Mine, page 23
She pushed things half-open. “Gus?”
Shoving the door all the way wide, she told herself she was making sure he hadn’t had some horrible complication. This was a medical necessity—
“Shit.”
Cathy backed out of the empty office quickly, and then stalled in the hall. She hadn’t seen him among the medical staff in the workstation area, and the boardroom with its glass walls had been empty.
When she started walking again, she went back out to the open area and hung a sharp left to go all the way down the far side of the lab. In the distant corner, a steel door marked “Authorized Use Only” loomed even though it was no larger or thicker than any of the other fire exits—and when she punched at the bar, she felt her entire body tense up.
On the other side, the small, square room glowed silver from all the stainless steel, glass, and overhead lighting—and Gus’s living, breathing presence was a not-like-the-others in the midst of the technology and mechanicals.
He didn’t even turn around from the cryobanking unit.
And after she stood there for what felt like an entire year, she cleared her throat loudly—
“Christ!” he barked as he spun around.
As their eyes met, her hand went to the base of her throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh, yeah, no.” He took a couple of deep breaths and looked her up and down. “Going somewhere?”
She studied his face as if it were tea leaves and she knew anything about predicting the future. “I thought you were leaving.”
When he just shrugged, she nodded to the unit with its warning signs and the fingerprint-locked release on the jamb. “You thinking of taking her with you? You’re allowed, of course—we’re just going to have to get you an ice chest.”
As the venting system hummed at a deeper volume, like the compressor had kicked in, he exhaled like she annoyed him. “I told you, I’m ripping up that contract and you’re keeping Vita—”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you take some of the staff with you?”
Gus shook his head as if to clear it. “What?”
“Rhobes and you are going to need researchers familiar with Vita, and everyone here was trained by you—”
“Are you hearing anything I’m saying, or as usual, is it the C.P. Phalen show—”
“—so it’s not like you need their résumés—”
“—and to hell with everybody else—”
“—alsoIcanbeyourpatientonenow.”
She spoke that last sentence real quick because she was determined to show no emotion. But as he just stared at her, she realized she might have overplayed the velocity.
“You’re in charge,” she tacked on. “Of her. So you can give her to me. At Rhobes’s.”
The wave of exhaustion that visibly went through him seemed to take a couple of inches off his height, and as he started shaking his head again, he brought up a hand like he wanted to rub his face—before he grimaced and abruptly dropped his palm as if he remembered there was nothing but bruises there.
“Look, I’m not going through this with you again—”
“I’m not pregnant. Anymore. I lost the ba—I miscarried a couple of nights ago.” Putting her hands on her hips, she looked around at the high-tech everything and tried to draw some strength from the clinical nature of it all. “So your rate limiter is gone.”
Gus stared at her for a long moment. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I was thoroughly checked out. An ultrasound was performed and there is no residual tissue—”
“Are you okay,” he interrupted with more volume.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
When he just continued to stare at her, she started talking about something, anything. It could have been Rhobes’s location down in Houston, or maybe transferring Vita-12b. Maybe she’d switched it up and was talking about world peace. Basic arithmetic. Who the hell knew.
“Stop,” Gus said, putting his hand out like he was on a crosswalk and his job was ensuring schoolchildren didn’t get mowed down in traffic.
“I’m fine.”
The sharp edge to her voice was directed at him. At herself. At the whole world, and the dumb luck of biology—dumb bad luck, in her case. And for godsakes, if he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to have to leave. It was as if he saw all the way through her, right down to the cramping, which seemed to be ramping up like her now-empty uterus knew it was the subject of conversation… right down to her sad, pathetic, broken heart.
“I’m really sorry,” he said softly.
Cathy looked away, and holy hell, she was glad her makeup was waterproof. Blinking fiercely, she tried to find her voice so she could brush off the concern.
Finally, she said, “I’d really appreciate it if you weren’t nice to me right now. Thanks.”
TWENTY-NINE
WELL, ISN’T THIS a surprise,” came the brisk welcome. “A BOGO that shows you two worked it out.”
As Daniel stood on the front step of a little cottage just off the main rural road, he still couldn’t remember the older woman’s last name. Apparently, his chemo brain had taken things as far as it was willing to go by filing her away in the memory banks as “Candy the WSP Receptionist.” That was all he had.
Well, that and the fact that he didn’t want to rehash the last time he’d been here, and the blowup that had come with it. But that was all in the past, and hey, Candy was right. He and Lydia had worked things out. Thank God.
“I just need to ask you something,” Lydia said to the woman. “Do you mind if we come in?”
Candy, whose hair was on the pink side of “natural redhead” at the moment, backed up and indicated the way inside with a hand that had red-and-green-polished nails. “C’mon in. I got coffee, and leftover pie. That’s it ’cuz I’m going food shopping today in Plattsburgh. Daniel, how’re ya.”
The Brooklyn accent cut all the syllables up into sharp corners, and the last part was not a question that required much of a response, but rather a statement to show that she cared about how he was.
