Dr. Grind and Jeffrey knelt down with two of the children and they put their hands in the pool of letters, picking some up and letting them fall like rain down onto the floor. Dr. Grind looked back at Izzy, who nodded her approval, and he smiled back. Though the signs said PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH, Izzy had hoped this would happen, all the children of the Infinite Family picking up the letters that she, and many others, had made. Her teacher had said that they were interested in adding the piece to the permanent gallery across campus, and she was happy to hear it, though embarrassed to be so young and have her professors say nice things to her, even if out of politeness.
Pretty soon, Maxwell, one of the wildest of the bunch of kids, started throwing letters at Marnie, and a few of the attendants, other students in the art department, ran over to stop him. Izzy said, “It’s okay,” and the attendants shrugged and let the action continue. A crowd formed, not just the Infinite Family, and they watched as all the kids reached for handfuls of letters and sent them flying across the room, skittering across the floor. Izzy saw David, his face so contemptuous—true art was nothing like what she had made of her life. The other kids from her class were also watching Izzy and her family, and their faces were slightly numbed with confusion at the chaos around them, but she turned away and watched her own family. She watched as Cap and Ally carefully picked up the letters that made their own names, and laid them out on the floor. They ran over to Izzy and showed her what they had made and she said how beautiful it was, how perfect it was, this thing they had made with their own hands.
chapter thirteen
the infinite family project (year four)
Dr. Grind returned to his office after a thirty-minute walk through the woods beyond the complex to find that Kalina was standing in his doorway. He smiled and then realized that she had been, or perhaps still was, crying. He walked over to Kalina, but she took a few steps back and then stuttered, “I-I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m really sorry about this.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. “Well, I don’t know what’s wrong yet, but I assure you that it’s okay.”
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “I’m with child.”
Dr. Grind could not process the statement as he had no frame of reference, no institutional memory to make this understandable. Instead, he waded through the way he always did, deliberately, until he reached dry land.
“That’s nothing to cry about, Kalina. This is something to celebrate.”
“I know; that’s why I feel so bad.”
“Sit down, Kalina. Let’s talk.”
“It’s complicated,” she said, as if this would encourage him to call the whole thing off and just pretend it had never happened.
“Tell me,” he said, sitting down beside her.
“I’d gotten close to someone, really connected with them,” she started, her voice slowly gaining its composure.
“I had no idea,” Dr. Grind replied.
“I know. I never told you. The research fellows all felt it was better to keep that part of our lives private when we came to the complex. We didn’t want to have our relationships outside the family impinge upon the work we were doing here.”
“So, do Jeffrey and Jill have boyfriends or girlfriends, too?” he asked, genuinely mystified as to why he had never really pursued this in the past.
“Jill has a partner, a really nice woman who lives in D.C. They’ve been together since before the study. Jill sees her during every break she gets. Jeffrey, well, I’m not entirely sure. I know he’s had a few girlfriends since we’ve been here, but nothing too serious. When I first got here, I’d been dating Marco, who I met at an art gallery in Nashville. He’s a barista but he’s also a really talented artist.” Kalina was speaking so quickly, as if the words had been dammed up for months and only now could come out. “He does coffee portraiture.”
“What is that?” Dr. Grind asked.
“He manipulates the milk and coffee in a latte and makes portraits of the people who order. He’s semifamous on the Internet.”
“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Dr. Grind said, not knowing what exactly to say about coffee portraiture that wouldn’t sound condescending.
“No, see, we broke up last year. Since then, nothing for me, but then I met someone. He’s really kind and understands me and my work and how complicated it can be. We really connected in a way that I haven’t with anyone else.”
Kalina started to cry again, hiccupping gulps that seemed unintentionally rhythmic. Dr. Grind handed her his handkerchief and she gratefully accepted it. “I don’t know what to do now,” she said. “I got pregnant, so stupid, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, you should get married. You should have a baby.”
“I can’t!” she said, almost wailing, as if Dr. Grind did not understand her problem, or saw only one part of it.
Suddenly, Dr. Grind felt a realization crystallize in his brain, an understanding of Kalina’s despair. “Kalina,” he now asked, dreading the answer. “Is he part of The IFP?”
Kalina’s eyes widened. She recovered, steadied herself, and simply nodded.
“Is it one of the parents?” he asked, this time knowing the answer.
“It is,” she admitted.
“Who is it?” he asked, trying to keep hold of his frustration. Now even the people hired specifically to help him achieve his goals were actively sabotaging the project.