Was it him, or was it his family? It was both of them, and his whole world. Maybe she would break her mold on this story and they would actually become friends. No more than friends, she was sure, for she had never felt him look at her in the other way, but friends. She would like to know him, she realized. She would like to stay here, and stay connected, a little longer.
There was time, at least as far as Table was concerned. She didn’t even have to turn in her copy for another eight days. That was far more time than she needed to get the lab results, act on them, learn the outcome of the contest, and write the last sentences of her story.
She could just be here, a place she was realizing she liked. Be here, enjoy it, and finish with the past. That was another thing that was in pure, sharp focus here – all of her memories. She moved to the couch in front of the windows and watched the lit-up buildings. Never had the memories been so clear. She could see everything: the dark side of Matt, the light. The odd times and places she had really felt at home. The truth of certain moments.
The last morning of his life floated before her. He was dressing and getting ready to fly to San Francisco. First she had made him coffee.
She remembered it was French roast she had brought back from Louisiana, which released a wonderful burnt-caramel smell. He had declared that on the basis of that coffee alone it was difficult to leave her for so much as a single night, a day. He flattered her. Coffee was the only thing she ever made. She remembered how this made her laugh as she brought the coffee back to the bedroom with the first lightenings of the sun beyond the window. She remembered their feeling of calm together. She remembered the good feeling once again of not wanting him to leave, and the simultaneous sensation of having plenty of time, having years. She was thirty-nine then.
She lay in bed and watched him get up and get dressed. She was still feeling as if they should change their schedules, do something about the traveling. Move closer to the kind of life he wanted. This might be the moment.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said from the bed. “I’ve been starting to wish we didn’t have to be apart.”
He looked at her in surprise. “And not travel?”
“Just a thought.”
He zipped up and buckled his belt. “Let’s talk about it when I get back.”
“Okay.” She was a little surprised by his reaction. For her to even say this was a big step. She had half expected him to leap on it. But he was preoccupied with his trip to San Francisco. He was late.
He came over to the bed and kissed her, but it was short, chaste, the kiss of a man whose mind has moved through the door to where he has to be. No candy corn. “See you tonight,” he said, and walked out the door. She never saw him again.
She could still envision the door, smooth, light, empty, which he closed behind him softly. This was the door between her old life and the year that came after. The world of now. She could still hear his footsteps tapping down the hall, soft, precise for a man of his size. She could hear the sputter of his motor, the whine of it reversing out the driveway, the fade as he drove away. A few days later she went to the airport to retrieve that car, numb, trembling, eyes puffed nearly shut from crying. She signed forms, filling in a blank line with the word Deceased, drove the car home, got out, and never climbed inside it again. She sold it. Then she stored her possessions. She sold the house. All those things made her feel bad, was how she explained it to people when they asked. So she got rid of them. She couldn’t let herself have a life when he did not. Especially when he was so undeserving of his fate, so damned good.
Good? she thought now. Maybe not really.
The clock showed almost midnight. It was time to see if Shuying was Matt’s child.
She flipped on the machine, went online, and put in her password. Then for security she entered it again. Then the last four digits of her credit card, and her mother’s maiden name.
She watched the screen, waiting. We’re even now. I’ll never again feel guilt for not giving you a child. Strangely, she felt serene.
Then it came up. Right in front of her.
Matthew Mason and Gao Shuying.
Match: negative.
She read it again. Again. She didn’t believe it. So she exited the site, went offline, reconnected, and started over. Same sequence. She clicked for the second time on “Get Results.” There it was.
Matthew Mason and Gao Shuying. Match: negative.
Maggie stared at the words. She felt like a car with its motor cut, rolling to a silent stop.
She read farther down. Written lab results were being expressed to her with a duplicate set on their way to Calder Hayes in Beijing. Arrival in thirty-six hours. That was still two business days before the ruling. Not much time. But enough.
Gao Lan had said to call anytime – what had she said? Dark or light – but it was past midnight, so Maggie would wait. There was always the possibility that her employer was in town.
Carey was a different matter. Maggie knew he was up. It was possible he was with a woman, she supposed, but she doubted that would stop him from answering his phone.
Her intuition was correct. He picked right up.
“You told me to call anytime,” she reminded him.
“Of course.”
“Well, here it is. Shuying is not Matt’s.”
No sound. Just his breathing. “That’s a relief,” he said at last.
Maggie heard the complex tangle behind his words. He was glad. But now he was thinking that he’d told her, put her through all this, for nothing. No, she thought, for everything. She grew taller in her chair. “You’ll get your set of documents Wednesday morning. But you don’t have to wait until then, right? You can call the ministry?”
“Oh, yes. First thing tomorrow. And someone else at the top of my list is Andrew Souther. That’s the guy, that’s his name. I pried it out of Gao Lan.”
“How’d you do that?”
“There’s this restaurant out toward the Beijing Zoo, a Uighur place – you should try it.”
“Ah,” said Maggie.
“I’ll set up a meeting with him here in the office. I’m going to pack it with a few other lawyers, just to drive my point home.”
“Which is?” said Maggie.
“To make the law very clear to him.”
“Thank you. That’s what I was hoping for.”
“At first I was surprised you wanted to help her,” he said.
Maggie spoke slowly. She had given this a lot of thought. “We are connected, she and I, by something that happened in our lives. After I met her I felt that, and then the rivalry part didn’t matter anymore. Also, I’m human – and I met the child.”
“There, you were right. Someone may have to intervene. Zinnia explained a little more to me after you left about Gao Lan – let’s face it, she has only six or seven years left doing that kind of work. And none of this is the kid’s fault.”
“Now, should I pay you for this?” said Maggie. “Because I will.”
“No! No problem. Everything has to be done soon, though, because I’m going home next week. My mother’s sick.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maggie. “I didn’t know that.”
“She’s dying.”
“That must be difficult.”
“It’s not sudden. She’s been sick for a while. Got to go, though, you know? It’s important.”