by Dara Girard
Justin laughed. “For how long?”
“A couple of months. She met her at one of her grief counseling sessions.” Oliver’s wife, Anya, had started attending the group after the death of their three-year-old granddaughter from a rare form of leukemia. “She says the woman is smart, kind and in her thirties, the right age for marriage and children.”
“I’ll be lucky if I make it to forty.”
Oliver’s tone hardened. “You promised me never to speak like that again. You will live a long, full life.”
“I’m sorry,” Justin said quickly. He hated to see his friend upset. “Okay, what’s her name?”
“They don’t share real names in the group to keep a sense of anonymity, so, Anya calls her Lillian.”
Justin poured apple juice from his thermos, then took a long swallow. A date would be something to distract him from thinking of Lora. What was the harm? “If she’s willing to meet me, I’m open.”
Oliver beamed and patted him on the back. “Good boy. That’s my Justin. You’ll really like her. Just remember to be a bit more...” He searched for words.
“What?”
“Gracious.”
“I am gracious.”
“Tactful then. At times you can be too ‘to the point’ with people.”
“I like to be honest.”
“You can be honest without being inconsiderate. Those who know you understand you, but to others...”
“I’m a cold bastard. I know what they say. I’m not going to soften my words because people have self-esteem issues. I’m running a lab, not a kindergarten class. And when it comes to women, I don’t believe in false flattery.”
“You’ll have to soften your stance for the right woman, and she’ll be worth it.”
“Have you met her?”
“No, but from everything Anya has said, you’ll like her. Also, we have a great gift for you this holiday. Remember that party I told you we’re having this Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“We’re expecting quite a crowd, so we rented a hall for the event. There’ll be great food, live music and great company. I want to see you there. Let’s head out now, and I’ll tell you more. You need to eat.”
“I’ll take a rain check.”
“Promise to work no more than an hour.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back to check.”
“I know.”
Once Oliver had gone Justin sat back in his chair, no longer able to focus on work. His friend wanted him to have the life he had stopped hoping for. But perhaps he could hope again. Perhaps he could let himself dream about having a family of his own. He could imagine his home filled with the scent of his wife’s perfume and the bright smile of a son and daughter greeting him at the door. He’d take them on vacations to the beach and holidays in the South Seas. Perhaps this would be a true season of miracles. He thought of Lora and Rappaport. The image of them together still stung, but his friend had given him something else to think about. It was then, at that moment, that he realized he would give up the Pointdexter Fellowship and all it promised, if it meant he could have the right woman by his side.
* * *
As she sat in the circle, Lora wondered if she was finally ready to move on from grief counseling. The meetings had helped her cope with Suzette’s death three years ago, and she did feel stronger.
The holidays were always hard for her. It was as if they magnified every pain, every heartbreak, but somehow this year, for the first time, she felt as if she could survive. She felt as if she could be happy again, live again. She knew that’s what Suzette would have wanted. After returning home from the mall and calling her sister, she’d been surprised that her thoughts hadn’t gone to Warren but rather Silver. He seemed to always fuel her into action. Justin made her angry, and somehow she welcomed it because he was the one person who continued to make her feel. Before him she had stopped feeling, ever since Suzette’s death from sickle cell anemia. She’d buried herself in her work and had been sleepwalking through life until she’d seen Justin Silver again over a year ago. Just seeing him filled her with fire, and it was both a pain and pleasure. No other person could make her react as he did, but it was good because it forced her to feel. It forced her to act.
She would beat him in the competition, and then she’d transfer to another lab while putting her love life in order. She knew Warren was the perfect choice. She no longer wanted to grieve—she wanted to rejoice.
At the end of the counseling meeting a short, silver-haired lady she called Annabel came up to her. She always looked ready for a good time, as if she’d host a tea party with cups filled with gin. “You’re looking pretty today,” she said. “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s part of my plan.”
“Plan?”
“Yes. I’ve been reading this book called 30 Days to Romance.”
Anya pinched her lips as if she’d tasted something sour. “A book?”
“What’s wrong with a book?”
“Nothing, it’s just...why didn’t you tell me you wanted romance? A book can’t tell you anything about men that I don’t already know. If you want a man, just say the word.”
“I already have one in mind.”
“So do I. And I bet you my choice is better than yours.”
Lora giggled at the thought of her friend setting her up. “Mine is successful, funny and handsome.”
“So is mine, but he is also very kind and considerate. He’s thirty-six and never married, but he wants to be, and he treats his family well.”
“He sounds like the ideal man.”
Anya grinned. “Curious?”
“Definitely.”
Annabel clasped her hands together. “Good. This is what I’ll do. I’m hosting a party this Saturday, and I’ll introduce you then.”
Lora remembered Annabel handing her the invitation two weeks ago, but she hadn’t responded. “I’ll be there.”