“I’m good,” he murmured as Lydia’s forward progress faltered. For a very good ho-ho-ho reason.
“Oh… wow,” she said as she looked around at the decor. “You outdid yourself this year.”
“Looks great, doesn’t it.” Candy shut the door. “Takes a while to set up. But I was inspired—plus now that the WSP is shut down, I have time on my hands to do it right.”
The parlor was covered in Christmas, from the tree all tinseled up in the corner, to the Santa statues and nutcrackers, to the collection of themed teddy bears that took up most of the couch. All of the knickknacks and figurines that had been there before had been replaced with ones that were in the holiday spirit, but none of that was the highlight.
A model train track had been laid down on the carpet, the twin stripes of rails running a sweep throughout the room, passing under chair legs, swinging through a couple of tables, and going around the tree. Currently, the locomotive was chugga-chugga-choo-choo’ing by the front of the fireplace, and of course, Santa was the conductor in the bright green engine, and Rudolph was riding on the cherry red caboose, and in between, the open boxcars of presents and real candy were actually pretty damn quaint.
As he knelt to inspect a bridge made of Tootsie Rolls, he said, “I saw this up for sale a couple of weeks ago.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
Daniel glanced over at Lydia. “Candy’s another QVC lover.”
“Oh, that’s right.” His wolven went over and perched on a sofa cushion that was three-quarters teddy bear. “You two have that in common, don’t you.”
“Never pegged him as a shopper,” Candy said with a shrug. “But people surprise you. Now, who wants coffee?”
When they both shook their heads, the woman went over to a recliner, sat down, and shifted a set of needles linked by a pink square of stitching into her lap.
She pointed with the project. “You can move the bears, ya know.”
Lydia smiled awkwardly, like she was anxious to get started but didn’t want to be rude. “I’m okay.”
Daniel likewise sat down amid the sea of teddies, and he did move a couple. Onto his lap, as it turned out—because where else was he going to put them, he thought as he picked up his feet so the train could pass by. As Lydia did the same with her boots, he decided this was a new kind of low-impact aerobics.
“So what we got?” Candy’s hands fell into a sequence of moves that she clearly was well familiar with, the needles making a little clicking sound. “And don’t make it too hard. It’s too early in the day to think too much—”
“I need you to tell me what you know about Thomas Eastwind.”
The woman looked over sharply, her hands freezing in mid-stitch. Something about the way she stopped moving so completely brought into hard focus all that bright red hair, and her Santa’s elves sweater with its silver and gold accents, and her bright green polyester pants. But make no mistake. As those eyes narrowed under all their blue shadow, the calculation in them was about as homey as a shotgun.
“Whattabout him.”
Again, not a question that was looking for an answer—especially one that involved any urging her into making a statement about the man.
“You’ve known him for a long time.” Lydia sat forward. “Haven’t you.”
“Not really.”
Shaking her head, Lydia said softly, “I can’t tell you why this is important. But you’ve got to help me.”
Candy put her knitting aside, stood up, and walked out.
“This is going well,” Daniel muttered as he played with one bear’s ears.
The sounds of rustling in the kitchen percolated out to where they were sitting, a refrigerator door opening and closing, cutlery knocking into a plate, something being poured. When Candy came back, she had apple pie with ice cream on it and a cup of steaming coffee. The mug was orange and black, and shaped like a pumpkin. Clearly a holdover from October’s decor.
As the woman sat down again, Daniel remarked, “So you don’t do Thanksgiving?”
“Nah, that’s for families and I don’t have any really.” She forked up some of the apple pie and put it in her mouth. Then she immediately went to the satellite ice cream scoop for a chaser. “I’m a Christmas girl ’cuz Santa comes to everybody. And just let me eat this in peace first, ’kay? Then we’ll get to the Eastwind shit.”
Maybe they were finally going to get something from somebody, Daniel thought as he lifted his feet up to accommodate the train.
Man, he was tired of wild-goose chases, he mused as he discreetly glanced over his shoulder. Through a gap in the lace curtain, he saw a second of Phalen’s blacked-out SUV sitting at the head of the driveway, on the rural road. The damn thing looked about as subtle as a grenade on a teacup’s saucer.
As he refocused on Lydia, he didn’t mind the obvious presence—not that he expected any trouble. Walters was a quiet little town, but even people who lived in quiet little towns had cell phones and 911. If whoever was coming for them had any brains, they wouldn’t try something in broad daylight.
Candy went through the pie the way she did her conversation, with no dawdling and no fuss. She also didn’t seem to worry about things like the careful rationing of ice cream and pie or regular coffee sips to balance the palate. She just got the job done, and then put the clean plate and fork aside and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin she took out of the pocket of her handmade sweater.
“He came here,” she said.
As Lydia jerked to attention, Candy nodded. “Yesterday. Told me I should expect a visit from you.”
“You’re kidding.” Lydia looked across at Daniel. Looked back at the woman. “How did he know I would—”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. He just informed me that I was to tell you to move into that house and take over from him.”
