All the way—from the hotel shuttle, through airport security, to the departure gate, and onto the plane—she’d been on alert, anticipating another encounter with Gloria. With the plane about to land, putting her on familiar ground, Robin tried to shake off her uneasiness and put the episode behind her. She hoped Gloria’s son might somehow get the help he needed. But if Robin did learn anything useful, she would relay the information through Ben rather than deal with the woman herself.
The cabin pressure mounted in Robin’s ears as the plane descended. Her trip had played havoc with her head. She hadn’t been able to give her full attention to the briefing. And instead of being hopeful about the family therapy, she wondered who’d actually persuaded Vanessa to allow it—Ben or Gloria. It shouldn’t matter, she told herself. Ben and his kids were getting help. She needed to be supportive—and leave her feelings of attraction to Will Kenton back in DC.
They landed and taxied to the terminal. Passengers around her turned on their phones to call family, bosses, and car services. Robin checked her cell—no calls, just the usual work-related emails. She’d stashed her wheelie bag in the overhead bin. Her car waited in the short-term lot. She would be home in under an hour.
By the time Robin reached her car, she’d changed her mind. She decided to go directly to Ben’s. She wanted to know his reaction to what had happened with Gloria. Forty-five minutes later, Robin pulled up to Ben’s townhouse. On a Saturday afternoon and not his weekend to have the kids, he would probably be home watching the Yankees game. Robin had a key but rang the doorbell. She wanted to surprise him, not give him a coronary by marching in unannounced and unexpected.
Ben opened the door and did a double take at the sight of her. “Bird! I didn’t expect you until tonight.” His expression changed to concern. “Everything okay?”
“It will be.” Robin stepped inside. “As soon as you give me a hug.”
Ben scooped her into his arms, closing the front door in the same motion. “Welcome back.”
She tightened her arms around his waist, savoring his solid warmth. Everything would be okay.
He raised Robin’s chin and kissed her then grinned. “They give you time off for good behavior or what?”
She shrugged. “The wrap-up session seemed pretty redundant, so I split and caught an earlier shuttle.”
He stepped back. “Did you have lunch? Can I get you something?”
“Water. I’m parched from the flight.”
“Coming right up.” He gestured her toward the den. “Yankees are ahead by three in the fifth.”
Robin followed the sound of the broadcast into Ben’s man cave. A glance around the room confirmed no kids. Books sat on shelves instead of lying on the floor. Pillows rested on chairs. On the coffee table, his can of Bud Light sat on a coaster, sections of the morning paper piled next to the beer. It was a man’s room, neat but not prissy, a far cry from the chaos that attended Amber and Jaden’s presence—sneakers, toys, dirty glasses, and snack wrappers on the floor, laptop extension cords dangling to trip the unwary. Now, the friendly sound of the Yankees’ announcer called the game.
Robin plopped down onto the sofa next to Ben’s spot. It felt so cozy with just the two of them. Ben walked in and handed her a bottle of cold spring water. He settled beside her.
“Thanks.” She leaned in and kissed him. His lips were warm, making Robin even more grateful the kids weren’t around.
“How’d the briefing go?” Ben took a swig of beer and lowered the volume on the game.
“Fine.” Robin sipped her water. “I guess...” She trailed off, wondering where to begin.
“Hey!” Ben exclaimed. “Guess what arrived yesterday?”
“Huh?” He hadn’t given her a chance to answer the question.
“I got the link for my DNA stuff. Wait. I’ll show you.” Ben left to get his laptop.
Robin had given him an account on a site that analyzed his saliva and provided a breakdown of his ancestral and genetic traits. Adopted as a young child, Ben wanted to know more about his origins, especially now that he had kids of his own. They shouldn’t grow up with question marks like he did, he’d told her. After some research, she’d found a site that provided an analysis of his ancestry plus the raw data about his DNA, the kind of information that fascinated Robin now that the MATCH project involved genetic sequencing.
Ben came back with his laptop, as gleeful as a kid.
“So?” Robin smiled, his excitement infectious. This was important to him. The briefing could wait.
