Dark Doorways by Kristin Jones Read Free Book Online

me as we sat in silence. She had his same green
eyes, his same round cheeks. But what really captured my gaze was the light,
always the light. Other women would have remarked on her sweet smile, her
innocent youth, her gorgeous hair. But all I could think of was the lack of
shadow. Shouldn’t a picture have at least some darkness, some contrast?
How was I making out her features but still seeing no shadow?
    “You used the new program?”
The nodding genius spoke.
    “Yeah.”
    “And it transcribed well?”
    “Yeah, I checked it
afterward. I think I had to make a couple small corrections, but it was pretty
accurate. I highlighted the corrections.”
    Nod.
    “Good work, Sarah.” Another
nod.
    I knew he wanted to create a
program to transcribe indigenous languages. I knew he received his own Ph.D.
from M.I.T., where I had originally planned to attend. I knew he gave dry
lectures. But what I really wanted to know was how he spent his evenings, what
family vacations he went on, what his favorite movie was.
    “You’ve spoken with Michael?”
    “What? Michael?” I was caught
off guard, realizing that Michael still existed when I had tried so hard to
pretend he didn’t.
    “He took some time off. I
thought you knew. You two were close, no?”
    “Uh–” Close. It was a
sad word to contemplate, a sad realization that we were indeed close at one
time. We had suffered through all our coursework together. We had shared coffee
nearly every morning since my mom died. Yes, we had been close. I was in
denial, unwilling to mourn the loss of my friend and my love.
    “Well, maybe you’ll see him.
He should be around today.” Swanson’s mouth was smaller than I remembered, when
I stopped to notice.
    Any other time, with any
other person, it would have been awkward to sit and stare. But it was Swanson,
Vadim Swanson. He nodded while others absorbed his brilliance. So I sat there
gaping, wondering what foods he preferred and what sports he watched, all while
his small mouth creased into itself.
    “Good! We’ll get started on
the next step. Conference proposal. How’s that going?”
    He looked up at me for
perhaps the first time since I entered his office. Air gushed out of the room
like a deflating balloon, as if space and time both had to stop for a second
while his eyes focused on me, locked on mine in confusion. Yes, it must have
been confusing to have a female grad student staring at you, speechless.
    “What is it Sarah?”
    “I brought you something.”
The picture emerged from my lap, landing on his desk. There, on top of
publications, invitations, and grant proposals, sat my little photo.
    “What’s this?”
    “It’s a picture of me. When I
was little. My mom took me to the beach. She gave me this right before she
died. She said it was her favorite picture of me, that I was so happy playing
in the sand that day.”
    Nod.
    “I think I was three. About
Gabi’s age.”
    Nod.
    His tiny mouth attempted a
smile as he reached over to hand it back.
    “I thought you could keep
it.”
    “Oh?” The confused eyebrows
were not picking up on the hint.
    “Dr. Swanson, Vadim, I know
you were a sperm donor twenty-four years ago.”
     
    ***
     
    I remembered fog everywhere
that morning, wrapping itself around my legs and feet, trying to pull me down
like shackles. Swanson hadn’t been ready to welcome me as a daughter yet, but
his invitation to coffee was at least a step. So I trudged on through the fog,
knowing the path from my childhood enough to remember each block without seeing
it. At least, I should have known each block without seeing it.
    My feet halted, not
recognizing the path any longer. A queasiness infiltrated my gut and I knew
where I was without looking up. There was supposed to be a park here, a little
boy here pointing at me. But in its place sat Eliza’s house, jeering at me as I
struggled through the fog’s grasp.
    Spring in Evanston could be
amazing some years, if the temperature was in the 60’s and