The Hatching: A Novel (20 page)

He walked down the steps until he was on the dock in front of them. He stuck out his hand and nodded. “Aonghas.”

Aonghas shook his grandfather’s hand. The grip was still strong, but it didn’t
crush his fingers the way he remembered early handshakes doing. It wasn’t that his grandfather had been trying to punish him, Aonghas knew, but rather that there was only one way he knew how to hold on to things: hard.

“Good to see you, boy.” His grandfather gave him a wink as he said it, and that was when Aonghas realized his grandfather was wearing the hat.

Padruig was a bit of a hermit—he didn’t leave Càidh Island that often, and rarely for more than a few days—but Aonghas’s grandfather was not an ascetic. His books had been bestsellers in the 1960s and 1970s, and they’d enjoyed a resurgence since Aonghas started writing them. His grandfather had plenty of money, and if there was something he cared about, he didn’t mind spending money on it. The wine cellar in the castle was proof enough of that. And the old man’s library had something in the neighborhood of ten thousand books. He’d also spent a fortune to make sure Càidh Island was close to self-sufficient: it was a fortress with the cistern and the diesel stores and the food stocked away in the cellars. While Aonghas always brought fresh produce and perishables, the castle could go for a year, maybe two, between deliveries of water and fuel and dry goods. But really, more than anything, Padruig was a clotheshorse. He’d had his jackets and shirts and trousers made to order in London for as long as Aonghas could remember, and his bootmaker was actually the grandson of the man who’d made boots for Padruig’s father. Aonghas had never been all that particular about clothing himself, and once, when he saw his grandfather’s bill from the tailor, he’d almost fainted. The man was, to borrow an old girlfriend’s expression, always well-turned-out. The problem was that it made it hard to figure out if Padruig was dressed for a special occasion, since he was
always
dressed impeccably. But the old man had a tell: the houndstooth newsboy hat.

The hat had been a wedding present to Padruig from Aonghas’s grandmother. He’d
never met the woman, but when she died it had broken his grandfather’s heart. Even though Aonghas was only seven when his parents died in the crash, he still remembered the way his mother described his grandmother’s death: “For Da, it was like all the color drained out of the world.”

Aonghas had seen his grandfather wear the hat on only a few occasions: his parents’ funeral; Aonghas’s graduation from college; each of the three times Padruig had won a Gold Dagger Award from the Crime Writers’ Association, which, after Lionel Davidson’s death in 2009, left him as the only living author with that hat trick; and the day, when Aonghas was fifteen, when they’d both been invited to Balmoral Castle to go hunting with the queen, who was a huge fan of the Harry Thorton series.

So it was the hat that made Aonghas relax. The ring had been his mother’s, and he’d had to ask his grandfather for it, so both of them knew what was coming this weekend, but seeing that houndstooth newsboy hat on his grandfather’s head made Aonghas realize that if he was nervous about introducing Thuy to his grandfather, and if he was nervous about asking Thuy to marry him—and the Lord knew he was nervous—well, his grandfather was also nervous about meeting his girlfriend.

If anything, however, it almost went too well: Aonghas was left to carry the bags and boxes by himself while his grandfather took Thuy on the five-minute tour that Càidh Island warranted and required, and then showed her around the castle itself. And then, Aonghas was left by himself in the living room to listen to the BBC Radio nan Gàidheal and look out over the water while Thuy showed his grandfather how to make curry.

The news was still dominated by China and the nuclear explosion, but Aonghas found himself tired of it. There was nothing new to report, and it seemed as though nobody really knew anything.
By the time dinner was on the table, he was relieved when his grandfather turned off the radio.

“It’s a shame, that sort of thing,” his grandfather said. “I’d like to think we’re at the edge of the world out here, but there are some things that are too big to hide from.”

Thuy poured some more wine and leaned against Aonghas. She smelled of garlic and lemongrass, and he kissed her on the top of the head. Her parents had raised her strictly Scottish, except for cooking, and for that he was thankful. He’d never realized how much he loved Vietnamese food until they started dating. Of course, that was because he’d never had Vietnamese food until they started dating.

