Drug Money

By Brenda Carlton

In 1934 Henry Dresher had an old money family background, a prestigious law degree, a social-climbing wife, two young daughters and an empty bank account. His key assets were his wits and his contacts which, just before his untimely death, he parlayed into a new fortune that his current day descendents do not know exists.

Joanne works in a powerless position at multinational Nightingale Pharmaceuticals unaware that her great-grandfather was an original owner of the company. At first she assumes that her sister Gerry is getting a little crazy when Gerry discovers what she thinks is a connection between the family and the company. As Joanne's work life in drug development steadily deteriorates, Gerry accumulates new clues and begins to convince her. They are both drawn deeper into the treasure hunt until their family lives, work problems and history all collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Carlton
• Release date: Oct 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301661596

Brenda Carlton

Brenda J. Carlton is a Grammy with an itch to finally express herself. She loves gardening, painting, science and studying people. What is a jack of all trades with a lifetime of stored up sly observations to do except write? She also paints her own book covers.

Book preview

DRUG MONEY

A novel

BY: BRENDA J. CARLTON

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Copyright © 2007 Brenda J. Carlton

All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition

Cover Painting by Brenda J. Carlton 2012

Cover photography Copyright © 2012 David Evans

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All of the characters and companies in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any actual companies or actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

What others are saying about DRUG MONEY:

Customer reviews on Amazon: Judy said, Drug Money is an interesting book and very enjoyable to read. The beginning was a bit slow but once you get into it the story really takes off. I thought the story was well written and the ending ties the entire plot together. I could not put the book down once I got started. Truly worth the read. I would be interested in reading more of Ms. Carlton's work.

Bonnie said, "This is another book that I recommend for total enjoyment and entertainment. Brenda has done a wonderful job and is a really good writer!! Loved this book Brenda!!!

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Dedication

To Rob, with love

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Prologue

1934

Early in the morning of the day that he would die, Henry Dresher absently sipped his coffee in the library of the home that he’d inherited from his grandparents. Henry compared the danger of his situation to that of the men who had previously worked at the same mahogany desk. Since 1698, when William Penn granted land in Pennsylvania to the first New World Dresher, the minds of most of Henry’s ancestors were occupied with the growth and management of wealth. Three years ago Henry’s second cousin’s bank failed, taking the few liquid assets that Henry hadn’t lost in the stock market crash with it. Now, the depression was confounding his efforts to recover. Only Henry’s ingenuity stood between his wife and two daughters and Eleanor’s fear of a rapid descent into the lower classes. Henry no longer lived the life of a conservative lawyer and he secretly loved the excitement.

Henry considered, with satisfaction, the progress of the summer’s work. Today would mark the completion of the JN deal after three years of dogged work with the help of his older daughter. Virginia would have the final samples ready for his meeting with the doctor in about two hours. In addition to finally satisfying that stubborn doctor, he’d also succeeded in trading some mapping services for stock in the telephone company.

He wanted to acquire stock related to suppliers of the automobile industry next, but he had no money to invest. He did have a friend who did legal work for the Duponts. The Duponts had too much cash to be interested in one of his problem-solving-in-exchange-for-stock proposals, he supposed. But at least they were accessible--less than an hour by automobile from his home in Bryn Mawr. He might be able to find a lead to a company that supplied the Duponts, and would grow with the automobile industry. ‘Investigate raw materials needed for rubber manufacturing processes and talk to TY about Dupont,’ he wrote in his journal.

Henry brought the coffee cup to his lips and sucked on air, as he paged back through the book looking for ideas he hadn’t yet pursued. He’d never finished his evaluation of the moving pictures. He would probably have to sell something to finance a direct purchase, after he selected the best contender. Eleanor was enraged when he’d once suggested selling some jewelry. He hoped she would be more agreeable this time if he focused his attention on the silver, and approached her with very cautious subtlety. The silver could always be replaced after his investments bore fruit. There had to be an economic recovery soon, and he would be in a good position.

He put the Venture journal to one side, where it would still be at hand for the occasional flight of association. He struggled with the bank accounts and the household bills for the next two hours. He ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly and decided that he would never tell Eleanor how thin was their margin for error. Someday, when the danger was over, she might be ready to understand how well he’d taken care of them all.

