Then Van Houten nodded the bottle toward me. I grabbed it.
“Hazel,” my mom said, but I unscrewed the cap and sipped. It made my stomach feel like my lungs.
I handed the bottle back to Van Houten, who took a long slug from it and then said, “So. Omnis cellula e cellula.”
“Huh?” “Your boy Waters and I corresponded a bit, and in his last—” “Wait, you read your fan mail now?”
“No, he sent it to my house, not through my publisher. And I’d hardly call him a fan. He despised me.
But at any rate he was quite insistent that I’d be absolved for my misbehavior
if I attended his funeral and told you what became of Anna’s mother.
So here I am, and there’s your answer: Omnis cellula e cellula.” “What?” I asked again.
“Omnis cellula e cellula,” he said again. “All cells come from cells.
Every cell is born of a previous cell, which was born of a previous cell. Life comes from life.
Life begets life begets life begets life begets life.” We reached the bottom of the hill.
“Okay, yeah,” I said. I was in no mood for this. Peter Van Houten would not hijack Gus’s funeral.
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