need,” her mother said. “I'm going. I'm just sorry—”
And the rest of her words got lost in the bang of the screen door.
An hour later, Brooke found herself outside Professor Franke's office. She ignored the small electronic screen that floated ahead of her, bleating that she didn't have an appointment and she wasn't welcome in the building. It was a dumb little machine; when she had asked if Professor Franke was in, it had told her he was. A good human secretary would have lied.
Apparently the system had already contacted Franke, for he stood in his door, waiting for her, a smile on his face even though his eyes were wary.
“Everything all right, Professor Cross?”
“I never gave you permission to contact my mother,” she said as she came up the stairs.
“Your mother?”
“She came to my house today, claiming I'd nullified my restraining order by contacting her. She said you asked her for DNA samples.”
“Come into my office,” he said.
Brooke walked past him and heard him close the door. “We did contact her, as we did all the parents, for DNA samples. We were explicit in expressing our needs as part of the study, and that they had every right to refuse if they wanted. In no way did we ask her to come here or tell her that you asked us to contact her.”
“She says it came from me and she knew I was involved in the study.”
“Of course,” he said. “One of the waivers you signed gave us permission to examine your genetic heritage. That includes parents, grandparents, living relatives if necessary. Your attorney didn't object.”
Her attorney was good, but not that good. He probably hadn't known what that all entailed.
“I want you to send a letter, through your attorney or the university's counsel, stating that I in no way asked you to contact her and that you did it of your own volition.”
“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked.
“To me or to her?” she asked.
He drew in his breath sharply and she realized for the first time that she had knocked him off balance.