“I understand,” Elizabeth said. “I really do. And I’m glad we’re here together. This is where Calvin and I first met. Right over there,” she said, pointing. “I needed beakers, so I stole his.”
“That sounds very resourceful,” Avery said. “Was it love at first sight?”
“Not exactly,” Elizabeth said, remembering how Calvin had demanded that her boss give him a call. “But we ended up having our own happy accident. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“I’d love to hear it,” she said. “I wish I could have known him. Perhaps through you, I might.” She took a shaky breath, then cleared her throat. “I would very much like to be part of your family, Miss Zott,” she said. “I hope that’s not too bold.”
“Please, call me Elizabeth. And you are family, Avery. Madeline understood this a long time ago. It’s not Wilson she put on the family tree—it’s you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re the acorn.”
Avery, her eyes a watery gray, took in some distant point across the room. “The fairy godmother acorn,” she said to herself. “Me.”
* * *
—
From outside they heard footsteps, then a quick knock. The lab door swung open and Wilson stepped back in. “I’m sorry to intrude,” he said cautiously, “but I wanted to make sure everything was—”
“It is,” Avery Parker said. “It finally is.”
“Thank god,” he said, putting his hand to his chest. “In that case, as much as I hate to bring up business, there’s a lot that needs your attention, Avery, before we leave tomorrow.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“You’re leaving already?” Elizabeth asked, surprised, as Wilson shut the door behind him.
“I’m afraid I must,” Avery said. “As I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t really planning on telling you any of this—not before we had a chance to get to know each other.” Then she added hopefully, “But we’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“Let’s say supper at six, then,” Elizabeth said, not wanting her to go. “The home lab. Everyone—you, Wilson, Mad, Sixty-Thirty, me, Harriet, Walter. You’ll need to meet Wakely and Mason at some point, too. The whole family.”
Avery Parker, her face suddenly familiar with Calvin’s smile, turned back and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “The whole family,” she said.
* * *
—
As the door closed behind them, Elizabeth bent down and took Six-Thirty’s head in her hands. “Tell me. How soon did you know?”
At two forty-one, he wanted to say. Which is what I plan to call her.
But instead he turned and jumped up on the opposite counter and grabbed a fresh notebook. Removing the pencil from her hair, she took it from him, then opened to the first page.
“Abiogenesis,” she said. “Let’s get started.”
Acknowledgments
Writing is a solo effort, but it takes an army to bring a book to the shelves. I’d like to thank my army:
From Zürich, my pals who read the earliest chapters: Morgane Ghilardi, CS Wilde, Sherida Deeprose, Sarah Nickerson, Meredith Wadley-Suter, Alison Baillie, and John Collette.
My Curtis Brown online writing friends: Tracey Stewart, Anna Marie Ball, Morag Hastie, Al Wright, Debbie Richardson, Sarah Lothian, Denise Turner, Jane Lawrence, Erika Rawnsley, Garret Symth, and Deborah Gasking.
My unbelievably supportive and talented Three-Month Curtis Brown novelists: Lizzie Mary Cullen, Kausar Turabi, Matthew Cunningham, Rosie Oram, Elliot Sweeney, Yasmina Hatem, Simon Hardman Lea, Malika Browne, Melanie Stacey, Neil Daws, Michelle Garrett, Ness Lyons, Ian Shaw, Mark Sapwell, and the brilliant Charlotte Mendelson, who pushed us to be better.
Curtis Brown’s Anna Davis for her grace and guidance; the tireless Jack Hadley, Katie Smart, and Jennifer Kerslake for their always-cheery support; Lisa Babalis, who generously read my opening and gave me hope; Sarah Harvey, Katie Harrison, Caoimhe White, and Jodi Fabbri, the best rights management team in the universe; Rosie Pierce, who handles every detail with aplomb; ICM’s Jennifer Joel, a reassuring, confident voice when things got complicated; Tia Ikemoto for the helping hand; CB film rights agent Luke Speed, who’s probably in some sort of science experiment to see how long a person can go without sleep; and Anna Weguelin, who, I’m pretty sure, doesn’t sleep either.
Actually, I’m not sure anyone at Curtis Brown or ICM sleeps.