Lora left the meeting wanting to sing despite the bitter cold brushing her face and the bare trees shivering in the light breeze. Could it be this easy? Would she really find a match this year? She trusted her friend. She was always honest and had helped Lora through some of the dark days following Suzette’s death. Now was the time for hope and light. Yes, she was ready to live again and find love. After all, it had been more than three years since she’d met Justin Silver, who’d attracted and repelled her on the same day.
Chapter 3
Three years ago
She had just gotten a call from Suzette’s mother that Suzette was going downhill fast. Lora grabbed her jacket and car keys and was out the door in less than a minute. As she drove to the National Institute of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, Lora could barely focus. She was totally unaware that she was going sixty miles per hour in a thirty-five-miles-per-hour zone. All she could focus on was the fact that she wanted her friend to live. What would she do without her? They had known each other since first grade. It had been an instant friendship. They were both new to the school and the area, and they were both first generation, born in the United States to immigrant parents. Suzette was the third child born to parents from Spain and Italy and she had not been screened at birth. It was only by accident, when she had had a crisis and had gone to a hospital, that the emergency room doctor tested her for sickle cell anemia. That was when she discovered she had the disease.
Before then, and unfortunately afterward, whenever she had a crisis and turned up in an emergency room, she faced doctors who thought she was just a junkie wanting to get high on pain killers. They never considered that a fair-haired, blue-eyed young woman would have sickle cell anemia.
Lora was shy, and some of the kids had picked on her, but Suzette had instantly taken Lora under her wing and was always there to speak up for
her. They had fun sleeping over at each other’s house and having picnics in the backyard with their dolls and stuffed toys. But, although there were the good times, Lora also remembered her friend being ill from time to time and having to miss days from school. Thankfully, Suzette’s mother let Lora visit her at home, but there were times all her friend could do was lie on the couch. Through elementary and middle school she had watched Suzette get sick, but no one knew why until she was diagnosed with sickle cell anemia when she was in her first year at college.
No, her friend could not—would not—die.
As she drove up to the hospital, Lora felt a sickening feeling in her stomach. She put up a small prayer. “God, please, please, don’t take Suzette from me.” Then she entered the hospital, signed in and raced to the tertiary unit. Suzette had been transferred there overnight. When Lora entered Suzette’s room she saw a lonely figure sitting beside her bed. Mrs. Gannotti, Suzette’s mother, had short reddish-brown hair and green eyes, which were red and puffy from crying. She’d divorced Suzette’s father shortly after Suzette was born, and he had never kept in touch with his daughter. Mrs. Gannotti had never remarried, and Suzette was her only daughter. Lora could see the devastation on her face.
Lora walked over to the bed. Suzette lay still, her face ashen and drawn. As Lora got closer, Suzette turned, looked up at her and barely managed a smile; her blue eyes had lost their bright spark, and her blond hair lay limp on the pillow.
Lora took her hand. “What handsome doctor’s attention are you trying to get with all this drama?”
“I’m so tired,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“I know, but you have to get better. Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“You’ve fought this before, and you will again.”
Suzette’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t think I’ll make it this time.”
Lora swallowed, struggling to keep her own tears at bay, her heart constricting with pain. “It’s going to be all right.” She turned, hoping Mrs. Gannotti would agree. She remained mute, but her eyes showed her fear. Before she could say any more, a group of doctors entered the room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Gannotti,” said a tall skinny man leading the group. Lora recognized him as Suzette’s physician, Dr. Monroe. “How did she sleep last night?”
After Mrs. Gannotti answered, Dr. Monroe turned and discussed Suzette’s case with the group of white coats. Lora noticed another man, not just because he was the only black man in the group or even because he was exceedingly handsome. She noticed him because he didn’t seem to have the clinical distance the other residents had. Actually, he didn’t look like a resident at all; he looked aware and tuned-in. She looked at his badge: Dr. Justin Silver. She saw his gaze drift to Suzette, compassion apparent in his eyes. Lora could tell that he didn’t just see Suzette as a patient or a disease to be analyzed; he saw her as a person. She wanted to tell him all about Suzette. That she liked eating hot-fudge sundaes sprinkled with nuts and going to live stage musicals, and that they planned to go to Aruba one day. That her friend was the reason Lora had decided to make sickle cell research her focus.
Instead, she watched Dr. Monroe finish his talk, take a cursory look over Suzette’s medical chart, then send a significant look to Dr. Silver. Dr. Monroe smiled and said goodbye, and the group left. Lora stroked Suzette’s hand for a moment, then turned and went into the bathroom off of her room just to breathe. She had to be strong for her friend and Mrs. Gannotti. As she headed out of the bathroom, through the half-opened door she heard Dr. Monroe’s voice coming from just outside Suzette’s room. “What do you think about the Gannotti case?”
She peeked her head around the corner and saw him speaking to Dr. Silver.
