The Vines Shelley Nolden (best way to read books txt) 📖

“How am I supposed to believe that the work that happens here”—Finn made a sweeping gesture—“will ever be for her benefit? She certainly doesn’t. By the way, where are your logs for all those trips after you supposedly called it quits?”

Huffing, Rollie unlocked a cabinet. “See for yourself. Ever since she told me to leave her alone, in 2001, we haven’t collected a single unit of blood. We haven’t so much as touched her.”

“Until last month,” Finn countered, “while Lily lay in a puddle, convulsing.”

Rollie clasped his hands sheepishly. “That whole night was awful. I was so upset that she’d threatened you, but there won’t be another lapse in my judgment. For the past six years, we’ve exclusively been collecting environmental samples. That’s it.”

He handed Finn a stack of journals and rolled back the desk chair so Finn could sit down to read. “You cannot mention any of this to your mother.”

The request rankled Lily. According to Finn, Rollie believed that Ulrich’s unhinged scruples were the direct result of growing up without church and family. Determined to prevent Otto’s legacy of neglect from ever being repeated by another Gettler, Rollie championed the importance of both. And the values that came with them.

“I don’t like the idea of keeping this from Sylvia,” she said.

Fiddling with a microscope, Rollie cleared his throat in obvious irritation.

A Mensch. That’s how she’d described him to her own father, admittedly to make Leonard envious. Now, away from Sylvia’s guiding hand, Rollie had strayed from that characterization.

“Please,” Rollie said, and she realized she’d been shaking her head.

He unlocked the freezer, exposing a vast blood databank, toxins surely sleeping within the pouches, and removed a slide. After placing it under a microscope, he indicated that she should look through the eyepiece.

To show she couldn’t be manipulated, she turned her attention to Finn, hunched over the desk, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

“You’ve seen how Lyme has debilitated her.” Rollie peered through the eyepiece and twisted a knob. “If you tell Sylvia, she’ll make me stop. Or worse, kill herself, so I’ll have no reason to continue. The antibiotic-resistant spirochete that caused her Lyme will go unchallenged. And so, too, will this disease.” He backed away from the microscope.

Without looking, Lily knew the slide contained a cancer cell. Her stomach churned. He could have planted it there before her visit, or begun work in earnest on a therapy.

During her elementary school years, she’d wanted to become an oncologist. Even if she’d had the genetic goods to make it through medical school, all that radiation to her brain had stunted her critical thinking ability. And, most likely, her dyslexia had been caused by those treatments. That’s why she loved plants and painting. Aside from the occasional tremors, her hands worked perfectly. From her touch, life and beauty bloomed.

Yet always, in the back of her mind, she’d felt like she’d let herself down. Along with so many others. Sure, she’d raised money for cancer research, but the sum would never be enough, no matter how many miles she raced for a cure.

Standing in this lab, mere feet from a microscope, was the closest she’d ever been to “the front line.” If the Gettlers’ work had any validity.

“You really think you can cure cancer?”

Rollie cocked his hooded head. “Cancer cells are crafty—they often evolve and become drug-resistant, but we’d like to try.”

“Billions of dollars have been spent, and you think . . .” Suddenly, overcome with irritation at his arrogance, she couldn’t complete the thought.

The steamy air within her hood felt like it was about to suffocate her. She wanted out—of this room, and away from yet another tantalizing path of false hope.

“Lily,” he said in the same pleasant tone he’d always used with her, “none of those big pharma companies has Cora.”

“Then why don’t you share her? They’ll succeed where you’ve failed, and I can stop worrying, and Sylvia will be cured, and Finn and I can get married, and . . .” Finn was staring at her, but she couldn’t stop. “You’ll get to meet the president, and they’ll turn this pathetic room into a stop on the national heritage tour.”

Out of breath, she inhaled stale air.

No one spoke.

Tears traveled down her face.

She wished she could wipe them away, and maybe take back her diatribe. Not because she hadn’t meant it. Only because they now might exclude her from future discussions.

“You know they would kill her,” Rollie said, “one way or another.”

Lily closed her eyes and pictured Cora on the morgue roof. In her heart, she knew Rollie was right. But conceding that would condone his choices.

“Let’s go.” Finn rose from the desk, and the name of the file cabinet behind him came into view. VZ.

“Does your wife know about that one?” Lily asked, pointing to the label.

“No.”

She shook her head. “I’m not surprised.”

Finn rapped the metal cabinet. “You’re asking me to meet with her; I deserve to know.”

“Why does it matter? You’ve been inoculated against it.”

Finn glared at him.

Rollie squared his shoulders. “VZ is our—no, society’s—safeguard. It’s what ensures that Coraline can’t survive away from the island long enough to spread her germs.”

“Conveniently, that strengthens your excuse for why we can’t involve the CDC,” Finn said, “but it sure doesn’t jibe with your supposed goal of returning her to the city.”

“First of all, it wasn’t my doing. Secondly, it doesn’t have to be permanent. Theoretically, the vaccine could be used to develop an antidote.”

“Theoretically,” Lily muttered. That word had been helping the Gettlers rationalize their actions for more than a century.

“You still don’t trust me,” Finn said, and she sensed that he was thinking of Kristian. Although Finn had claimed he wasn’t hurt by the fact that they’d excluded him for so long, his recent sullenness suggested otherwise.

Rollie tugged on the file drawer to ensure it was locked. “This isn’t about you.” He put away the journals, securing that cabinet as well. “I haven’t told your brother what it stands for either. We’re done