When he was finished, he rose and stretched and went to the kitchen, and found it empty. There were no more servants, and today was his turn to do the washing up. He left the coffee cup in the sink. He wanted another cup of coffee, but it would be an unjustified extravagance. ‘One piece of this china would keep me in coffee for a month,’ he thought. He wondered where Eleanor was.

He went out to the porch swing to wait for Virginia.

A slender ten-year-old girl quietly came up the steps to the porch. Daddy? asked Hope. She was patient with her father's long silences. She thought that when he was far away, and traveling fast, he ought to come back into the world a little at a time. In her imagination she could see him spin and land on his nose, like one of the airplanes he’d taken her to see, when its approach was too steep.

Daddy? Hope tried again a little louder. She sat on the swing next to her father and snuggled into his side. His arm automatically protected her and pulled her close. The scent of her hair brought him back to the warm September day.

Hello, beautiful. What have you been doing this lovely day? he said.

I wrote a poem for one of my new teachers, answered Hope.

What is your poem about? Henry asked.

The new kittens in the stable, and how the mother cat feeds them, and the way they hold onto my dress when I pick them up, said Hope.

Her fine brown hair glistened with highlights the color of copper. She tipped her head to look up at him with blue-gray eyes framed by small even features. She repeatedly provoked in Henry a sense of amazement that he could have had any part in the making of such an exquisite human being.

It sounds like a lovely poem. What is your new teacher like? he said smiling.

She smells like old furniture, and she likes poetry, said Hope.

I see, said Henry, although he didn’t understand how a person could smell like old furniture. What is the new school like?

Hope sighed. I wish I could see Ginny sometimes. There are so many strangers in one place.

The cutbacks in household expenses included taking the girls out of the Friends private school and sending them to public schools. Each of the girls had skipped a grade in the transfer. Hope was in the sixth grade and Virginia was a senior at the high school. Both girls seemed to be adapting well. The children were more flexible than their mother was.

The teachers are mostly tolerable. Some of the pupils are nice, but in Science they don't like me, Hope continued.

Why? asked Henry. He suspected that his beautiful little daughter had come across to her new classmates as a snob.

Well, the thing is, uh, I... Hope twirled her hair between her fingers as she stumbled over the answer.

Henry waited while Hope thought it over.

I guess I raise my hand for every answer and they think I’m showing off, but I do know every answer, and it's boring to sit there and wait. Why do you think that makes them cross? They could answer the questions if they didn't want me to, she said.

You are a very bright young lady, sweetheart. Mother and I don't tell you that because you might decide that it makes you better than other people. People can't help it if they can't think of the answer as fast as you can, any more than they can decide to be taller, Henry said.

Hope regarded her father with wide eyes. It was true, now that she was aware of the subject, that nowhere except with her father and sister did she ever feel an intellectual challenge. She’d considered this a matter of custom, rather like not discussing vulgar subjects in public.

You must share the teacher with the other children, Hope. They have to learn too, even if you do sometimes sit and wait, Henry said. There are virtues besides intelligence that you should cultivate.

She kissed Henry on the cheek. Yes, Daddy, she said.

He rose and took her hand. I’d better check on Virginia, but you may show me the kittens for a few minutes on the way.

Hope beamed at him.

Hope led Henry through the cool stone passage past the empty stalls in the shadowed world of the old stable. The lingering odors loosened in Henry a rare memory. Henry usually tried not to think about the past, to avoid those painful memories of losing his parents and his brother to the influenza epidemic. For a minute he was Hope’s age, watching old Philip prepare the carriage for his parents to go to a party. Then waving to Mother in her violet bustled gown, rustling silk as she climbed into the carriage on the arm of Father, splendid in his tails and top hat.

Hope pointed toward a mound of straw under a dusty window.

See the little orange tiger kitten by the bottom of the wall? Miss Edna likes to lay by that window to nurse her babies, she said.

She squatted by the kitten, her bottom suspended between the swing set formed by her knees. Henry chuckled aloud as he visualized himself trying to join her in this little girl position. Hope picked up the kitten and carefully transferred it to Henry's hands. It was warm and nervous. He pulled it to his chest and watched the little face turn up toward him and the tiny claws come out and attach to his shirt. Henry watched Hope and the kittens play until they got hungry and settled down on the straw pile to nurse. Miss Edna vibrated with pride.

Hope, I have to go somewhere in the Auburn today. Would you like to come along for the ride?

Oh, yes, please, said Hope, forgetting the nursing party to bounce her hands against her thighs in excitement.

