Chain Reactions

by Lynn Ames

  “Okay.”

  “The first thing she did was apologize, like she wished she hadn’t done it. Before we could even talk about it, she left. This morning, she treated me like I was some stranger or the hired help. Then Nora had her episode.

  “When I finally got all that squared away, Diana went back to being the ice queen, asked for a minute alone with Nora and then snuck out of here without even saying goodbye.” She slapped her palms on the table in frustration. “What the hell’s wrong with her?”

  He took a sip of coffee and sat back. “Sounds to me as though she’s conflicted too.”

  “I get that. I’m Nora’s nurse and she’s dying. The timing’s not ideal to start a relationship.”

  “How did you feel about it?”

  “The kiss? The timing? Or what happened afterward?”

  “Let’s start with the kiss.”

  She stopped short of touching her lips as she recalled the delicious pressure of Diana’s mouth on hers.

  He chuckled.

  “What?”

  “If the dreamy expression on your face is any indication, I’d venture to say you enjoyed the kiss just fine.”

  She stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. There’s no crime in exploring an attraction with Diana.”

  “She certainly acted as though there was. For God’s sake, it was like high school all over again. We’re grown women!”

  “You’re grown women in a challenging, emotionally difficult situation. Has it occurred to you that Diana might be worried about what you’d think of someone who would be acting on an attraction while her great-aunt lies dying in the next room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe she’s concerned about optics.”

  “I should be more worried about the ethics of a relationship with Diana than she should be. I’m the hired caregiver here. It’s up to me to keep professional distance.”

  “Is that what you want to do? Keep your distance from her?”

  Her gut twisted. Staying away from Diana was about the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Uh-huh, what?”

  “Don’t ever play poker for money.”

  “I already knew that.” Her tone sounded peevish, even to her own ears, but she really hated being so transparent. She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

  “The point is, you shouldn’t have to. I just don’t know what to do or how to make this right. It’s not like we can undo it.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Got any words of wisdom or recommendations?”

  “Well, assuming you’re not planning to quit—”

  “Quit taking care of Nora? Absolutely not.” She pounded the table for emphasis.

  “Easy there, tiger.” He held up his hands palms outward. “I’m not suggesting you would or that you should.”

  “Good.” She crossed her arms defensively.

  “You can either continue to tip-toe around each other and endure Diana’s cool distance—”

  “Not acceptable.”

  “Right. Or you can address what transpired, acknowledge that although the timing is unfortunate, the feelings are real, and see where it goes from there.”

  She turned that idea over in her mind. On paper, it made sense. In practice… “What if the earth didn’t move for her?”

  “I imagine she wouldn’t have felt compelled to kiss you if she wasn’t wicked attracted to you. And why wouldn’t she be? You’re a catch.”

  “Sweet-talker.”

  “Truth.”

  “Still…”

  “Brooke, you’re never going to know unless you have a discussion. I guess you’ll just have to be cool with it if she says she’s not interested.”

  “Ugh.” The notion that the kiss meant nothing to Diana made her sick to her stomach.

  “Relax. Smart money says Diana’s sweating this out the same way you are.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence.”

  He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get on the road. The rest of the world is going to be heading back to civilization any second now, and I’m allergic to bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

  They stood and she gave him a hug. “I’m so glad you stopped by. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a good friend, you know that?”

  “I do. Good to know you recognize that too.”

  “Get out of here before your head doesn’t fit through the door anymore.”

  “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry,” he joked. “You keep me informed about Nora’s condition. Check in as often as you need to. If you have any questions or need me to come out, say the word.”

  “I’ll do that. I can’t stand the thought of that brilliant mind and buoyant spirit leaving us.”

  “I know. She’s a rare commodity, a truly beautiful human being. I’m going to miss her.”

  “Me too.”

  “Cherish the time you have left with her, and advise Diana to do the same.” He gave her one last hug and headed out the door.

  She and Diana had to get past this awkwardness. Otherwise, Diana forever would regret the kiss, as it meant lost time with Nora at the end of her life. If that happened, there would be no chance for them going forward, if there even was a chance now.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Diana gathered her papers off the lectern and stuffed them into her computer bag, along with her iPad, laser pointer, and her hard copy of Dale Purves et. al.’s, Principles of Cognitive Neuroscience. She fished in the front zipper compartment for her cell phone and turned it on. There was no message from Brooke.

  She hadn’t received more than a dutiful nightly report on Aunt Nora’s condition all week, so it shouldn’t have surprised her. Still, she missed their playful interchanges, Brooke’s warm, comforting, upbeat words, and their easy rapport.

  “It’s your own damned fault. If only you’d exercised a little self-control, you wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

  “Dr. Lindstrom?”

  “What?” she snapped. She didn’t bother to look up from the phone.

