Page 432 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"They made me feel like a prostitute."

"I'm sorry. But it really doesn't matter what they think of us, so long as they give you a security clearance."

"They're going to tell you a lot of nasty stories about me. Things they've been told by people who hate me--girls who are jealous, and boys I wouldn't sleep with."

"I won't believe them."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

She sat on his lap. "I'm sorry I was grouchy."

"I forgive you."

"I love you, Cam."

"I love you, too."

"I feel better now."

"Good."

"Do you want me to make you feel better?"

This kind of talk made Cam's mouth dry. "Yes, please."

"Okay." She stood up. "You just lie back and relax, baby," she said.

*

Dave Williams flew to Warsaw with his wife, Beep, and their son, John Lee, for the marriage of his brother-in-law, Cam Dewar.

John Lee could not read, although he was an intelligent eight-year-old and went to a fine school. Dave and Beep had taken him to an educational psychologist, and had learned that the boy suffered from a common co

ndition called dyslexia, or word-blindness. John Lee would learn to read, but he would need special help and he would have to work extra hard at it. Dyslexia ran in families and afflicted boys more than girls.

That was when Dave realized what his own problem was.

"I believed I was dumb, all through school," he told Beep that evening, in the pine kitchen of Daisy Farm, after they had put John Lee to bed. "The teachers said the same. My parents knew I wasn't dumb, so they assumed I must be lazy."

"You're not lazy," she said. "You're the hardest-working person I know."

"Something was wrong with me, but we didn't know what it was. Now we do."

"And we'll be able to make sure John Lee doesn't suffer the way you did."

Dave's lifelong struggle with writing and reading was explained. It had not oppressed him for many years, not since he had become a songwriter whose lyrics were on the lips of millions. All the same he felt enormously relieved. A mystery had been unraveled, a cruel disability accounted for. Most important of all, he knew how to make sure it did not afflict the next generation.

"And you know what else?" Beep had said, pouring a glass of Daisy Farm cabernet sauvignon.

"Yeah," said Dave. "He's probably mine."

Beep had never been sure whether Dave or Walli was the father of John Lee. As the boy grew and changed and looked more and more like Dave, neither of them had known whether the likenesses were inherited or acquired: hand gestures, turns of phrase, enthusiasms, all could have been learned by a boy who adored his daddy. But dyslexia could not be learned. "It's not conclusive," Beep said. "But it's strong evidence."

"And anyway, we don't care," said Dave.

However, they had vowed never to speak of this doubt to anyone else, including John Lee himself.

---