The Vines by Shelley Nolden (most motivational books .txt) 📗

As much as she didn’t want to grovel, she couldn’t muster the strength to stand, so she pushed against the ground to raise her torso. “I may be a mutt, but I’m a mutt who knows her master better than anyone else. Compared to immortality for your genes, Kristian’s bond with Petra is of little consequence to you.”

“I’ve no proof that his longevity will match yours.”

“And you never will if you don’t bring him back.”

Ulrich hesitated, and she knew he still believed in the possibility that Kristian would stop aging once he reached adulthood.

With the vigor of an eighteen-year-old, she scrambled to her feet and pulled away her hood to reveal her taut skin. “A month ago, I turned eighty-three. North Brother is my holy grail, and there’s a good chance it’s your son’s as well.”

“That may be true, but testing the theory is not worth the risk. If his immune system isn’t stimulated by the unknown force here, your love will kill him.” He cocked his head. “Although in a different way than I’d anticipated, Kristian is exceptional. In every area of cognitive development, he’s years ahead of the milestones for his age. And—I have to admit—I can’t stomach the thought of losing him. It’s selfish, I know, and it goes against my scientific priorities, but he brings me so much joy.”

“But if he just visited me, and still lived near you?”

He exhaled with a groan.

“Please,” she begged.

“I can’t, Cora. My number one priority in life is my three children. Being a father means more to me than being a scientist. I can tell our friends think I’m far too involved in my children’s—and grandson’s—lives, and look down on me for doing a woman’s work. But I refuse to feel ashamed for it. I love Kristian, and I will not risk any harm coming to him by bringing him back here.”

There would be no visits, Cora knew. “What about my love for Kristian?”

“I’m sorry. But your love could kill him.” He motioned to the thug, who unloaded a single medium-size carton.

“The next time I come,” he continued, his expression hardening, “we’ll continue where we left off years ago.”

Her mind barely registered his promise. All she could think about was her son and the hole in her heart that would widen with each day that passed without him.

“What about trying again? Maybe another baby will have my immunities.” Shocked by what she’d suggested, her mouth hung open. More appalling than the prospect of being repeatedly violated again was the notion that her love for Kristian could be transferred to another child.

He interlaced his gloved fingers. “I’ve further genealogical research to do before completing a second trial.”

From the bitterness in his tone, she could guess what had happened: Angela had threatened to leave him if he ever impregnated Cora again.

The sailor finished unmooring the trawler, and Ulrich signaled that he needed a minute.

Folding his arms across his chest, Ulrich appraised her. “Do not ration these supplies. You’ll need strength for my next visit.”

He turned to board, and she raised a hand to keep his attention. Swallowing her dread and rage, she begged, “Please, at least bring me a picture of him.”

“Maybe, but it’ll cost you.” He pivoted toward the boat, then twisted back to face her. “I almost forgot.” From his coat pocket, he removed a package and carefully unwrapped it.

Cora recognized the thin silver and ivory handle—the first scalpel she’d stolen from Otto. To remind herself that God would forgive her planned sins, she’d etched the crucifix into its handle.

“Until your betrayal, you were doing an excellent job raising my son. That didn’t go unnoticed, and I’m a man of my word.” He dropped the knife, and it skittered across the wooden pier and stopped near the edge.

What good would it do her now? As long as he had Kristian, she couldn’t use it on him.

She glared at Ulrich. The compliment had carried a taunt, the particular scalpel chosen for its symbolism: he—not God—ruled this island.

Ulrich stepped into the bow.

The motor roared, and the boat backed away.

Cora sank to the concrete, as cold as a block of ice. Hoping it would numb her, she pressed her cheek to the hard surface.

Soon, the crew of a passing ship might spot her, but she couldn’t pick herself up. How she would ever take another step, she couldn’t fathom.

March 2008

Eleven days before the new heron nesting season

March 10

inn pushed Sylvia’s wheelchair to yet another display of luxury watches. The constant hum of all that ticking, along with the smells of glass cleaner and leather, filled the showroom. It seemed to Finn like the only thing without enough time was his mom.

As she scrutinized the selection, the reflection off the glass and makeup that her aide had applied that morning animated her green eyes, infused with russet like his.

Kristian would be turning forty-three in three weeks. A decade ago, Sylvia had bought him the second in what had become an impressive watch collection—the first had been Ulrich’s Eberhard. As her health had declined, she’d refused to give up the tradition.

“Any you’d like to see?” he asked gently.

Despite his reluctance to attend Kristian’s upcoming birthday dinner, Finn was in no hurry for this excursion to end. His mother’s joints had to be aching and her ears ringing. By the joyful look on the side of her face not paralyzed, she’d managed to block all that out.

“How about this one?” he asked, pointing at a watch he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. For his birthdays, his parents gave him money to help with the rent.

“I know you’ve been to North Brother,” she slurred.

Startled, he turned to face her.

A saleswoman approached, and he curtly waved her off. “Dad told you?”

“After thirty-three years. In this family,” she said in her slow, labored speech, “I know, the distant look on a Gettler’s face. After a visit to that island. And her.”

Finn dropped his gaze to his boots.