I'd better see what Virginia is doing. She won't know where I am. Henry smiled at his young daughter as he carefully detached the orange tiger kitten from his shirt.

Don’t forget my ride, Daddy,

I won’t. I promise,

Henry left the stable, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the sunlight, and then took a shortcut through the remains of the horse exercise area to approach the greenhouse from the back. As he got closer, he saw an image of a young woman moving purposefully among the greenery, wavering as if reflected in water.

Virginia, he called. How are the samples coming along? He did not understand what could be taking so long.

Virginia turned from the wooden bench to face her father. She was tall and a little too thin and her green eyes looked pale and worried. Father, do you think that this crop could be different from the last one? she asked.

Virginia took a sip from a Mason jar that she kept full of tea. She so wanted to help her father. No one else seemed to understand what he was trying to do. This project was a keystone of the portfolio that he was trying to assemble for their future, and she’d put almost as much thought and work into it as he had. She hoped that it was not going wrong now.

Why do you ask? Henry's eyes scanned the row of corked bottles. The amber liquid revealed nothing.

She ran her hand back and forth across a bound notebook. I filtered the new extract through the cheesecloth and let it drip into the jars, and rinsed the cheesecloth with the alcohol until the liquid coming out was clear, just as we did with the other batches. Last time it only took an hour. I had to rinse many more times until it became clear.

I don't understand either, said Henry. He picked up the bottles one by one and looked at them closely as he considered the question. Virginia studied his face. She was afraid that the plants changed somehow, but she didn’t mention it again. She was afraid that the idea sounded silly.

Let's see if the taste test tells us anything. I can't think of anything else, said Henry. I’d very much hate to postpone the meeting at this point.

I know, Father, so would I.

Are we ready for the taste test? said Henry. He sounded anxious, and as though he was trying hard not to show it.

I’m very sorry I’m running late, Virginia said, defensively. She would have been finished on time if it hadn’t taken almost all morning to clarify the extract. So far, I’ve labeled every bottle with a number. There are three main flavors, but I made two variations of each and the combinations, as we discussed. The actual flavor recipes are in my notebook. We can each taste them and rate them in order of our preference and then compare. But I haven’t made the ones with vanilla yet.

Let's do it now. The vanilla is costly anyway. We'll only use it if none of the others work.

Virginia nodded and bustled around putting away the ingredients she was planning to use for the vanilla group. Henry thought this must be what Marie Curie looked like as a young woman. Virginia sat down heavily on the tall stool, and the illusion vanished.

Why don't you get some fresh air? I'll do my trial first and you can try it later, suggested Henry, worried by her appearance.

Thank you, Daddy. I want to finish this but I think I’d better go lie down for a little while.

Henry was a little startled. She hadn’t called him Daddy for years. I really appreciate your help, Virginia, he said.

Just remember to keep the numbers straight as you taste. I'll talk to you later, said Virginia.

Maybe you’d better leave the notebook.

I don't want you to look at the recipes, said Virginia.

I promise I won't look, until after I’m finished. But I want to keep all our notes together.

All right. Virginia opened the notebook on the bench, and creased it. Only use this page to make your notes.

Henry looked around the greenhouse and removed a terra-cotta pot from a stack under the bench and set it on the book to keep it open.

Virginia moved toward the doorway, stopping to pinch a few tips off of a Jade plant that came nearly to her chin.

She turned and said, Is there anything that you want me to tell Mother?

I haven't seen her this morning. Do you know where she is?

I imagine she's been at the church.

Let her know I'll be going out later this afternoon and that I'll take Hope with me, Henry answered. Thank you again, for all your help with this.

You don’t have to do absolutely everything yourself, you know, said Virginia.

He watched her walk away and then turned his attention to the samples. He offered a silent prayer that at least one of the flavorings would mask the unpleasant taste of the herb. There was nothing else he could do, except convince Nightingale that bitter medicine was better than no medicine. He used to like that fellow, before all this started.

He shook the first bottle, removed the cork and smelled the liquid. The smell was not offensive. That was a good sign. He removed a silver teaspoon from a jar of utensils and poured a little of the liquid into it. He took a small amount into his mouth and a warm anise flavor diffused across all of the moist surfaces, followed by an unpleasant aftertaste. Displeased, Henry swallowed a tiny bit and the bitterness clung to the back of his throat.