“Yes… he left me a weird note about that and some money?” Lydia shook her head. “But I’m not going to be a sheriff—”
“He’s not talking about the law, Lydia. And don’t pretend you don’t know what he means.”
Candy stared across the room as the train came back around by the couch. Once more, Daniel lifted up his feet first and then Lydia did the same, and then the choo-choo headed back toward the tree in the corner.
“Listen, you don’t need to waste time trying to bullshit me,” the older woman said quietly. “You’re different, just like he was. I knew it from the moment you walked in the door at WSP and applied for the position as our head biologist. But hey, I believe people are allowed their privacy, especially when it’s about stuff I don’t understand.”
Daniel ran a hand down his face and checked on Lydia. She had lowered her eyes and was churning her hands in her lap.
“It’s okay,” Candy announced. Like she was declaring that a new law of physics worked within all existing rules of time and space. “I won’t say nothing. B’sides, who the fuck would believe me? ’Cuz you’re right. I’ve known that SOB for forty years and he hasn’t aged one day. Meanwhile, look at me. I’m turning into a goddamn Golden Girl—”
“But I don’t know what he means. Take care of what—”
“I didn’t like him.” Candy held up her hand like she was swearing on a Bible in court. “Not because he was evil, but because he lied to everyone, and expected to get away with it. He thought we were stupid and didn’t notice things. Well, I did. I just kept my mouth shut about it.”
“The mountain,” Daniel breathed.
When both women looked at him, he only focused on Lydia. Studying her face, he felt as though pieces were fitting together. Finally.
“He wants you to take care of the mountain,” he heard himself say. “He’s giving it to you, the place you love the most. The place… where your people are. That’s your future, Lydia.”
At that last part, he could feel himself getting teary. And yet it was okay. If he had to leave her, at least he would know she had a higher purpose, one that would serve her as much as she served it.
“Ding, ding, ding,” Candy murmured. “Somebody get this man a jelly donut.”
* * *
Oh, God, she’d lost the baby.
As the news sank in, Gus didn’t believe C.P.’s “I’m fine” declaration for one fucking minute. It was why the woman had put her business clothes back on. It was why she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. It was why her hands were trembling.
It was why she was blinking like that.
She was as far from fine as he was, and having learned of her loss, there was a curious deflation on his part. He had hated that she was pregnant, and not because she couldn’t try Vita-12b. No, it had been a reminder that she had fucked someone else. Which had been real damned petty on his part—but at least he didn’t feel any relief at the news.
Maybe he was turning over a new leaf when it came to the woman, finally putting aside all the things he felt that he needed to. For his own sake.
I’d really appreciate it if you weren’t nice to me.
“What kind of mother would I have been anyway.” Her voice cracked and she coughed it back into order. “I mean, come on. And that’s before you toss in the cancer. And as for Vita-12b, I don’t have anyone to leave a legacy to, so that’s why you are taking her. It… I mean. The drug.”
“I don’t know what to say—”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just take your staff with you. I’m going to have to shut all this down in the next week or so because I can’t afford to pay them anymore, and you know you’re going to want the continuity of work. Rhobes will hire them all. They’re the best of the best, right? And then you’ll have me as your patient one. If you’ll have me.” She held her palms up. “I have nothing better to do with the end of my life, and nothing to worry about, either. The banks and the creditors can fight over what’s left, split it up, write off the rest. And I’ll coast out having finally been useful.”
“What if you live, though,” he said remotely. “What if she cures you.”
“We both know there’s a toxicity issue that has to be sorted out. With my advanced cancer, you’re going to have to hit me so hard, there’s no way I’m going to make it for long. But you’ll be able to prove it works, and you’ll learn things that will help you help other patients. In that, I have a future. Of a sort. Right?”
His eyes drifted over her face, and he remembered the first time he’d seen her in person. He’d read about her in the papers, but the photographs hadn’t done her justice—and it wasn’t her facial features or the Ice Queen window dressing, either. It had been her eyes, so hard and sharp. No softness in them at all.
It had made him want to find out if there was anything in there, behind the curtain of control.
“What.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Will you please say something? And if you’re trying to compose a nicely worded brush-off, I’ll tell you right now, I’m your best chance. I have the right markers, and you know it. Besides, we were on this track until… things happened and you said you wouldn’t administer the drug.”
Gus opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Jesus,” she snapped. “Will you say something?”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
At that admission, she didn’t miss a beat. Even stepped up closer and put her hand on his upper arm, like she was consoling him. “But don’t you get it? I’m dead anyway. Let me do something good on the way out—that’s… what the baby was for, when it was with me. Gus, we were on this path. We just need to get back… on the path.”
He returned to the moment he’d told her she was pregnant. She’d been to MD Anderson for regularly scheduled scans and assessments, but they’d neglected to pay any attention to the results of the hCG test they’d given her—probably because so much had been going on with her cancer.
She hadn’t believed him, so they’d tested again in-house.