  “If this is a bad time—”

  Her head jerked up. “Oh, my God. No. No. Now’s fine.”

  Alexander Montrose, the Dean of the Faculties of Health Sciences and Medicine stood in front of her at the foot of the stage, eyebrows arched and arms crossed. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” She thrust the phone into the pocket of her dress slacks.

  “If you’ll come with me, I’d like to show you something I thought you might find interesting.”

  She scrambled off the stage, snatched up her computer bag, and followed him out of the lecture hall. What could he possibly want? Was she in some kind of trouble? Yes, she’d been distracted of late, but she had good reason.

  Tom Dalton, the Head of Department, was well aware of the situation with Aunt Nora, and so far, had been very understanding and flexible about excusing Diana from extended office hours. She’d asked permission on those occasions when she’d left early to travel to Truro. She’d presented fresh materials in lectures and overseen all clinical laboratory work by her graduate students.

  When she tuned in to her surroundings, she realized they were headed toward the University’s Butler Library. “We’re going to the library?”

  “As I said, I have something to show you that I believe might interest you. It certainly interests me.”

  She struggled to keep up with his long strides, as he led them inside the library and to the elevator, where he pushed the button for the sixth floor. The sixth floor, Diana knew, was home to the University Archives. What the dickens?

  The research librarian greeted them as they exited the elevator. “Hello, Monica. Do you have what I asked you to pull for me?”

  “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

  “Foll
ow me, Dr. Lindstrom.”

  Monica led them through a series of doors into a climate-controlled room. She handed them each a pair of white gloves, put on a pair herself, and then placed two large boxes on an empty conference table. From the first box, Box 41, she removed two folders, one titled, “Atomic Energy Commission,” and a second titled, “Atomic Bomb Discussion.”

  Diana read the outside of the box—George Braxton Pegram papers. She knew the name, of course. George Braxton Pegram was a professor of physics and Dean of the Graduate Faculties at Columbia. He also was the man responsible for the historic meeting between Franklin Roosevelt and American nuclear scientists that led to the creation of the Manhattan Project.

  But what did any of this have to do with her?

  She examined the second box. It had neat typing that identified it as “Historical Subject Files, Box 6.” From that box, Monica extracted another folder: “Atomic Energy Research, 1930s – 1980s.”

  Diana wracked her brain, trying in vain to make a connection.

  “Thank you, Monica. I’ll take it from here,” Dean Montrose said.

  Monica left them and he turned his attention to Diana. “Tom mentioned to me that your great-aunt is in failing health. I’m sorry to hear that, by the way.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “When Tom told me her name, I couldn’t believe it. I can’t imagine how I didn’t know you were related. As a graduate student, I did my dissertation on the manufacturing process for Uranium-235.”

  “The fuel for the atomic bomb we dropped on Hiroshima?”

  “The same.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not following you.”

  “Your great-aunt played a pivotal role in the manufacture of the fuel.”

  “My Aunt Nora? Are you sure?”

  He smiled. “I’m positive. That’s why I had these materials brought over. I thought you might want to see for yourself, if you didn’t already know.”

  “I-I didn’t.” None of this made any sense. Aunt Nora spent her career curing childhood leukemia. She had something to do with the atomic bomb?

  He opened the Atomic Bomb Discussion folder and scanned the contents until he found what he was searching for. He turned to the page and slid the folder in front of her.

  There, in black and white, was a list of scientists working on the Manhattan Project and their assignments. Under the heading Oak Ridge, Tennessee, 1943 – 1945, was “Lindstrom, Nora. Physicist. Oversight of the Calutron Uranium Enrichment Operators, or ‘Calutron Girls.’”

  Diana pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Can I take a picture of that?” She would ask Aunt Nora about it when she saw her this weekend.

  “I don’t see why not.” He perused one of the other folders, the one titled, “Atomic Energy Research, 1930s – 1980s.” Again, he trailed a finger down the table of contents until he found what he sought. He opened to a page and rotated the folder so that she could see it.

  The heading on this document read, “Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission – Radiation Effects Research Foundation (RERF) Radiation Health Studies.” She skimmed the document. RERF, a joint effort of the American and Japanese governments and based in Hiroshima, apparently had been formed shortly after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki with the aim of conducting a long-term study of the effects of the radiation exposure suffered by the bombing victims, their children, and future generations descended from those survivors.

  Again, she wondered what Aunt Nora’s connection could be to such an endeavor. She glanced up, a question in her eyes.

  He peered over her shoulder. “Keep reading. You’re almost there.”

  Three-quarters of the way down the page, she saw it. “Dr. Nora Lindstrom will oversee the team conducting the Life Span Study, and will have secondary responsibility for the F1 (Children of the A-Bomb Survivors) Study. She will report directly to the Advisory Committee of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission, or ABCC, in Washington, D.C.”

  “May I?” She held up the phone again.