He rinsed his mouth with water from the garden hose and spit out of the door of the greenhouse. He rinsed the spoon with water from the hose, dried it on his shirttail and poured a spoonful from bottle #2. A stronger anise flavor spread through his mouth, hiding the bitterness more than before, but he was unsure how much of the taste was left from the first sample. He replaced the corks, wrote some notes about bottle #1 and then left to get something from the kitchen to cleanse his palate.

Eleanor was at the counter in the big airy green and white kitchen, slicing a piece of beef, left from last night's dinner, and putting the slices on buttered bread. Through the archway into the dining room, he noticed Hope taking silverware out of the silver chest, laying the table.

Hello, Eleanor, Henry said, his eyes on the shapely lower half of a blue floral shirtwaist dress.

She turned and said Henry! with a smile that he hadn't seen very often lately. He thought for a moment that she might come toward him for an embrace.

You are looking exceptionally well today, my dear, he told his wife.

I've had the loveliest time at the Fall Frolic committee meeting. Please sit down for lunch and I'll tell all, she said.

I would love to hear all about your meeting, but I'm afraid I'll have to do without lunch. I have some things to get finished today, Henry said. He broke a large chunk off of the loaf of bread and wrapped it in a linen tea towel as he was talking. Eleanor apparently decided that although a delectable conversation at the luncheon table was a hard thing to surrender, her news was too good to keep until dinner. Henry hoped that this wasn’t going to take very long.

Mrs. Pierce was there. We all thought she had fallen on hard times, as some would say, since no one had seen her for so long. One hates to pry, of course, and so many of the better families have had their troubles.

Henry inwardly winced at her superior tone.

Well, she took a breath, sighing it out triumphantly, It was no such thing! What do you suppose has happened?"

Henry struggled to come up with a face to go with Mrs. Pierce. What? he said, hoping to find her before this got too far ahead of him.

She went to stay with her sister, you know Mrs. Charleston, the tall lady with the widow's peak, who was in the family way at the horse show. You see, she was bedridden for the last two months. Then last month she had the baby. It was a beautiful little boy. They named him Paul.

Uh huh, said Henry. Now he remembered who Ann Pierce was. She was the lovely widow of the investment banker at their church who had disappeared suddenly the week of the crash.

The really exciting part is that while she was there, Mrs. Pierce met a man and now she is engaged.

And who is the lucky gentleman? Henry asked.

He’s a publisher, and a 45 year old bachelor, from a Boston family, who moved here last year to work at a new magazine firm some people are starting downtown. His name is Randall Torrington. The wedding is expected to be held in early November.

That's wonderful. Tell Mrs. Pierce that I am very happy for her.

And there is even more good news, Eleanor smiled.

Henry marveled at Eleanor's playful mood. He would have put his arms around her waist had he not been aware of Hope.

What else? he asked.

She mentioned that when they get settled, Mr. Torrington might want to speak with you about a legal job in the publishing company. Eleanor was triumphant. I might have ever so subtly reminded her that you are a lawyer, and planted a little idea.

Henry struggled in vain to keep the dismay from showing on his face. She was in such a good mood. This publisher might not even be interested. Before Henry could formulate a response, he saw her face change.

Henry, just think. No more of this penny-pinching. Why aren't you enthusiastic?

He was trapped by a direct question. I really don't want to get into an argument, Eleanor. Let's say that I’d have to think very seriously about a salaried position. I want more for this family than that, he said carefully. Eleanor looked close to tears.

But think of the things we could do again. Think of the girls. You would like to be a lawyer again wouldn't you? said Eleanor.

Of course, but this is more complicated than that. Must we fret about it now? The man hasn't even heard about me yet, I'll bet, said Henry.

Eleanor turned away from him and put her chin on her chest. She ran the knife across the cold roast beef over and over, with no apparent purpose. Henry approached her and put one arm around her shoulders and very gently took the knife out of her hand and laid it on the counter with his other hand. He kissed the back of her head.

I'm sorry, he said. He was sorry that her good mood was ruined, not because he didn't want the job.

Eleanor didn’t answer. She took a deep breath and got busy with putting the meat in the icebox. She took the tray of sandwiches into the dining room where Henry heard her ask Hope to find her sister to announce lunch. Henry hesitated and then took his bread and returned to the greenhouse.

