Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

“Keep hold of yourself, LaTonya,” said Tessa. She turned to Gwen. “How do you know it’s not just the baby’s position?”

“It’s the movements,” whispered Gwen. “They’re separate from each other. Like they’re coming from different sources.”

“I felt them myself,” said Kate. “It’s true. Ripples down by her hip bone and up near her chest, at the same time.”

“Hands and feet,” said Tessa.

“No,” said Gwen. “Something’s not right.” She sat heavily onto the couch and covered her face with her hands. Then she spoke in a muffled voice. “It can’t be just one baby. Unless…”

“Unless what?” said Tessa.

“There’s something seriously wrong with it.”

“If that were true, you’d have known long ago,” said Tessa. “You’re in the care of some of the most brilliant doctors in the world. I brought them here to Seahorse myself.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t trust anything you say,” said Gwen, looking up at Tessa, eyes blazing with accusation. “You’re part of the business machine here, Tessa. I read your book, your op-eds, every article about you, before I came here. You’re not a scientist. You know nothing more than any of us. You’re a PR stunt for Seahorse. You’re a way for Luke Zimmerman to validate TEAT faster. And you have no idea what’s going on.”

“I understand why you’d feel that way,” said Tessa calmly.

“Don’t pull that empathetic-manager shit on me,” said Gwen, her voice breaking. “Something isn’t right with my baby.” A tear streaked down her cheek. “I never should have signed up for this in the first place. It’s fucked up, this thing we’re doing.”

“Don’t say that,” said LaTonya.

“But it is , isn’t it?” said Gwen. “We’re meddling with nature. We’re putting human babies at risk. It’s insane. Of course I’m being punished, of course some terrib—” She choked on a sob.

“Oh, Gwen,” said Tessa, pulling her into a hug, as much as she could manage.

Gwen pushed her away. “Of course something terrible is going to happen. You can’t engineer life this way.” She pressed her hands over her face, her body quaking. “I deserve this.”

“Stop this,” said Tessa. “You’re panicking, Gwen. Your mind is spiraling. It’s reacting to fear and speaking to it. You are stronger than this. You have the power to calm down right now.”

“You’re a friggin’ goddess, Gwen,” said LaTonya. “Listen to Tessa.”

“Breathe, honey,” said Kate, tentatively putting her hand on Gwen’s back. “Just breathe for a minute.” When Gwen didn’t move away, Kate began to rub her palm in circles.

Slowly, Gwen’s sobs dissipated. When she seemed to have calmed, Tessa said, “Let’s go down to Clinical and find out what’s happening. I’ll walk down with you right now.”

“No,” said Gwen. “I won’t. I don’t trust them. I want a second opinion.”

“From whom?” asked Tessa.

“Another doctor. Unaffiliated with Seahorse. I want to see someone today. Off campus.”

“Impossible,” said Tessa. “That would violate your NDA.”

“So I’ll go to jail,” said Gwen, shrugging. Her usual archness had returned. “I don’t care. That sounds better than living with this feeling I’ve been having.”

“If you leave,” said LaTonya, “I’m leaving too.”

Kate paused. “Me, too.”

For the first time since she’d stepped through the door of the residence wing, Tessa didn’t know what to say.

2021

Irene sat on her porch at sunrise, watching bands of color warm the sky over the dry brown mountains in the distance. Dawn had always been her favorite time of day, when her sense of optimism was restored. When the possibility of transformation, yet again, felt just within reach. She remembered stepping off the boathouse dock at Gales Ferry after predawn crew practice, her throat hoarse from coxswaining, the morning coming to life around her. How her heart seemed to rise in her chest, the day telling her yes yes yes : anything was surmountable. The new sun on her face was an infusion of power. She let it in, and it carried her.

Even on that morning, when she’d steered her car away from the Cades Cove parking lot in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, leaving her baby girl behind, she’d stared into the rosy light filtering through the red spruce trees and thought maybe . Maybe it would be okay.

Even on the morning when Henry Duarte had said to her, You are now in custody of the United States government, the light had been saffron-bright in her kitchen window, and at first, she’d actually laughed. Surely nothing terrible could be happening against the background of a clean, fresh day.

Even now, when there was nothing left ahead of her, the morning fooled Irene. Even now, sitting alone in her government-issued rocker, in the middle of some nameless desert, she felt it: change, beckoning to her. Offering itself. For a moment, if she did nothing but breathe, she could almost believe it.

Almost.

From the purple-flowered shrubs lining her house, a rabbit hopped onto the lawn. It stopped and sniffed the air, unaware of Irene. She watched it sample several different possibilities, springing toward the road at the end of the lawn and then darting in another direction. It was a lean bunny, she noticed, its body a single tensile arc, tail like a snowball. Her body had once been like that—taut and nimble, ready for commands.

Finally, the rabbit bounced back toward the house and disappeared into the same spot of ruellia from which it had emerged. Irene understood its decision. Here, there was nowhere to go. She rocked and sipped her tea and felt the day’s oncoming heat start to press into her.

Soon, a golf cart approached the bend in the road leading to her house, the long, empty loop that circled the Colony’s permanent residence zone. She sat up straighter and squinted; she’d left her eyeglasses on her bedside table. It was unusual to see any traffic on the loop at this hour, just after 6:00 a.m. Johanna wouldn’t be arriving to make breakfast until after seven.

Swinging onto the straightaway, fifty yards from Irene’s house, the golf cart accelerated. The things didn’t go very fast, Irene knew, no more than fifteen miles per hour or so, but clearly the driver was flooring the pedal. Her curiosity piqued, she stood from her chair, wobbling as she gained her footing, and went inside to get her glasses. Whoever it was, she wanted to see their face when they passed her house. Even a drive-by would feel like company.

Going inside took longer than she’d expected. The two steps up from the porch were dicey. Bending over to pick up her glasses from where she’d apparently knocked them onto the floor felt like a feat of acrobatics. This was her reality now: simple physical tasks were complicated and arduous. Somehow, she kept forgetting.

When she returned to the porch, Henry Duarte was sitting in her rocker, in head-to-toe camouflage, including a baseball-style cap.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Henry!”

He jumped up and came to her, pulling her into his arms. Her cheek pressed against the stiff cotton and nylon blend of his uniform, she felt small and safe.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he said. “I can only stay for a minute.”

“Don’t say that. You always say that.” As instantly as the sight of him brought her relief, the prospect of his departure brought sadness. She closed her eyes, letting his presence wash over her. For now, he was here.

“This time, it’s more serious,” he said. “I don’t have clearance to be here.”