“Here.” He passed her the computer.
Robin clicked on the raw data to see his gene sequence, the stuff of her current research.
“Never mind that.” Ben took the mouse from her and brought up the summary of his ancestry. “Look at this. Sixty percent Italian. Should I enroll in culinary school?”
“Great idea,” Robin agreed. “And thirty percent from the Iberian Peninsula. Very Mediterranean, aren’t you?” That made sense with Ben’s olive complexion.
Ben sat up and did a shoulder shimmy. “Come and kees your Lateen lov-air, baby!” he said in a mangled accent.
Robin guffawed. He swept her into an embrace, but Robin stiffened, wanting her turn to talk.
Ben gave her a quizzical look. “Bird? Something wrong?”
She drew a breath. “That woman Gloria Reyes showed up in DC.” Robin fingered her water bottle. “She sat next to me on the flight down.” Her eyes darted to Ben’s face.
“Huh,” he said. “Quite a coincidence.”
“I’m not convinced of that.”
Ben raised his brows, silently questioning.
“You know about her son?” Robin asked. “About his medulloblastoma?”
“I can’t say I remembered the word, but yeah, I know she has a boy with a malignancy. That’s a brain tumor, right?” He grimaced. “Poor kid.”
“It’s terminal, she told me.” She held Ben’s gaze. “And she’s convinced my research project is his only chance.” Robin explained how Gloria had begged her to include Alex in the MATCH trial.
“Jeez.” Ben shook his head. “I didn’t realize how bad it was. She must be desperate.” He stroked Robin’s arm. “Can you do that, Bird?”
“No.” Robin took a swig from the water bottle, her throat still dry. “MATCH is only treating adults at this point. A pediatric version will launch sometime next year. I told Gloria I’d let her know if I learn anything new.”
Ben sank back into the sofa cushion. “Too bad.” He sighed. “Then I suppose that’s really all you can do. It must have been hard turning her down.”
“Yes.” Robin slowly put her water bottle on the coffee table. Ben’s empathy was one of the qualities she loved about him. She met his eyes. “But she wouldn’t accept it, Ben.”
“Meaning what?”
Robin described her confrontation with Gloria in the coffee shop. “She said she knew I would come up with a solution. It seemed—I don’t know—like some kind of threat.”
He frowned. “What exactly did she say?”
Robin searched her memory for the precise words that had shaken her. “I’m not sure. She made a vague allusion about how I’d feel if something happened to Sean.”
“To Sean?” Ben’s eyes widened.
“And to Amber and Jaden.”
“Wait—are you saying she threatened to hurt them?” Ben sat up.
“She didn’t come right out and say that,” Robin admitted. “But I’m certain she meant that.”
“That’s pretty subjective, isn’t it, Bird? I mean, if she didn’t make a specific threat, why make a big thing of it?”
Robin felt a ripple of resentment at his minimization of her concerns. She wondered what had become of that empathy she counted on. “Ben, who exactly is this woman? How do you know her?”
He sipped his beer. “She’s a bookkeeper. That is, she was when she worked for me, back when I had a solo practice ten years ago. Gloria freelanced, and I was one of her
clients. I have no idea what she does these days.”
“How long did she work for you?”
“A few months.” He shrugged. “Maybe a year. Then I joined the firm and didn’t need a bookkeeper anymore.”
A bookkeeper. Robin felt like a child, afraid of the dark, with Ben the parent turning on the light to say, “See? No monsters. Only a bookkeeper.”
And yet.
“How did she become friends with Vanessa?” Robin asked.
“I don’t know, Bird. She helped out with some of the paperwork at home. Health insurance claims, stuff like that. I guess they got friendly and stayed in touch after Nessie and I split up. Say, what is this? Are we playing Twenty Questions or something?”
Ben’s irritability surprised her. Usually he was patient to a fault. “It’s just—Gloria sounded like she had some influence over Vanessa.”
Ben sniffed. “I don’t think anyone’s capable of influencing Vanessa.”