Back in the greenhouse, he put the problem with Eleanor out of his mind. The taste testing went much better with a bit of bread between each sample. He kept watching for Virginia, but she did not return. When he tasted the sample that Virginia had labeled number nine, he liked it, to his great relief. It was better than just acceptable, with a nice cinnamon flavor. He finished them all to be sure that the cinnamon sample was the best. He had barely an hour left to get to his meeting. There wasn’t time to get a second opinion from Virginia. Henry went back to the house to find her.

He saw Hope reading a library book on the porch swing.

Where are the ladies? he asked her.

Upstairs, she answered without looking up from her book.

Henry went in through the kitchen and mounted the service stairs, rather than change his shoes to go through the formal part of the house. He passed Eleanor ironing clothes in one of the guest bedrooms that served as a utility room. He smiled as he went by and she returned a weak smile.

He knocked on Virginia's bedroom door. There was no answer. He went back to Eleanor.

Eleanor, do you know where Virginia is? he asked.

I think she’s sleeping, answered Eleanor.

Eleanor put her iron in its stand and went with Henry to Virginia's room. Eleanor knocked and again there was no answer. She opened the door and looked in. Virginia was asleep under a froth of white and pink crocheted rosebuds. Henry and Eleanor watched her sleep for a minute, as they had when she was a small girl. Henry put his arm around his wife’s waist.

Shall I wake her? Eleanor whispered.

No, don't bother her. I can finish this without her, he said.

They tiptoed away. Eleanor looked anxiously at Henry and seemed to want to talk.

We’ll talk tonight, I promise, he said. I have to go to a meeting. Did Virginia tell you that I’m taking Hope with me for a ride in the Auburn?

Yes, she did, said Eleanor. I thought I was helping, you know. I only want the best opportunities for our daughters.

So do I, said Henry. We just don’t agree about the best way to get them.

He went to the study, gathered a few items, and took them with him to the greenhouse. He copied the formula of the final sample selection from the notebook onto a legal form that was already prepared and put it in his scuffed black leather briefcase with the rest of his information about the project. Then he put the four quart-size mason jars full of pale yellow liquid into an old wooden box and took it and his briefcase to the automobile, and went to find Hope.

Hope was still on the porch reading.

Hello beautiful. Are you ready to go for your ride? he asked.

Hope hopped down, straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair. Henry realized that she’d been waiting for him, and keeping herself visible.

Sure, Daddy. Hope said. Her mouth danced and her eyes drifted down the length of her father. Don't you think you might want to freshen up though?

Henry looked down at himself and laughed. His frayed blue work shirt had no discernible relationship to his brown wool dress trousers. What would I do without you? Just give me two minutes.

Five minutes later, they were pulling out of the garage. Henry looked down with pleasure on the shiny hood of the 1932 Auburn 12 cylinder sedan stretching out toward the road. He loved the feeling of the power of the engine pulling them along the road. And he loved to watch Hope’s face when she put her hand out the window to dance with the force of the wind.

They didn’t speak as the houses and shops slipped by. Hope watched everything intently. They soon left the town behind and as Henry thought about the meeting he began to develop a nasty headache. They drove for 15 minutes without seeing another automobile, and then they passed an old Model T and a DeSoto and another Ford in quick succession. Long stretches of woodland and luxurious grazing lands dotted with dairy cattle alternated with rotting farmhouses surrounded by falling fences and rusted equipment, and fields overgrown with weeds. Henry’s headache moved from the back of his head to his temples and then began to infiltrate his jaw.

They entered another town, and began to see people on the streets. Henry recognized the building he wanted and turned in the lane. He carefully brought the Auburn to a stop in a dirt courtyard behind the main building.

The hinges squealed behind Henry as he pushed the door open. He stepped onto the running board to stretch and nearly lost his balance. He swayed for a moment and had to lean back against the door until the dizziness passed.

He put his head back into the car and retrieved his briefcase and the box of jars. I'll be back in about ten minutes. Be sure you don’t touch any of the controls in the car. Promise?

Hope smiled and crossed her heart with her finger. She watched her father go up the steps and enter a door in a one-story wooden section that looked as if someone had glued it onto the stone house.

There was no activity in sight to attract Hope’s attention. She examined the outbuildings, and then noticed a stately row of shrubbery that stood silent behind a rabble of flowers in every conceivable shade of yellow, orange, lavender and burgundy.

