Drawing Conclusions Read Free Page A

replied, his voice scratchy from overuse. “If you don’t mind, I need a minute with the detective and then I was hoping you’d invite me in.”
    I left the two men to talk privately on the porch. I used the extra minutes to take stock of the house, assessing where best to receive my father. When one is raised as the child of a wealthy doctor, there are expectations, a certain level of decorum, even in the event of a death. I found myself reacting out of a habit engrained by good upbringing. I chose the room we had designated as the library, a cramped but organized storage room for our collection of eclectic, second-hand books.
    I listened as DeRosa’s car backed down the driveway and quickly selected a chair for my father. “Dad, this one is more comfortable,” I said pointing to the lesser worn of the chairs. My father seated himself, pulling down slightly on his pressed trousers.
    â€œI have to be honest,” I said swallowing hard. “I don’t know if I can do this with you.”
    â€œYou need to calm down.” My father started with the words he’d directed at me over and over throughout my childhood, even when I was perfectly calm.
    â€œTeddy is dead,” I said ignoring his patronizing tone. “Am I to assume you think this makes sense? Guess what, it doesn’t. This doesn’t make sense.”
    My father sat with his back straight and his forearms stretched tautly along the sides of the chair, like an airplane passenger preparing for a bumpy landing. “No, it doesn’t,” he replied, “but we’ve lost a lot of time, and I am willing to put our differences aside. I came here to discuss your brother. I was hoping we could be civil.”
    â€œThen why didn’t you come to me yesterday and tell me about Teddy? He’s my twin, for God’s sake,” I said, shoving the small of my back into my chair.
    My father’s hesitation was interminable. This was not a question he wanted to answer. I lifted my head from my hand and faced him full on.
    â€œDad,” I pushed, “Why didn’t you and Mom come to me sooner?”
    My father sighed, and I sensed his growing impatience. This was a man who spoke and others bowed in awe. He did not take kindly to opposition, but my question was fair and I deserved a response.
    â€œBecause Theodore was an integral part of the labs and whether he died of natural causes or not, his passing must be presented to the scientific community with care,” my father said in defense of his delay. “Our funding, our partnerships and our relationship with the public are dependent upon our ability to deliver results with absolute consistency. Theodore was involved in a number of high-profile studies, and the board requested a short period of time to review his work and determine the impact of his absence. The police agreed because at this point there is no indication of foul play.”
    â€œBut—” I tried to interject, only to be cut off.
    â€œConstance, this is not the time to be naïve,” he said, holding his palm flat as if I were a puppy learning to heel. “The world is significantly bigger and more complex than this idealistic commune you’ve created here.”
    As I suspected, it took all of three minutes for our conversation to dissolve into disrespect.
    My father rose from the heavily cushioned chair, and I could see the effort was a strain for his aging body. He walked to the bookshelves, his left hip showing the pull of arthritis. I’d never thought of my father as old until this moment. His frailty made me nervous. My father was a grand man, a pillar of strength. Now, he seemed beaten.
    He ran his finger along a row of books, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. “You must realize that in the last ten years your brother has matured into a prominent and well-respected research doctor. I know that you and Theodore and your childhood