dinner, when she had fumbled her way toward an apology. Having listened, he brought his hand across the white tablecloth and covered hers. "I understand. You have every right to feel I have neglected you. But I would like to say thank you."
Cheryl gazed at him with a slight frown. "What for?"
"For speaking up for me. I knew then that you did care, that we are, in spite of everything, father and daughter."
She felt herself coloring. Shit, why wouldn't her emotions stay still? One minute she hated him, the next she felt compassion--affection-- even genuine love. One thing she did know, and this had never wavered: her respect for him as a scientist. And maybe, just maybe, she thought, he couldn't have been both devoted father and dedicated scientist.
She tossed her sun-streaked head in mocking self-disdain. "I always insist on my rights. I'm good at that."
"I'm glad that you are."
"Oh, sure."
"Because you insisted on mine, too," Theo reminded her with a smile.
The waiter placed avocado salad in front of Cheryl. Another waiter poured lentil soup into Theo's bowl.
"I must be dumb or something," Cheryl said, "but I still don't understand. I mean, why come all this way and then give in without a fight? Without even a protest?"
Theo picked up his spoon and paused, staring down at the steaming soup. He said, "When you've worked for a long time on something and devoted all your energy to it, you suddenly find that you've no energy left. It's been used up. My work is important to me, of course it is, but after so long I find that I'm--" He broke off, searching for the word.
"Tired?"
"Yes." Theo nodded slowly. "Disillusioned. People won't listen, they don't want to listen. I tried in Washington, but it was no good, so I came here, thinking that these people would be different, more open, more receptive. But it seems I was wrong." He dipped into his soup. "People don't wish to face the truth. They'd rather not see, not listen." He drank and dabbed his lips. "It's so much easier and more comfortable that way."
"The truth about what?"
"About our planet," Theo said, raising his eyes to look at her.
"Is that what you came here to tell them?"
Her tone of bewildered skepticism made him realize the enormity of the task that faced him. If his own daughter thought him deranged, what chance did he have of persuading anyone else? Parris Winthrop must have harbored similar suspicions, Theo realized.
He told Cheryl of the conclusions he had been driven to, quoting whole passages from the paper he had been forbidden to deliver, and after coffee had been served she said, "If you have the data and can prove what you say is true, why won't they listen? Surely they
"It's a matter of interpretation," Theo explained. "It's quite possible to accept the figures as genuine and yet to disagree with the predicted outcome. The worldwide decline in phytoplankton is not in dispute-- but what that might mean in terms of oxygen depletion is open to debate."
"Then you could be wrong?"
"It is always possible to be wrong," Theo answered gravely.
"But the least they could do is listen. What have they to lose?" It was the question of a naive schoolgirl and Cheryl winced at the tone of righteous indignation in her voice. She was regressing into the role of Daddy's little girl, as if eager to make up for lost time and have a belated stab at the part.
"My predictions will hardly be popular with the scientific community, you must know that," Theo said. "Scientists by nature are conservative creatures. They don't like change, and anyone who predicts change, especially of this magnitude, will not be welcomed with open arms." He looked down at his powerful hands, the palms ridged with callouses; not the hands of a scientist. "I was stupid to expect otherwise. I've been away too long."
"But what if you're right? People must be told. They have to be forced to listen."
"How?"
She shook her head, at a loss. "I don't know--but there has to be a way."
There was a hard core of determination there that secretly amazed him. He had never thought of Cheryl as being a person in her own right: She was his and Hannah's daughter, not a separate individual at all. Now he saw her anew--or rather, for the first time--as an intelligent young woman of strength and character. Her energy, he saw, unlike his, hadn't been drained, but was full to the brim. She had enough for both of them.
Cheryl had been distracted by someone across the restaurant. She touched Theo's arm, who leaned back in his chair, a slow smile lighting up his face. The man came over to their table and as she watched the reunion a childhood memory stirred within her. She remembered meeting the Russian and his wife, whom she recalled as rather a finicky little woman, though kindly and fond of children, as many childless middle-aged women are.