Hope got out of the car for a closer look. She strolled along the chrysanthemum bed absorbed in the colors and shapes of the extraordinary collection. Some looked like daisies and some like clumps of doll-hair and some had petals shaped like Chinese soupspoons. Viewed from up close, each blossom shimmered with a palette of closely related colors. Hope’s attention was drawn to a stone springhouse twenty yards beyond the shrubbery. Something was moving beside it. She thought it might be a small dog. No, it was a groundhog with what she thought was a baby. She thought the smaller animal followed the ground hog into the open springhouse door. It was hard to see.

Hope, we're ready, Henry called. Hope didn’t quite pay attention, trying to get one more minute to see if it really was a baby ground hog.

Hope! Henry called in a sharp voice.

She heard him this time, and looked away from the ground hogs. Her father was standing by the automobile with a second man. She pulled her sweater tighter around her and skipped across the courtyard. The men continued talking, as Henry opened the door for her and she climbed up and settled herself in. Her head did not reach the top of the big bench seat.

A damn fine piece of machinery you’ve got there, said a deep baritone voice. It surely is. New, in '32, it would have cost $1075, but we got it at a private auction last April, for much less than that, she overheard her father's voice say outside the car. The voices moved around the back of the car. Then the driver's side door opened and the two men were shaking hands.

A pleasure doing business with you, said the voice she didn’t know.

I’ll talk to you next week, said her father’s voice.

Henry slipped into the seat, and gave her a quick squeeze and a weak smile. That was a good day’s work, said Henry, patting his chest pocket with satisfaction. A good several years’ work, truth be told. She thought he looked strangely pale, but she decided he was tired, and that she wouldn’t pester him. The Auburn started with a snort of smoke followed by a deep growl. She snuggled against her father’s side after they were back on the road, happy and drowsy.

Henry looked down on Hope. A sharp pain went right up the bridge of his nose. She turned her head up to him and said, Who was that man?

Henry turned his head back to the road. The movement left him dizzy again. A wave of nausea washed over him. He thought of many things to tell Hope about the man, but he couldn’t speak and fight down the urge to vomit at the same time. After a long pause, he got enough control to try to speak. It seemed to take an extraordinary amount of effort to say Someone I did a little business with. You wouldn’t know him anyway.

It seemed rude to cut her off with a non-answer. He just needed a few quiet moments to collect himself, until he felt better. They continued in silence.

The dizziness returned and stayed. Henry thought over and over again about pulling off the road to be sick and then to lie down under a tree, just for a minute. Home got a mile closer and then another mile closer. He fought with the sickness. His head hurt terribly. Hope would be frightened if he pulled over. Just five more minutes. Stay calm. The road stretching ahead of him began to move like a snake. The sides of the road were shades of red and orange where they disappeared into the weeds. Blackness slipped into his peripheral vision. He really had to pull over. This wasn’t safe, driving in this condition. What if he had an accident and Hope was hurt? He felt a little less anxious with that decision made.

Then he discovered that he couldn’t seem to focus his eyes on anything except the middle of the road. The road was bright red--especially down the middle. Everything in the world was some shade of red. The other colors were all in his stomach. That was what was making him sick. If he could just see the side of the road to pull over, he could vomit up all the blues and the greens and then everything would be fine. What on earth was Hope thinking of his condition? He could not look at her.

‘Hope, honey, I don’t feel too well. I just want to stop the car for a minute’ went through his mind. He tried and tried to make it to come out of his mouth. He thought it harder and harder. It became a chant. No words came out of his mouth. ‘Hope, Honey, Hope, Honey, Hope. Stop the car, Stop, Car, Stop, Car.’ It was no use. He couldn’t speak. There was only the motion of the car and the road ahead of him and moving the wheel to keep the car on the road, and the red. And Hope. He had to stop the car. There would be a crash and she would be hurt.

His chin was wet. His neck was getting wet. He knew he didn’t vomit. He was so full of blue and green that they were running right out by themselves. ‘This is not real. I must fight.’ He tried to make it go away. The colors ran down the front of his shirt and he knew they couldn’t be real at the same time.

Hope’s voice was in the car. There must be words. Try to hear the words.

He caught the words as they floated around his head and pulled them in. Daddy, are you sick? Those were the words. He was proud that he caught them, but he couldn’t make any words to float around her head. More words came. Try to hear the words again. Harder this time. Too many words. Foot off the gas pedal. He caught some, but he couldn’t remember what they meant. The blackness around the edges of his vision was growing. Too hard to fight it and catch words at the same time.