“But Gloria claimed she convinced her to let the kids go to family therapy with you.” Although reluctant to imply Ben hadn’t persuaded her on his own, Robin wanted to know who’d prompted Vanessa’s decision.
“Did she? Huh.” Ben shrugged. “Well, who knows? Maybe she did. Maybe we both convinced her. It could be a simple case of good timing. Amber trashed a library book or something and pissed off her mother. It’s not like Vanessa signed on to be part of the treatment. It was more like, ‘Yeah, good riddance, take them.’”
“But, Ben, did you know she spoke to Gloria about it?”
He shook his head. “Vanessa didn’t mention it. Why is it such a big deal, Bird?”
Robin didn’t know how to answer or why she had a sense something was off. Maybe because he’d once again dismissed her concerns. “Did you know Gloria’s husband?”
“I never met him.” He downed the last of his beer. “Enough about Gloria and my ex.” He grinned. “Now, where were we?” He drew Robin back into an embrace.
Robin nestled into his arms. He might be right. Maybe she’d let herself overthink it. At least, she hoped so.
TEN
ROBIN
ROBIN PASSED HER PATIENT a cup of apple juice. “Here you go, Mrs. Kerwood.”
She held the cup steady while the woman reached for it with both hands, one bearing an IV catheter on the back. Grasping the cup, Mrs. Kerwood swallowed deeply, thirsty after fasting for a breast cancer biopsy performed under light sedation.
“More juice?” Robin asked when she’d drained her cup.
“Please. How long until we know?” She handed the empty cup back to Robin. They shared the hope that her biopsy specimen would yield a genetic correspondence to one of the MATCH targeted drugs.
“About ten days. I’ll call you as soon as we hear from the lab.” Robin patted the hand without the IV and went to get more juice.
To the casual observer, day one of the MATCH program might be any Monday in the oncology unit. Patients arrived, completed their paperwork, and were evaluated and treated. But today, some, like Mrs. Kerwood, were part of the new research protocol. Seventeen subjects were already on board for MATCH screening—a good start, in Robin’s opinion. They came from Mountainview, other local hospitals, and community cancer support groups where she’d pitched the program. New referrals arrived daily, intractable cancers awaiting a genetically keyed miracle drug. Robin marveled at being a part of it.
She rechecked Mrs. Kerwood’s vital signs and cleared her for discharge. An aide summoned Mrs. Kerwood’s husband from the waiting room, and Robin reviewed their post-op instructions before sending them home.
The rest of her morning passed swiftly. Although busy, Robin couldn’t help thinking about Gloria Reyes. Ben had been on target. She’d found it difficult to refuse the mother’s request for help. A couple of days removed from their encounter in DC, Robin felt troubled that Gloria’s son had to wait for the kind of hope she offered her adult patients. At the briefing, Will had urged her to focus on the big picture, the macro perspective of research. But as a nurse and clinician first and foremost, Robin found investment in the project from seeing that light in her patients’ eyes at the prospect of a cure.
With the time already past one thirty, Robin caught a break and pulled her sandwich from the staff lounge fridge. She brewed a cup of coffee, exchanged pleasantries with one of the aides, and settled at the lunch table with her tuna salad.
“It’s about time I caught up with you, Robin.” Dr. Steve Richman, Chief of Medical Oncology and Primary Investigator for the MATCH study, took a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator and joined her at the table. Tall and broad, he’d played some college football and maybe still could despite his weathered face and steel-gray hair. “How was the briefing?”
Robin finished the bite of her sandwich. “Good. From what they presented, I’d say our protocols are spot on.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “Off and running.”
After swigging half the contents of his water bottle during Robin’s brief update, Steve nodded. “Excellent. Any new referrals today?”
“Two this morning.”
“Awesome.” He thumped the tabletop with his fist. “Anything to report from the briefing?”
“A few things we can go over in the staff meeting.” Robin looked at the coffee cup on the table in front of her, remembering Gloria Reyes sitting across from her in the hotel coffee shop. On impulse, she asked, “Steve, would you consider including a pediatric medulloblastoma patient in our sample?”
