"Marina Fitch - Sarah at the Tide Pool" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fitch Marina)

these with her!” she’d shouted. “Just try!”

A giddy elation bubbled through her all day, sustained her whenever a pang of
loss clawed at her in the lab. Sustained her — until she went home to the wink and
sparkle of splintered crystal.

By the time Richard returned two days later to collect his things, she had
replaced each glass — after twenty-seven phone calls and a hundred and thirty-three
mile round trip to three specialty stores in San Francisco.

Sarah blinked and turned to watch a spotted nudibranch creep along the
bottom of the tank that stood beside the microscope. Her temples pounded. God,
I’d love to smash your lab, force you out of your insulated little cave. She rubbed
her eyes. Was that what Richard was doing — smashing her lab by beating her at her
own research? A cold anger built in her. He had his airhead lab tech, why couldn’t
he just leave her alone? Why destroy the only thing she had left?

Sarah winced. The only thing?

She remembered the day her father called the lab. No one else had come in
that day; Sarah answered the phone. At the sight of her father’s face, she tensed.
Staring at the palm-sized videoscreen, she prayed her mother hadn’t found another
melanoma. “What is it, Dad?” she said. “Is Mom all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s right here beside me, Pumpkin,” her father said. Her
mother leaned into view. “We just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes suddenly focused on the lab. Snowflakes cut from old memos
flurried across the window while garlands of colored pipette tips hung from the
overhead cupboards. Undoubtedly the work of Freda and Sam, the lab techs. “Is it
Christmas, Dad?” she asked.

“Ho ho ho! Sure is, Pumpkin,” her father said.

Her mother smiled. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

She hung up the phone, walking to the window to peer out at the woodland
beyond. Richard had always dragged her from the lab on Christmas Eve, bodily if
necessary, and driven her to the snow. Then at midnight they had toasted with the
Waterford champagne glasses. But this year Richard and his airhead toasted in some
alpine cabin.

She’d turned away from the window and gone back to her work. She had her
research; there was nothing she’d rather be doing. Nothing else worth doing.

Sarah pressed her hand against the side of the aquarium. “Damn you,
Richard,” she said. “You could at least leave me this.”

One of the lab techs leaned toward her. “Dr. Huron?”