I still feel bad about that phone call.
I'd had four rum and cokes, heavy on the rum, and patience had vanished shortly after the third. So had niceties. "Don. You bastard. Would you like to tell me about the rest of the experiments?"
"What?" His voice was muffled, half buried in his pillow.
"I said what else have you been doing with my dog?"
He was awake now. "What the f**k? Ellen?"
"No more questions. I want answers. You owe me that much." My statement ended in a whine. I was going to get weepy soon, and I hated myself for it.
Don was silent for a second. "OK. You're right. I do."
"Well?"
"The genetic anomaly I discovered didn't just effect Emmett's ability to communicate. The same set of proteins also affect longevity. The thing is—not only will he probably outlive us all, for r
