Page 33

Professor Robinson was revealing, not creating, the anger. The fear. And yes, perhaps even the cowardice they kept hidden away. She was like some genetic mutation awakening illnesses that would have normally lain dormant.

She was the catalyst. But the potential, the sickness, was already there.

And now Abigail Robinson was moving across the country, around the world on the internet, triggering, with her dry statistics, people’s deepest fears and resentments. Their desperation and hopes.

Jean-Guy had dropped his gaze to the floor and was staring as though comatose at the wreckage of lemon meringue pie.

“What is it?” whispered Armand, sensing there was more. “You can tell me.”

“Burden. I called my own daughter a burden.” He raised his gaze to Armand’s bloodshot eyes. “And . . .”

Armand waited.

“. . . and I meant it.” Each word had dropped in volume until the last one was barely more than mouthed.

His eyes held a plea now. A watery cry for help. Armand reached across the table and grasped Jean-Guy’s arm.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Go on.”

Jean-Guy, his mouth open, his breathing rapid, said nothing.

Armand waited. Keeping his hand on Jean-Guy’s sweater.

“I . . .” Jean-Guy began and paused to gather himself. “I’m afraid that part of me agrees with her. About aborting . . . I hate her.”

It came out in a rush, and he looked up to see how that was greeted. The eyes that met his were thoughtful. And sad.

“Go on,” said Armand, quietly.

“She’s saying what I’ve felt. Feel. There’re times I wish someone, a doctor, had told us we had to abort. That we had no choice. So that Annie and I wouldn’t feel guilty about doing it. So that we wouldn’t have . . . her. So that life could be . . . normal. Oh, God.” Jean-Guy lifted his hands to his face again. “Help me.”

Only when Jean-Guy lowered his hands did Armand speak.

“Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Abort. You found out the fetus had Down syndrome early enough in the pregnancy. You could have.”

Far from being afraid of this question, this conversation, Jean-Guy felt nearly overwhelming relief. The dark thing curled around his heart was exposed. And far from reeling away from him in disgust, Armand was behaving as though all this was painful but perfectly natural.

And maybe, Jean-Guy began to think, it was.

“Annie and I talked about it. Were going to. We had the appointment. But just couldn’t. It wasn’t religious. You know we don’t belong to any church or religion. It just didn’t feel right. We decided that if the fetus developed normally in every other way, we’d—”

What, thought Jean-Guy, keep her? It made their daughter sound like a puppy.

But that had been the decision, and the wording they’d used.

“—keep her.” Jean-Guy hesitated. “I’m so afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That I won’t love her enough, that I won’t be a good father. That I’m not up to this.”

Armand took a deep, long breath, but remained quiet. Letting Jean-Guy get it all out.

“I look at her, Armand, and I don’t see Annie, or me. Or you, or Reine-Marie. My parents. I can’t see anyone in the family. There’re times I think I can’t live without her, and there are times she feels like a stranger.”