  “Of course. None of this is classified anymore.”

  She snapped several photos. She wished she could take the documents with her and read them at her leisure. There was so much more she needed to know about Aunt Nora.

  What was it Grandpa Bill and Dad used to say when she was a child? “Your Aunt Nora is off doing top-secret work out of the country. We’re not allowed to contact her.”

  “Your Aunt Nora is working for the government and travels constantly. She’s made it clear she has no room in her life for the likes of us. She’s too focused on her career.”

  The excuses meant nothing to her as a child; the bottom line was that Aunt Nora had disappeared from her life. But now, in light of these new discoveries…

  “Dr. Lindstrom?”

  Diana blinked. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Your great-aunt never talked about her work? Once Tom connected the dots for me and I realized who Dr. Lindstrom was to you, all the pieces fell into place. I assumed her career was the impetus for you being a scientist, and particularly for your choice of Columbia, where the Manhattan Project began to take shape.

  “I contacted her when I was working on my dissertation. Over the years, we kept in touch. Her sage advice often guided my career choices. She was a giant in the field, and a mentor to me and many others.”

  She measured her words. “Aunt Nora was my inspiration, but I only recently reconnected with her. I hadn’t seen her since I was a small child.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Perhaps it’s a conversation you can have with her now?”

  Her heart lurched. Brooke’s updates hadn’t given her any reason to believe Aunt Nora’s condition had improved since she’d left on Sunday. “I’m not sure she’s still at a point where she’s capable.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  He checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting.”

  “And I’ve got office hours. Thank you for showing me all this.”

  “You’re welcome. That’s quite a legacy she’s left you.”

  “Yes.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it is.”

  Brooke straightened the blanket at the foot of Nora’s bed. She hadn’t roused since early this morning, when she’d awoken only long enough to take a sip of Ensure and pat Brooke on the hand. The unsolved New York Times crossword puzzle sat on the hospital tray by the bed. That made Brooke saddest of all.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Hi.” She wheeled around to greet Anita, the affable certified nursing assistant hospice assigned to provide care twice a week.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Not good.”

  “So, no shower assist today?”

  “No. But I’m certain she would welcome a sponge bath and a change of sheets.”

  “You’ve got it.” Anita moved efficiently around the room. “Why don’t you take a short break? I’ve got this. I’ll text you when Miss Nora and I are done here.”

  Reluctant as Brooke was to leave Nora’s side, she really did need an hour or so to clear her head. “If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d love to take a quick run and have a shower.”

  “Absolutely. We’ve got this, haven’t we Miss Nora?” Anita gently massaged Nora’s arm and she opened her eyes. “Are you ready to get cleaned up?”

  Nora nodded her approval.

  “Okay, then. Let’s take care of you.”

  Brooke signaled her thanks and headed down the hall to change for a run.

  The beach was deserted, as she expected given the dampness of the cold wind and the charcoal-gray sky. She spent several minutes stretching and started off at a light jog, increasing speed as she warmed up. It felt good to be outdoors and to remember that she was healthy and alive.

  Between managing Nora’s care during this precipitous decline and the stilted communications with Diana, she was me
ntally and emotionally spent.

  Diana. She would be here tonight. How in the world would that go? She frowned. Their text exchanges were polite, clinical, and distant. The only discussion of consequence stemmed from a question Diana posed out of the blue.

  “What do you know about Aunt Nora’s career before she came to Dana-Farber?”

  “Nothing, except that she told me Sidney Farber recruited her personally to come to Boston, and that she finally accepted after losing a patient that really mattered to her.”

  “Okay. Thanks. So, she hasn’t said anything more specific about what she was working on?”

  “As I said, no. Only that she admired Dr. Farber and that they’d been corresponding since 1948.”

  “1948? You’re sure?”

  “I’m very sure.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  And that had been that. Diana hadn’t explained her interest in Nora’s early career, and Brooke hadn’t asked her to illuminate. She considered asking Nora in one of her more lucid moments, but truly there hadn’t been enough of those to allow for such questions.

  She checked her Fitbit. It was time to head back. In the end, what happened from this point forward between them would be up to Diana. Brooke was done trying to figure out her intentions or mindset. If Diana wanted something more from her than a professional interaction, that would be up to her to initiate. Brooke didn’t have the time or patience to play games.

  Diana sat on the side of the bed holding Aunt Nora’s hand. “Aunt Nora? I’m here. It’s Diana.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, but otherwise she did not respond. Diana shifted her gaze to Brooke, who was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked impossibly beautiful, but her makeup couldn’t hide the signs of exhaustion around her eyes. Diana resisted the impulse to tell her to get some rest. That would’ve been too personal, and she was determined not to go there again.

  “She’s been like this all week?”

  “She’s had short stretches of consciousness during which she’s been quite lucid, but those have been few and far between.”