Race Across The Sky Part 36

Sweating, he went upstairs and took Nicholas from his crib. The boy was asleep, and hot against him. Shane sat in the rocking chair and was looking at him, searching for Caleb in the bones of his face, when June came in.

"I'm wondering," she said quietly, "if we could stay here for a while."

Shane blinked.

"I mean, we could go back to Taos. Her dad's there, we know people there. Or maybe Arizona, maybe my parents can help me with her. But for now, just for a few weeks, I want her to be near Doctor Chin. And you guys." She hesitated. "Is that okay?"

He shuddered and looked up at her. "Of course. How is she?"

"A little feverish. Fussy."

"If it doesn't work, I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be."

"I'm sorry even if it does." He started searching around the room, his voice breaking, and June took his hand. "If I hadn't done this, if I hadn't . . ."

"Look, Shane, if you hadn't done this, Caleb would have learned about some doctor in New York, or Miami, and he would have taken her to them. He would have run there too."

She reached down and stroked Nicholas's fine black hair.

Softly she said, "Sometimes when I'm watching Lily play? I feel like I'm not really there. I see how alive she is apart from me, without me, and I can feel myself slipping away. I can see her moving forward on her own. Sometimes I wonder if I died some time ago, and I'm observing her. If I'm a ghost." She looked up to Shane. "Is that kind of strange?"

"Maybe that's a little strange."

"You don't feel that way with your son?"

"No. I feel connected to him every second."

"Okay, well, keep it a secret."

Shane became quiet. Because he had his own secret. It might be time to tell it.

Everyone believed that he had the idea to help Lily. That he had persuaded Prajuk, emptied his savings, rented the lab, and produced this drug due to some notion of his own.

But actually, none of it had been his idea.

When Shane had returned from Boulder, he knew, he had been overwhelmed by the impending birth of his son, the start of his new job, and he had not done very much for Lily at all. Forget charging off to rent any private labs; he had not so much as found a specialist. Left to himself, he would have told Caleb that there was nothing in test for this condition, sent him some printouts from the Web, and focused on his new family.

And he would not have heard from Caleb again.

But instead, Nicholas had arrived. Nicholas had come and opened his sticky newborn eyes, and he had understood fragility and holiness.

Nicholas had shown him what to do. And kept him on his course. Producing this drug had not been the finest act of Shane's life; it had been the first of Nicholas's.

He stood and smiled at June, and they went downstairs. Beneath his feet the old house creaked with a future history. Things would happen in this hall, in these rooms, which would define the rest of his life.

As soon as he walked back into the living room he felt something different in the air and froze. The energy had changed completely. Wenceslas and Janelle were staring at him, mouths open. He fought an urge to turn and run. He shot his eyes down to the floor.

Lily was sitting up, her head bent over one of Nicholas's foam blocks, clasping it between her hands. There was no sound save the pa.s.sing of cars in the dusk.

There was no other sound in the room at all.

Somewhere over the Pacific a breeze s.h.i.+fted, waves hurried forth, and the smell of fresh water washed over the world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

Alpha-one ant.i.trypsin deficiency is a real genetic condition. The descriptions of its symptoms, treatment, and mechanisms in this novel are neither expert nor entirely accurate. I have needed to simplify the disease both for readers and out of my own very finite grasp of it. Any errors here are mine entirely.

The Alpha-1 a.s.sociation is a wonderful group of people dedicated to helping the newly diagnosed, advocating for patients, and fundraising for research. Please go to their website to learn more: www.alpha1.org.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Thank you, Rachel Vogel. You rock. As an agent, reader, and editor. You made this all happen, and made it all better. I'll never forget the moment I got your e-mail about this ma.n.u.script.

Thank you, Denise Roy, for being so collaborative, enthusiastic, and encouraging. And for being so patient with me. I appreciate everything you've done, including things I don't even know about. Thank you for taking a chance on my work. And for all you did to improve it.

Thanks to Kate Napolitano, Phil Budnick, John f.a.gan, Liz Keenan, Katie Hurley, Ashley Pattison McClay, and Catherine Hayden at Penguin, for all of your work on the publication of this book.

Thank you to the Backs.p.a.ce Conference, and everyone I met during that weekend. I will always remember the enthusiasm and momentum it gave me.

Thanks to the Metra Union Pacific Line for creating Quiet Cars.

Thank you to the doctors, nurses, and staff at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.

Thanks to all of my work partners and creative directors, who taught me to take critique and revise, skills that made this book possible.

Thank you, Brian Eno, Harold Budd, Explosions in the Sky, Bon Iver, Radiohead, Steve Reich, and Boards of Canada-this book was written to your work.

Thanks to Pete Figel, who first told me about the world of running cults, and to an a.s.sistant Brand Manager at Genentech, who first explained to me how biotechnology companies make decisions.

I am indebted to these books: Building Biotechnology by Yali Friedman, From Alchemy to IPO by Cynthia Robbins-Roth, and Running Through the Wall by Neal Jamison. Anyone interested in the subjects in this novel should check these out.

Thanks to all of the early readers, any of whom could have stopped this book in its tracks by informing me they hated it: Joel Jacobson, who suggested the changes that made the story work. Matt and Susan Skelly. Leah Fietsam. Catherine Driscoll, Julie Stevenson, Robin McAfee, Briana Danielson, and the rest of the Lake Forest and Boston book clubs who sacrificed a good erotic vampire book to read an unpublished ma.n.u.script.

To Madeleine and Alan Ferris, for their constant support.

To my dad, Ron, who would have loved this. My sister Samantha for her love. To Bronia, Jack, Sylvia, and Harry.

To Greg Ferris, the bravest, boldest man on earth. You know something about ultramarathons and medicine.

To my mom, Wendy, an incredible role model, who in- stilled a love of reading and writing into me. Thank you for encouraging me from the day I was born.

And to Kerri, my beautiful and talented wife. Thank you for giving me all of those hours to go work on this. And for giving me the greatest answer of my life. Which was, of course, yes.

end.