The words were very loud this time. He didn’t have to catch them. They jumped right into his mind. Take your foot off the gas pedal!

He moved his foot. He thought the top of his head would come off. The red road disappearing under the front of the car got tired. The road changed from a rushing red river to a lazy pink stream. Hope was reaching across him doing something. Then a lurch.

There will be no crash. Hope will be safe. He let the blackness spread across the red.

Chapter 1

2002

Gerry Carpenter worked at the computer in her pleasantly cluttered family room. She was trying to finish the program she was designing, for no particular purpose except her own interest, before the kids got home. She relieved her computer eyes by looking out the patio door to admire her early narcissus and crocus, and stretched. She glanced at the clock and determined that she had about 20 more minutes of peace and quiet. She returned to the screen and the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the mantle clock, the clicking of her mouse, and the soft snoring of Jessie, the young black Labrador snoozing in the puddle of sunlight on the gray carpet.

The phone rang three times before Gerry could squeeze around the card table. She flopped into the far end of the shabby sectional couch and caught it just before the fifth ring.

Hello?

Hi, it's Joanne. I've got some news, said her sister.

Gerry started to speak at the same moment that the dog erupted into excited barking and tore through the room toward the front of the house.

Just a second, I think the kids are home, Gerry had time to say before Ricky and Elizabeth were in the room, shedding schoolbags, jackets and lunch boxes. Jessie was squealing, jumping and trying to lick each of the kids.

Mom! He said mine was going to be in the art show, said seven-year-old Elizabeth waving something on green construction paper over her head to keep it away from the dog. Then the kids were talking over each other and Gerry couldn't understand either of them, or something that Joanne said in the phone.

Joanne, can I call you back? This isn't a good time, she said into the phone, kissing ten-year-old Ricky and pulling the dog down by the collar to settle her.

You won't be able to reach me after 4:15, said Joanne. I have a project team meeting, and someone is waiting for me. If you give me thirty minutes, then call before the meeting I can talk. This is important, Gerry. I've gotten you an interview.

Gerry didn’t catch the schedule, but she heard the part about the interview. Since her divorce, Gerry had only had one other interview. Contrary to the way Gerry had always chosen to view her potential, she’d learned painfully that companies are not interested in paying people just because they’re bright and creative. They have to be bright and competent at something excruciatingly particular, and have tons of experience in it. Or they had to know someone, and Joanne was about the only person that she knew who might be able to come up with a lead.

Can you repeat that first part? Please? Gerry said. She made eye contact with Ricky. She gave him the look and pulled her hand across her throat in the cut signal. She pointed to his sister and pointed to the kitchen. He nodded and took Elizabeth by the hand.

Let’s get some cookies, he said. Jessie knew that word too, and danced back and forth between the kids and the entryway to the kitchen wagging her tail. The general uproar faded into the kitchen.

I said, I got you an interview, said Joanne loudly with an edge in her voice. HR will be calling you to schedule something for next week. I’ve really got to go. Call me between 3:45 and 4:15.

Fifteen minutes later, Gerry’s offspring were properly greeted and nourished. Ricky was on his way to Tim's house for Nintendo and Elizabeth was settled with a video, with Jessie's head in her lap. She still was young enough to need an after school nap, which Gerry tactfully camouflaged as a TV treat.

Gerry went into her bedroom to make the call so she would not have to struggle to hear over Beauty and the Beast in the family room. She evaluated her reflection in the dresser mirror as she dialed her sister's work number. Her appearance was about the only thing she expected to work in her favor with these interviewers. She was still well shaped for a 34-year-old mother of two. A nice bust and legs, she thought, if you didn't look too hard in between, not that anyone could tell in her usual jeans and sweatshirt. Her auburn hair could be very presentable, OK, being truthful with herself she knew she was vain about it, when she took the time to style it. The gray eyes that looked back at her from the mirror were her most prominent feature. She looked much like pictures of her Aunt Hope when she was younger. All she needed was a good suit.

She got Joanne’s voice mail. Disappointed, she left a message. She sat in the bedroom for five minutes, hoping. Finally she went down to the kitchen to start dinner. She was cutting up green peppers for salad when the phone rang again.

Hi, Gerry, it's me.

Joanne must be alone this time, she thought. This was her family voice.

Hi. Sorry about before. The kids are settled, for now. They came in from school right when you called, said Gerry, already feeling incompetent, and apologetic.

