Page 5 of See Me After Class

This had been my favorite place in Oswald's entire cottage, maybe because while he was alive, it was also where he and I would spend most of our time. He was a good teacher. One of the best.

He was the man who came home after spending endless hours at the Institute and still found time for me. Most evenings, I'd wait for him to come and welcome him with a big hug and his customary drink— coffee with a disgusting amount of milk and sugar. He needed the caffeine hit but was an old softy who couldn't stand the bitterness.

Once he had unwound, I'd climb up on the desk or sit on a windowsill, and he'd tell me a story. No matter how busy my father was, he never made me think I didn't belong in his life.

And now he was gone.Murdered with a lethal dose of morphine in his coffee, Uncle Cuthbert had said. I wished I could reach inside my throat, take that raw pain out, and smatter it all over this room.

But I could not do that, so I tried the next best thing and called Sofie, a fellow survivor of the underbelly of Connecticut's orphanages and foster care systems.

"I heard the news."

Straight to the chase. I didn't expect her to sugar-coat anything, anyway. "I don't get it," I confessed, fiddling with the hem of my modest black dress. "This is Oswald we're talking about, Sof. Can you imagine anyone who'd hate him enough to kill him?"

In Connecticut, Oswald's life was the stuff of legends.

Oswald wasn't merely respected. He was beloved, cherished by a community far wider than the scientific circles in which he moved. Anecdotes about my father were woven into the fabric of medical lore, sparkling with wit, wisdom, and a dash of eccentricity.

One of my favorite stories about him centered around a groundbreaking conference in Boston where Oswald, unfazed by a misplaced luggage snafu, had delivered his keynote address in bright Hawaiian board shorts and a lab coat, winning a standing ovation and an impromptu award for 'Most Innovative Conference Attire'.

Then there was the time he'd spent an entire Thanksgiving Day in the lab, bent over complex genetic sequences, subsisting solely on a diet of cranberry sauce and cold turkey sandwiches, until he had an epiphany that led to a pivotal discovery in gene therapy.

His heart was as expansive as his intellect, brimming with warmth, kindness, and an uncanny ability to make everyone feel seen. He made a habit of knowing every institute member, from the most distinguished researchers to the nightly janitorial staff. He remembered birthdays, acknowledged life events, and had a knack for appearing with comforting words and a steaming cup of cocoa at moments when the world seemed unbearably bleak.

To call Oswald popular would be a gross understatement. He was a mentor to many, a beacon of inspiration and a friend to all. His Rolodex was a testament to the lives he'd touched, brimming with contacts, each name a life he had positively influenced, a story he had become a part of.

"He sacrificed everything for the world," I said bleakly, clutching the wooden table to keep my hand from shaking. "He didn't marry. His dedication to helping others came at the expense of his own chance for a family."

Sofie's reply is muted and gentle. "Dessie, you know that never bothered him, not from the time you came around. You made him as happy as any biological child would have. I know you're grieving, but don't you dare feel guilty."

Like always, Sofie had hit the nail on the head. She was right. Many emotions were raging through me right now, but the one that hurt the most was the indescribable guilt.

Work and life in Maine had kept me busy for a year and six months. Oswald and I spoke on the phone. I made promises to come see him as soon as I could, and I didn't.

I couldn't do enough.I couldn't save him.

"I wasn't even there when it happened, Sof," I said, my voice thick with misery. "The janitor found him lying lifeless on the ground in his office."

"Did the autopsy results come back?"

"Yes," I said, my throat choking out the words. "Poisoned. He asked me to visit so many times. But I got too busy. I couldn't even make time for the only human being who believed in me."

"Dessie."

I had begun rambling. "When I heard the news, I thought it was something else, you know?"

Sofie was silent, knowing I'd come up with other reasonings.

"Maybe someone wanted to poison someone else in the institute, and Dad drank the coffee meant for them. Or maybe the report was wrong. That makes more sense than…this. I'm right, aren't I, Sof? Tell me I'm right."

"Dessie." I could hear Sofie breathing through the phone. "Please."

I bit my lip hard. "Yeah. I'm talking nonsense."

"You're not, though. Oswald Gardner was a luminary, not just in medicine but in life too. People like him… there's an odd thing about them."

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"They inspire a god-like affection from others," Sofie explained. "A fervent, almost scary kind of adoration. People put them on a pedestal, and sometimes, the slightest mistakes can bring them crashing down. When it happens…"

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