“I don’t know, Padruig,” Thuy said. “It seems like you could hide from anything here. You could whittle away a year without too much trouble.”

His grandfather smiled and reached across the table to pat Thuy’s hand. “A year’s not so long, and not everything can be hidden from, dear. Do you know what Oppenheimer said after the first successful nuclear explosion?” Thuy shook her head. “He said, ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ ”

Aonghas laughed. “You know that’s not true. He said that later, but he didn’t say it at the time. It was only years and years and years later that he said that.”

His grandfather lifted both hands and then pounded them on the table with enough force that the silverware chattered and the wine sloshed in their glasses. Thuy jumped back, but Aonghas didn’t move. He could see the smile on his grandfather’s face. He was used to the old man’s theatrics.

“But it makes for the better story,” his grandfather roared. “The story. The story!” He picked up his knife and pointed it at Aonghas. “Never
forget the story.” With that, Padruig put the knife back down and looked at Thuy. “And he doesn’t, you know. He doesn’t forget the story. As much as it pains me to say it, I think the boy is doing a better job with the books than I ever did. Though,” he said, dropping to a stage whisper, “he’s not yet won a Dagger Award.”

Outside, the light looked weaker. Clouds papered the sky, and the water had started to whip up a bit. Nothing to be worried about yet, but it hinted at a coming storm.

Since his grandfather and girlfriend had done all the cooking, Aonghas found himself exiled to the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes while his grandfather and Thuy relaxed in the living room, the radio on in the background. Aonghas was humming to himself, pleased at how well things were going, occasionally stopping to sneak the ring out of his pocket and take a look at it, when he realized Thuy was calling his name.

The urgency in her voice scared him. She said his name again, and instead of grabbing the towel, he just wiped his hands on his jeans. He hurried into the living room and came to a stop. They were just sitting there. Nothing was wrong. There had been a part of him that was sure he was going to come in and find the old man facedown on the floor, dead before he could see his grandson engaged and married, before he had a chance to see a great-granddaughter or great-grandson, the Càidh line carried on.

But both his grandfather and Thuy were up and alert. In fact, they were smiling.

Thuy stood up and walked over to him. “Is it true?” she said.

“What?”

Thuy looked at Padruig, so Aonghas looked at his grandfather as well. “Is what true?” he asked.

Padruig offered up something between a grimace and a smile. “I’m sorry, boy. It just slipped out.”

“Yes,” Thuy said to Aonghas. “Go ahead and ask me, because the answer is yes.”

“W
ell,” Gordo said. “Waiting for the world to go boom is kind of boring.” He tried changing the television station, but it was the same news everywhere: no news. China had set off a nuke and . . . and that was it.

“Fred called.” Amy sat on his lap and put her arm around his shoulder. “He said if the world isn’t ending today, we should go over and have dinner and drinks with him and Shotgun. We can play hearts.”

Gordo sighed. “Sure.”

“What’s with the grumpy pants?” Amy tapped her finger on his lips. “You’re all pouty.”

Gordo kissed her finger. “Eh. You know. A nuke goes off and I’m thinking, okay, this is it. We’re ready. I’m ready. Let’s do it. I’m not saying I really want it to happen, but come on. I thought this was it.” He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her tight against him. “Yeah, fuck it. Let’s go over and play some cards. Beats just sitting around waiting for the bombs to start falling.”

O
h, that private bathroom. Of all the things Melanie was glad that she negotiated for—lab space, funding, administrative support, reduced teaching—a private bathroom and shower in her office was what made her most thankful. There was the obvious plus of not having to use the public restrooms, but it was the shower that was the best. She could go out for a quick run and shower off without having to head to the Jacobs Fitness Center, or, on days like today, when she hadn’t left the lab in nearly seventy hours, it meant she could take a shower and put on one of the changes of clothes she kept in her office. She could feel human again.

