The Copy by Grant Boshoff Page A

increasingly bellicose. By February I realized what needed to be done."
    "And what was that?"
    "I needed to put the copy back into the cerebrum scanner."
    May raised his eyebrows. "To what end, sir?"
    Geoffrey Bartell looked briefly toward the jury before turning to face May directly.
    "To reset the memory, of course."
     

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     
     
    JEFF PULLED INTO THE parking space and killed the engine. He glanced to the rearview mirror and saw Lilian and Patch fidgeting for the seat belt releases, their arms like fat brightly colored sausages in their parka sleeves. The engine ticked as the cold February air descended on it. Across the street a snaking line of cars moved one by one, metronome-like, into the painted drop-off zone, their doors opening and children spilling forth, then resuming the same measured pace until they slipped out of sight around the end of the block. Jeff watched a river of bobbing hats and coats and backpacks streaming through the red brick gate posts, across a wide lawn - normally green but now a dull grey-brown - and into a squat building constructed of the same red brick. His eyes flicked back to the rearview.
    "Get out on the sidewalk side, okay?"
    "Duh, Dad," said Lilian with a smile. She reached over her brother and swung open the door, then scooted across the seat, nudging Patch out of the car in front of her.
    Jeff reached for his door handle just as his phone rang. He looked at the screen, which said simply 'G', then mashed the side-button and dropped it into the cup holder. He came around the car to the sidewalk, took his kids by the hand, and walked them across the street. When they passed the gates he directed them off to the side, out of the flow of bodies. He knelt down and adjusted Patch's jacket, then enfolded him in a long hug. Drawing back he looked into his son's eyes, bright and innocent and unencumbered, and then kissed him on the forehead.
    "I love you, Patch," he said, his voice hoarse.
    "Love you too, Dad."
    "Lilian," Jeff said, turning to his daughter, "take care of him, okay?"
    Lilian shifted her weight to one leg and tilted her hip, a distinct reflection of her mother. She rolled her eyes. "Of course, Dad."
    Jeff took her by the shoulders. "I know you do, and you're an amazing big sister, but just humor me okay? Life is weird. Things happen. Sometimes unexpected. But no matter what you'll always have each other, and-"
    "Dad, you're freaking me out."
    "Sorry, sweetie." He touched her head, the woolen hat soft and spongy over her thick hair, so much like Camilla's. "You're so smart and beautiful, and caring, and I love you so much." He kissed her tenderly on the cheek then mustered the best smile he could. "Just don't ever change, okay?"
    She looked at him, her eyes softening, then hugged him fiercely. Her words were soft and warm at his ear. "I love you too, Daddy."
     
    His phone was ringing when he got back in the car. He looked at the clock on the dash. Eight fifteen. He lifted the phone, his thumb hovering over the slider on the screen, and watched it until the ringing stopped, a small green box lighting up reading 'Missed call from G'. Then he dropped the phone back into the cup holder and started the engine.
     
    The temperature was slowly rising as a bleak sun fought its way through swaths of grey clouds. Jeff pulled his collar up against the frigid gusts coming off the river. He looked south and could just make out the French restaurant on the other side. Up against the riverside railing the wrought iron tables were stacked and the chairs tilted in around the perimeter. He imagined a long plastic-coated cable encircling the whole, weaving in and out of table legs and chair backs and finished with a sturdy weatherproof padlock.
    His mind wandered to the first time they'd dined there - their first anniversary. He'd parked three blocks away and walked Camilla along the esplanade to disguise the intended destination. He recalled his chest being full of