“There’s no need. When factoring both genetics and environment, what’s often termed nature and nurture—”
“I know what the hell it is.”
“Now you’re angry.”
“That’s a mild term for it, but not with you. Let me ask you something else. If you’re so genetically incapable of love and affection, how come you love that dog, and he loves you back. And don’t try to pass it off as training.”
“We need each other.”
“Need’s one part of it. If he got hurt or sick and couldn’t function as a guard dog, would you get rid of him?”
“Of course not.”
“Because it would be cold and selfish and downright mean, and you’re none of that. And because you love him.”
“He’s a dog, not a person. There are people who feel strongly for and about animals, and don’t have the same feelings for or about people.”
“You feel something for me.”
With no helpful answer, Abigail stared down into her wine.
“What about your father?”
“Donor.”
“Okay, what about the donor? If she didn’t tell you specifically who he was, you found out. You’re too smart to let that slide.”
“She wouldn’t give me his name or certain details. When I was twelve I…accessed the information.”
“She kept files.”
“My conclusion was—is—she felt it important to keep track of his health, any potential problem areas. So yes, she kept files. I hacked into them.”
“At twelve.”
“I’ve always had an interest in computers. He’s a physicist. Very successful and respected. He was in his early twenties when he donated, several years younger than my mother at the time.”
“Does he know about you?”
“No. It’s not done.”
“You could have contacted him.”
“Why? Why would I disrupt his life, his family? We have a biological connection and nothing more.”
“He has a family.”
“Yes, he married at thirty-one. At the time I accessed the information, he had one child and was expecting another. He has three children now. I’m not one of them. I’m the result of a donation.”
“Is he still married?”
“Yes.”
“So he can develop and maintain a relationship. You’ve got his genes, too.”
For a moment, a long moment, she watched the flight of the hummingbird—that sapphire blur—until it whizzed out of sight.
“Why would you want to be with someone whose skills and aptitude for personal connections are stunted?”