She tugged on her brown motorcycle boots and pulled her jeans down over them. She’d bought the boots at the same time she bought her first motorcycle, when she was eighteen, and even though she hadn’t had a bike in a decade, she kept resoling the boots. They were scarred and had a deep patina of wear. She always felt like a badass when she wore them. She buttoned up her dark-blue blouse, gave her hair a quick brush, put her diamond stud earrings back in, opened the door of her bathroom, and crashed right into a big black man in a suit.

The man was rooted like a tree. Melanie bounced back a few steps, and he reached out and caught her arm.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said.

He didn’t have to say anything more for Melanie to know he was Secret Service. She sighed.

“Where is he?”

“Ma’am?”

She straightened her blouse and slipped past him into her office. There was no one else in the office, though she could hear voices in the lab. “Manny. My ex-husband. Where is he?”

“He’s in the lab, ma’am, with the others.”

It was a pattern that was too familiar to her from their marriage: Manny wanted to spend time with her, she’d say she was busy, he’d show up anyway saying he hoped just to steal a few minutes, they’d fight about whether their marriage was failing because of how little time they spent together or because what little time they did spend together they spent fighting. It had been exhausting when they were married, and she didn’t want to spend any part of the day doing a postmortem on a body that had long gone cold. She’d already taken the blame, already said it was her fault, even though there was a small part of her that thought Manny could have done more. No phone could be slammed hard enough, no door closed firmly enough to keep him out when it came to garnering support for a bill or getting money for Steph’s campaigns, but he had never fought as hard for her as he had on Steph’s behalf.

“All right, Manny,” she said, pushing through the door to the lab, “I don’t have the patience for . . .”

But it wasn’t Manny.

Or, rather, it was Manny, but it was also Steph. The president of the United States. She was leaning over the insectarium with Julie, staring at the spiders.

At the sound of Melanie’s voice, everybody in the room turned. And there were a lot of people in the lab besides her and Julie and Manny and Steph: Bark and Patrick, fussing over the computer and recording equipment, nearly a dozen Secret Service agents, and Billy Cannon, the secretary of defense.

“Madam President,” Melanie said. She started to put out her hand and then nodded her head before turning it into a sort of half bow. It was embarrassing. She stood up straight and looked around the room. “Traveling sort of heavy today?”

The president waved her hand at the suited men. “Comes with the territory. It’s hard to casually pop in anywhere.” She stepped over and gave Melanie a hug.

Melanie hugged her back, reluctantly. She was never really sure how to feel about the president. She knew how she felt about Steph, but Steph, as the president, was a different matter. She’d known Steph for as long as she’d known Manny. Close to eighteen years now. She’d known Steph when she was still just Steph, before it was Governor Pilgrim or Senator Pilgrim, let alone President Pilgrim. Melanie had been one of the bridesmaids at Steph’s wedding to George Hitchens, and one of the few people to really see what it was like behind the scenes during Steph’s run for president. And she also knew that, since she and Manny had gotten divorced, her ex-husband and the president of the United States were fucking a couple of times a week.

She didn’t begrudge it exactly. It was kind of hard to be pissed off at Manny for having a casual thing with Steph when Melanie was sleeping with Bark. At least Steph was the president and not a goddamned graduate student. The truth was they were divorced, and if Manny was going to be sleeping with anybody, Steph was probably the best bet as far as Melanie was concerned. It’s not that she was still in love with Manny, but rather that there was a part of her that thought they might get back together. Someday. When
they were older. Okay. Maybe she was still in love with Manny a little bit. They hadn’t gotten divorced because they hated spending time with each other, but because Melanie hadn’t loved Manny more than she did her work. At least if he was having an affair with Steph, Melanie knew that meant he might still be available to her. If she wanted. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Seeing Manny standing there, next to Bark, should have made it easy: Bark, tall and solid and muscular, looking even better with three days’ stubble and his T-shirt wrinkled from camping out in the lab with her and Julie and Patrick; Manny, sporting ten more pounds than the last time she’d seen him, wearing a suit that was indistinguishable from every other suit he wore. Physically, there was no comparison. But just looking at Bark annoyed her, while seeing Manny, even though she wasn’t happy to have him and half the White House intruding on her lab, brought a smile to her face.

She stepped out of the president’s arms. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”