“What?”
“Precision when I want outrage.”
Malcolm smiled.
Denise became serious.
“Does he know what happened?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
“Did he apologize?”
“For the letter.”
“And?”
“And the airport.”
Denise frowned.
“What airport?”
Malcolm had not told her.
He did now.
She stood motionless through the entire story.
Then:
“He called you son?”
Malcolm laughed.
“Of everything.”
“That's the part?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I know men like him.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You are generalizing.”
“I am sixty.”
“I earned categories.”
Malcolm shook his head.
She smiled.
Then her face changed.
“Did it get to you?”
He looked away.
Denise saw.
“Malcolm.”
“I was angry.”
“At what?”
He took time.
“That I was nineteen again for about thirty seconds.”
Her expression softened.
There.
Not corporate governance.
Not bias theory.
A mother seeing her child hurt by an old feeling.
“I’m sorry.”
Malcolm nodded.
She touched his arm.
Then immediately returned to normal.
“So why should I let him visit?”
“Because students could benefit.”
Denise sighed.
“That is manipulative.”
“Genetics.”
“You didn't get that from me.”
“Absolutely did.”
Charles came two weeks later.
No photographers.
Natalie came too because she refused to let him turn the meeting into confession.
Denise noticed.
“Chaperone?”
Natalie smiled.
“Essential.”
Charles extended his hand.
“Ms. Hayes.”
“Professor Hayes.”
He corrected immediately.
“Professor Hayes.”
She shook.
No warmth.
No hostility.
They toured labs.
Charles asked good questions.
Denise answered.
At the end, they sat in a conference room.
Charles started.
“I owe you an apology.”
Denise raised one hand.
“No.”