Oh. Well, I finally got together with the IS guy I was telling you about. We had lunch today and I asked him what he thought of your resume. He’s very interested. They do have a PC position approved in that department that’ll be posted on Monday.

Cool, I think, said Gerry. What were the implications of this posting? Gerry was anxious not to look ignorant in front of her successful sister. So, what do I do next? she said, hoping it would become clear before she had to admit that she didn’t understand.

They have to accept internal applications first, and then if there is no viable candidate they can look at outside people, said Joanne. But I already gave your resume to Guran, and according to what was said at lunch, you will get an interview. As soon as the posting goes up, I'll get you a copy of it, so you can review the details.

From what Guran told me it seems to be right up your alley. They want a support person from IS to help Research people customize the common applications for their own specialized purposes. It seems the choice is between finding someone who knows their way around Research and transitioning them into a PC expert or finding a PC expert and transitioning them into Research. He sounded like they were still pretty undecided which way they'll go. I casually offered my opinion, speaking as a researcher to an IS person, that it was more important to be a PC expert than a researcher to accomplish what they are trying to do. Amazing, he took my comment seriously. If I were him, I'd have thought, ‘Of course she'd say that.’ She's got a sister that needs a job.

OK, so if they do go with a PC person, instead of a research person, what are the chances they’ll find one inside? Gerry said, feeling strange speaking in phrases that were unfamiliar. She couldn’t help but wonder when ‘transition’ became a verb, even as she tried hard to concentrate on the conversation with Joanne.

Looks good for you I would think. Most of the PC experts are already in higher level positions than this as trainers or as corporate people doing desktop publishing for all that internal communication crap and shit like that. Joanne tends to slip in and out of the verbal uniform, Gerry noticed. Maybe she only does that when she's talking to family.

Then I could do that kind of stuff too, after a while, couldn't I? said Gerry.

Sure, the hard part is getting in the door, said Joanne. After that there are lots of ways to go.

Joanne, I really, really appreciate this, said Gerry. So, who will call me about the interview, and when? Do you know?

I don't know when they would actually call you for an interview. I'll get the job posting Monday or Tuesday. I'll call you then. You'll have to fill out the official application at some point. Anyhow, I'll talk to you early next week.

For the rest of that evening, Gerry could barely keep her mind on what she was doing. She beamed at the kids through dinner and kidded around through dishes. Ricky was encouraged through fourth-grade math homework with love and patience. Her mood was so contagious that Ricky actually went for a bath without being told. Finally she finished reading a story to Elizabeth and turned out her lights. She visited Ricky for a kiss and a warning to be finished reading and have lights out by 9:30.

Watching TV and knitting, with only the dog for company, she wanted to talk about this potential change in her life with her husband. Not Ed, her real ex-husband, but the potential husband she used to think he would become, or with a new husband, who would listen and have good suggestions. She would tell him about what a relief the financial security would be if she had a real job at Nightingale Pharmaceuticals. And about the actual possibility of career growth. And about the dozens of research projects she was imagining that she could help with. And she really wanted to talk to him about how they would manage with the kids, and how Elizabeth would cope with another large change in her life, and whether Ricky should go to camp in the summers or if she should take him to her parents. And she would swear to him that if she got this job she would take related courses that led to real credentials and that she would do only this for years and years. She silently promised God, or whoever was listening, that she would never again try new things only because they interested her, except for maybe some very occasional hobbies.

She already had a lunch date at Aunt Hope's house tomorrow. She would have someone to talk to then. 'I can be patient that long, I think,' she consoled herself.

Tuesday morning was cold and rainy. After the kids were safely turned over to the Souderton School District, Gerry made a circuit of several grocery stores, based on sale item vs. coupon calculations. She thought of all of her out of the house errands as the solitary flight of a bee to a circuit of fields and gardens to collect nectar for its hive. Part of this day's flight would be her favorite garden, Aunt Hope and Uncle Edgar's house. She pulled the ancient station wagon out of her parking place at the upscale home market/hardware store where she’d exchanged a replacement burner for her range that had turned out to be the wrong size, and purchased some epoxy to try to repair a flesh wound Ricky had inflicted on the shower stall. The car rattled ominously as she tried to accelerate into the gap that finally appeared in the stream of traffic. When I get back to work, I'll replace this with a minivan, with lots of room and a V6, she thought with more hope than she'd felt in months. Why does it only make that noise when