His salt-and-pepper eyebrows shot up. “You know the study parameters, Robin. Subjects eighteen and over. Why would we deviate from that?” His chief surgeon’s tone hectored her.
“No reason,” Robin backpedaled. “I met a woman in Washington, in New Jersey, really. I wanted to help a friend of a friend.” She regretted asking.
His blue eyes narrowed. “I made you my study coordinator because of your competence, Robin, your professionalism. Don’t turn all bleeding heart on me.”
“I won’t.” Her face warmed.
“Good. I’ll expect your report at the staff meeting.” Richman stood and tossed his empty water bottle into the trash.
“Yes, Dr. Richman,” Robin said as he walked out.
Idiot, she rebuked herself. Of course he’d refused to include Alex Reyes in the study, and rightly so. They had to follow protocol. As Will had said, drug trials were too important, the dangers too great, to risk shortcuts. She’d allowed Gloria to take up residence in her head, clouding her professional judgment. But no more. Gloria Reyes would simply have to find another solution.
Robin finished her sandwich, dumped the last of her coffee into the sink, and got back to work. It wouldn’t do to keep her patients waiting.
ELEVEN
AMBER
I GET NINA’S LEASH to take her for a walk. Mom said I positively cannot let her out to poop in the yard. It’s a mess back there. I don’t get the big deal over the yard. Mom’s still mad about T-ball. Whenever she’s sore about something, she picks on me over anything and everything.
“C’mon, girl.” I clip the leash to Nina’s collar, which I can hardly see under her curly gray-and-white hair. I love her fur, but it’s pretty filthy. Nina likes to roll in the dirt. She makes it look like fun. I almost want to get down and roll too. That’s probably why Mom hates Nina pooping in the yard. Nina doesn’t care what she rolls in.
We go outside, and Nina sniffs around for where to do her business. I try to keep her off people’s lawns and make her stay on the grass over by the curb. I’m supposed to bring a baggie to pick up her poop, but I forgot. I’m not concentrating, Mom would say, not focusing and paying attention.
Nina gets onto someone’s lawn and crouches. It’s only number one, so I let her. I’m not allowed to bring her home until she does both one and two, so we keep walking.
I’m annoyed with my brother. Jaden thinks therapy is something fun we’ll get to do with Dad. I’ll set him straight before it’s time for the appointment. We’re not
crazy.
Nina picks a spot on the grass and gets into poop position. It’s by the curb, so I don’t feel too bad about not having a baggie. Still, I check to make sure no one’s watching. People give me nasty looks, or even say stuff, when I don’t pick up Nina’s poop. They should pick it up themselves if it bothers them so much. It’s not like people have to own a dog to buy baggies.
Nina finishes her business and gives it a sniff.
“Good girl,” I tell her. “Let’s go home.”
She pushes up against me like she wants to herd me right into her poop, but no way. I yank her leash and turn us around, steering us back to the house. Nina still wants to stop and sniff trees and things, but enough already.
When we get to the house, Mom’s friend Gloria stands on the front walk. I guess Nina remembers her because she whines with excitement and lunges toward her. I’m afraid Gloria might get scared or mad, but she reaches out to pet Nina and baby talks the way grown-ups do with pets. Nina goes right for her crotch, which is what she does when she likes someone. Gloria doesn’t let her get her snoot in there, but she’s smiling, so I guess it’s okay.
“Hi, Amber,” she says. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. How’s...?” I try to remember the name of her kid, the sick one.
“Alex.” Her mouth pinches like it hurts to answer.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about him.
“He’s not doing too well,” Gloria says. “I’m trying to get him the right medicine, but it’s very difficult.”
I feel sorry for her. “Did you try CVS? They have lots of stuff there.”
Gloria ruffles my hair and thanks me. Meanwhile, Nina gets jealous and tries for her crotch again. She likes getting the attention. This time I pull Nina away. Gloria has enough problems.
Gloria pets Nina and asks her name. She finishes petting Nina, then looks at her hand. “Nina could use a bath.”
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