Pia waited more than two and a half hours for Rothman and Yamamoto to finish their work in the BSL-3 lab. She spent the time productively reading papers on tissue engineering and organ printing on the Internet, which is what she would have been doing anyway if she’d gone back to the dorm. As the time had passed and her empty stomach growled, she became progressively concerned it had something to do with her being late two days in a row. Eventually, Rothman and Yamamoto appeared. Yamamoto immediately left. Rothman wordlessly waved for her to join him in his office, where he got straight to the point.

“I want to talk to you about the future. Your future. I need to know that you are committed to this work.”

“I am, truly,” Pia said. She was panicked. “I know I was late this morning—”

“You were late two mornings in a row, at least according to Miss Langman.”

“I’m sorry . . .” Pia stammered. Her fears were coming to pass.

“It doesn’t help to be sorry,” Rothman shot back. “I’m concerned about what it implies.”

“I will make sure it never happens again,” Pia offered.

Rothman waved her off. “Let me speak while I’m inclined to do so. As you know, I’m not accustomed to talking too much about this kind of nonsense. I don’t have the time. Last year I confided in you some information about myself because I had been progressively confident that you were turning out to be the person I thought you could be. Remember, as I told you, I played a role in getting you admitted when others on that damn admissions committee where I was forced to serve were reluctant because of your foster care experience. Since I had the same experience, I thought you might have promise of being a researcher.”

“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” Pia blurted.

“Don’t interrupt!” Rothman snapped. “Last year when I told you those secrets about me that are only known by my wife, bless her soul for putting up with me, concerning my foster care history and my Asperger’s, I wasn’t completely open. I said my sons were not as healthy as I would like. To be more specific, not only are they too on the Asperger’s spectrum, but even worse, they have type 1 diabetes. Having passed on the Asperger’s was reason enough for guilt and depression. The diabetes has put it over the top. The main reason I’ve turned to stem cell work is to see that my boys are cured in my lifetime. It’s a quest that pulled me out of a serious bout of depression. Depression has been my bête noire.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your boys,” Pia offered.