Chapter 1

Living with my mom, Dr. Doris VonHarnard is a real trip. She has an IQ of 164 and works as a research scientist at a government lab that will not even put its name on the building. It’s commonly known around town as 69 Baldwin Street. I have dropped her off for work several times, and the same guard always checked her ID. He would call ahead to announce her arrival. Then and only then would he unlock the gate to let her in the compound. I don’t even want to think about what the security was like to get into the building and then her lab.

Yes, my mom is the quintessential nerd. Coal-black hair cut short so she would not have to fuss with it. Black-rimmed glasses to correct her near-sightedness. She often wore mismatched clothes and only had one style of shoes in her closet, a very practical style, of course.

Me? Well, my IQ is 146, not nearly in the same stratosphere as Mom’s. She is thin and about five feet seven inches. I am stocky and five feet eleven and a half inches. I think she looks refined in a nerdy sort of way, and I look like I need my nose straightened. With no father around and us looking so different, I used to think I was adopted. When I was twelve, I got up the nerve to ask Mom.

In her no-nonsense, here are the facts way, she told me, “When I received my first Ph.D ... I went to a party and became intoxicated. A man named Teddy had his way with me, and he is your father, and I am your birth mother.” That satisfied my curiosity, and I was proud to be named Theodore after my dad. A few days later, it occurred to me. Mom never gave me his last name. I asked her about it, and she said was, “I really don’t know, dear,” and went right back to reading her scientific journal.

I went to my room, lay on my twin bed with my hands behind my head, and crossed my ankles. I thought about the fact that I was a bastard and my mother did not know my father’s last name from a drunken one-night stand. It did not bother me one bit. I knew Mom loved me and would do anything within reason for me. Many of the kids at the school I went to said their dads were not around, so what was the big deal?

I’m eighteen now and just completed my freshman year of college. Mom only allowed me to skip the ninth grade. She had some reasoning about me staying close to my age group. Mom skipped three grades in high school and earned her first Ph.D. at age twenty.

Mom and I get along just fine. I have a built-in tutor, a decent allowance, a late-model Corvette and Netflix. By the time I turned fifteen, she relied on me for mundane tasks such as car maintenance and home repairs. Activities that just seemed to elude her or maybe just bored her. She let me drive her car when we went shopping as soon as I was tall enough to reach the pedals. Mom gave me privileges, not based on my age, but when she thought I was responsible enough to handle them.

When I was sixteen and had my license for a few months, I drove Mom to work in her brand-new Volvo. I got cocky and laid some rubber at the intersection to see what the car would do. Mom did not say a word until I stopped to let her out for work. She walked around the car, told me to get out, took the keys, and made me walk the ten miles home. I lost my driving privileges for three months. Mom was not above reevaluating my level of responsibility.

As far as I am concerned, I have a great mom. Our good times together consisted of playing chess, Scrabble and backgammon. We go to the country club and swim laps three times a week when I am not at the University. Even though it is the one thing I consistently beat her at, she always insists we race. She never gives up. She gives it her all every time, always laughs and seems refreshed and happy when the race is over. It’s also one of the few times she will show physical affection. She will give me a hug and say it was great fun. Maybe exercising her body instead of her brain puts her in a different mood?