“The same as I did the first time,” Dr. Silver said in a flat tone. “You told me about her. Her case is too far gone for the treatment I’ve been working on. She’s going to die, so this is the best place for her. Just keep her comfortable and let nature take its course.” He rested his hands on his hips. “We shouldn’t have wasted time.”
“Her mother didn’t agree to her being in a trial, but I spoke to her friend Lora, and she thought there may still be a chance that—”
“I don’t care what a grief-stricken, half-delusional friend thinks or has to say about this case.” Dr. Silver folded his arms and shook his head in disgust. “This is the consequence of her mother’s decision, and now we get blamed for her condition.”
Lora’s temper flared. Who was this man? The Angel of Death, selecting who should live and who should die? She knew it was best not to get involved, but she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t overheard what they’d said. She stepped around the corner and faced them.
“You heartless, unfeeling toad.”
“Lora—” Dr. Monroe said.
“How dare you consider my friend a waste of time.”
Dr. Silver’s hands fell to his sides. “I didn’t say that.”
“Why won’t you let her try your treatment?”
“Lora,” Dr. Monroe said, “it’s too late. We’ve done all that we can. Suzette is not going to be able to pull through this time.”
“You think you know everything, but it took nearly eighteen years to diagnosis her with sickle cell.” During this most recent crisis, the hospital she had been taken to at first had not looked for sickle cell until it was too late because she’d forgotten to wear her medical alert bracelet. This time she’d suffered a major crisis, robbing her vital organs of needed oxygen, and some of her organs were now too damaged to repair.
“What could Mrs. Gannotti do? Her only daughter isn’t some lab rat for you to experiment on. And she’s my friend. You talk about consequences, but what do you know about her? She has lived with this disease for her entire twenty-nine years, enduring all the painful episodes and hospitalizations. But she loves life and wants to live. I can see it in her eyes. What’s too late? Is it too late to have compassion? Is it too late to give her mother some hope? Suzette is all she has. Do you know why her mother refused to enroll her in your clinical trial? Did anyone ask, or were you too busy condemning her to death?
“Mrs. Gannotti’s grandfather had been in a clinical trial, back home in Spain, that tortured him. So you see, it was never too late, it was just that none of you cared enough to really discover why she wouldn’t put her daughter in your trial. And none of you cared enough to explain the process to her. You didn’t care to ask the right questions.”
“Well there’s nothing we can do now,” Dr. Monroe replied.
“To think I actually thought you were looking at my friend with empathy. One day I’ll make you both regret your decision.”
Neither doctor said anything.
Suzette died that day.
* * *
As Lora walked to her apartment, she remembered her vow. But now was not the time to be sad—now was a time for hope. She wiped her tears and opened her door. Her cell phone buzzed just as she was hanging up her coat. She glanced at it and saw a blocked number and then a photo of an elegant restaurant. The text below it read:
How does an expensive Japanese dinner sound? Warren
Lora did a little dance then texted him back:
Sounds great.
Pick u up on Saturday.
This Saturday? The same Saturday as Annabel’s party? Lora groaned. Should she cancel? A part of her wanted to, but another part was curious about the man Annabel wanted her to meet. She texted back:
Make it next Saturday.
Okay, c u then.
Lora skipped around her apartment, then fell into her couch and let out a mini scream of delight. Dinner with Warren. Perfect!
That Saturday, still floating from Warren’s recent text, Lora asked her sister to help her get ready for Annabel’s party. The moment her sister came through the door carrying a la
rge case of makeup Lora realized she’d made a mistake.
“But I can’t wear all that,” Lora said as Belinda began making up her face.
“Hush. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. Your face has been dying for the right cosmetics.”
Her sister finished styling her hair, which she pulled into an upswept cluster of curls with a thin bang. “Wow, I hadn’t noticed you got your hair highlighted,” she said.
Finally, someone other than Silver noticed, Lora thought. Belinda placed a small suitcase on the bed and pulled out a cute knee-length black dress with a scooped neckline. Lora put it on nervously.
“But the neckline falls too low,” Lora complained, trying to pull the front of the dress higher.
“Don’t be such a prude. You’ve got a great figure, and it’s time you showed it off.”
“I’m not being a prude—I just don’t want to come across looking like a call girl.”
“Please, that won’t happen. The dress fits you perfectly and showing a little skin will help.”
Lora secretly decided she’d use a couple of safety pins once her sister left.
To add some color, Belinda added a thin red silk fringed shawl, just in case Lora got chilly. To finish off the look, she loaned Lora a pair of black suede wedges. Once finished, Belinda stepped back and clapped her hands, delighted. “My masterpiece.”
Lora turned to look at her image in the full-length mirror and bit back a scream.
“I look like a freak show!”
“No, you don’t.”
“My hair is too high, and my makeup is too strong.”