Eternal Life by Dara Horn

Author:Dara Horn [Horn, Dara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

9

EXCEPTIONS

. . .

“How old are you, Gram?” Hannah asked as rain poured down outside.

The children would be eating soon in Rachel’s kitchen, and then Daniel would pick them up after Hannah left for a conference. Rachel’s house had become a tavern again, just as it had been long ago, somewhere else. Rachel didn’t mind. In fact, she preferred being with children when their parents weren’t present: grandchildren and grandparents got along so well, Rachel knew, because they had a common enemy. But Hannah was the exception to agreeable grandchildren, and Hannah was insistent. Rachel immediately felt uneasy, and continued chopping carrots with an unexpected vengeance. She ignored the question until Hannah asked again.

“How old are you, Gram?”

“Forever twenty-one, right?” Rachel said with a forced grin. “I’m assuming this is a joke.”

Hannah finished setting the table and sat down in what was once her father’s seat, her narrow body taut against the table’s edge. “Seriously, Gram. When’s your birthday?”

“You know I don’t let anyone celebrate my birthday,” Rachel said. “So you better not be planning anything for me.”

“Your passport says you were born on July 4, 1934. Happy birthday Gramerica! The fireworks are a party just for you.”

Rachel glanced at Hannah mid-chop, still holding her knife. “What are you doing with my passport?”

Hannah laughed. “Gram, you’re the world’s most paranoid person.”

“There’s a lot of competition for that,” Rachel muttered.

“I’m not doing anything with your passport. I just remember seeing it once.”

“Well, there’s your answer then. Thank you, federal government, for clearing up the mystery of my birth. Though I’m not sure why you’re asking me, if you already know.”

“I’m asking you because you have the genetic deterioration of a teenager.”

Rachel stopped breathing. She looked at her own hands as she put the knife down on the counter. What Hannah had just said could mean almost anything, she told herself. Stupid girl! her mother shouted in her head. She breathed again, slowly, and asked, “The genetic what?”

“You have the genetic deterioration of a teenager, Gram.”

Rachel turned toward Hannah as slowly as she could. With intense effort, she made her voice light, carefree. “What in the world does that mean?” she asked. “And how would you know anything about my genetic anything?”

Hannah colored. “Dad helped me out,” she said quietly.

“What are you talking about? Helped you out with what?”

“With taking a sample.”

Rachel shuddered. “A sample of what?”

“DNA,” Hannah said.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t want to give me any, so we—we took it.”

Fire seared through Rachel’s veins. “You took it? How is that even possible? What did you do, come into my room at night and suck my blood?”

Hannah shrugged, though Rachel could see that the nonchalance was a ploy. “I just had Dad take some hair out of your hairbrush. He found some nail clippings too. Bathrooms are a veritable fountain of DNA.”

Rachel’s skin crawled. “So you stole little dead pieces of me, and now you magically know everything about my genes.” As she spoke, an unfamiliar wisp of wonder crossed her mind: are those pieces of me really dead?

“Well, I don’t know everything, because nobody knows everything.

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