The Chemist

Chapter 11

April 19th, 10:00 a.m. The Upper West Side, New York City

This chapter is dedicated to Erica Deckter, my nanowrimo writers group organizer and resident expert at finding several plot holes in my early drafts.

Kate woke up in her living room shirtless, with the TV still humming. She began the day with a scalding hot shower, but that did nothing to quell away the heroin induced itching nor wash away the self-loathing and anguish. In spite of the impressive cache of clothes, she stuck to basic outfits. Long sleeves were a must, probably a knit turtleneck today and a skirt.

Although she couldn't recall the last time she had slept through the night, she was certain it had been at least a month. Today, she'd finish up her work for Vanessa, but would require another hit by mid-afternoon.

She walked to the kitchen for a drink of water, then saw the envelope, then tore it open with her fingers. The initial anticipation of its contents as she read the return address met with apprehensive hesitation. She stuffed it in her purse.

Before leaving, she made the obligatory visit to the bathroom for a snort of cocaine up each nostril, her daily pick-me-up. She slipped on her kids-sized six shoes and sauntered down the steps onto the sidewalk, unaware of interested eyes.

She ordered the cabbie to take her to Fifty-eighth and Park. No small talk, please.

As the taxi crawled along Broadway, she removed the envelope from her purse, ripping it open with fingernails laced with powdery residue. Inside were two sheets of paper—one a cover letter, the other a name, address and phone number. She read it:

Dear Ms. Carrie,

Thank you for your inquiry.

You will be happy to know that our office has located your biological mother.

We have provided her address in the attachment, and you are free to make contact at any time.

Please understand that the Department of Health can never guarantee that a biological parent will be receptive to an adoptee's inquiry.

We wish you good luck in your search.

Sincerely,

Evelyn Wilson

For moment Kate's eyes welled, but the cocaine's effects kept her 'on'. As the taxi pulled to stop along the curb, she abruptly stuffed the envelope in her purse. Yesterday's memories effectively suppressed, she was ready to charge ahead. As the taxi pulled away, she stood before the edifice that was Frugeré headquarters. The coke high made her punchy as a bull in the ring.

When the elevator doors opened onto the lab floor, she noticed a few of her colleagues talking, one sobbing into a tissue. Usually everyone kept to themselves lest they become unfocused in their work, but today, they called her over.

"Kate," one of them said. "Have you heard?"

"What happened?" she responded, as if she didn't want to be bothered.

"Jared's dead. Run over by a truck outside the park yesterday! So awful."

This can't be happening. Her head swayed as if a brick had fallen on her, and she thought she might double over. Instead, rage quickly built up as she recalled yesterday's chain of events.

I'm such a fucking fool.

"Kate, did you hear what I said?" her colleague asked.

Outwardly vacant to others, she seethed within.