“She says ‘alone.'”

Derek looked at the screen, then looked up at me, his jaw set.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“She still thinks I’m her obedient son who will fall in line.”

“Let’s show her she’s wrong.”

We left the lab and walked out into the warm Palo Alto air.

The campus was quiet, the gravel paths crunching beneath our shoes as we walked toward the Faculty Club.

The eucalyptus trees smelled sweet and dusty in the afternoon heat.

Neither of us spoke as we climbed the wooden steps of the club.

The lounge was quiet, decorated with dark leather chairs and brass lamps that looked like they belonged to another century.

My mother was sitting by the cold fireplace, her hands folded over a tan leather folder in her lap.

She wore a gray wool suit that looked too formal for the California sun.

My father sat in the chair beside her, staring down at a glass of water on the small table.

He didn’t look up when the door clicked open.

“Sarah,” Helen said, her voice smooth and devoid of any warmth.