“Well, I’ll be.” A long melodious whistle flows out of Shayla’s mouth. “That’s some kind of fancy contraption you’ve got there.”
She eyes the black Aventador, then runs a finger across the shiny hood. Next comes the Harley. Its gleaming black and chrome would stop most people in their tracks. Shayla lets loose another huge whistle. “Well hot damn, Kestrel, you sure like your toys, don’t ya?”
I’m not sure what shocks me more—her use of the word, damn, or the use of my name. I break out in laughter.
“You might say I do.”
After inspecting both vehicles for damage and being pleased to find none, I sign off and we head back inside. On the way in, I say, “I’ll take you for a spin in the Aventador when we go to lunch today. You’re going to love her.”
“Either that, or the damn thing’ll scare me to death, one.”
“I promise. No scaring.”
My comment brings her to a screeching halt. “Kestrel, I may look like an old frump to you, but I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. You can’t fool this ole broad. I get in that car and you’re gonna drive like a bat outta hell. And you know what? I don’t blame you, cuz if I owned something like that, I would too.”
This woman has made me laugh more in the last couple of days than I’ve laughed in my entire life.
“Shayla, are all southern women like you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You make me laugh and you speak your mind.”
“Well, I imagine so.”
“Then I think I’m going to like living in Charleston.”
The next couple of hours are filled with intense work as we plow through mounds of paperwork that needed to be completed. Shayla has stacks of it and she’s been stonewalled because it all required my signature. Together we wade through much of it and put a huge dent in it. When the early afternoon hits, we’re both famished.
“Let’s go eat.”
She picks out a restaurant and we get ready to go. I open the car door for her and she gasps. The door lifts upward and it surprises her. Then she notices how low to the ground the seats are.
“Promise me something,” she says with a serious face.
“Sure.”
“Pull my big bottom out of this bucket when it’s time to get out. I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
She has a devilish glint in her eye and I burst out laughing.
“You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?”
“Not saying.”
I assist her in and before I close the door she says, “Wait! Take a picture of me.” She hands me her iPhone.
I take a couple of shots of her sitting in the car and hand her phone back to her, laughing as I do.
By the time I get in the car, she’s giggling up a storm.
“I just texted those pics to my kids and my son wanted to know what kind of woo-fuckery I was playing on him. Can you imagine?”
“No. If I had said that to my mother, she would’ve fainted, and then clobbered me. What did you say?”
“That I’m not well versed in woo-fuckery, and that I’m sitting in this Lamborghini going to lunch with my boss. I also just texted him that I told you what he said.”
“It sounds like you have an amazing relationship with your kids.”
“Yeah, I do. But they’re good kids, so I can’t complain.” Then she lets out a huge gurgle of laughter. “Oh my God. He just texted me back a picture of him standing next to his hunk of junk car with a caption that says, ‘No more woo-fuckery.’”
“What we need to do is put you on the Harley when we get back. That would really get him going.”
She slaps her leg. “Lawd, he would die!”
“You seem like an awesome mom.”
“Well, I try.”
“I had a really shitty upbringing. I’m sure you read all the news stories about Langston. The mob stories were nothing compared to his fatherhood nurturing. Your kids are truly lucky.”
She doesn’t say anything for a while. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned Langston. I don’t know why, but I really like Shayla; I feel comfortable around her. She’s warm and for some reason I feel like I want to be open with her, which is extremely unusual.
Finally she says, “I’m sorry, Kestrel. My family was very loving, so I can’t imagine being raised like that. It must have been awfully hard for you.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Life was a nightmare.”
She pats me on the arm and I jerk in response.
“Sorry. That’s one of my little issues. Don’t feel bad. Honestly, I never talk about this so I’m surprised I’m even telling you this much.”
“You don’t have to say a thing.”
“I know. But I feel like I can with you, and I don’t find that very often.”
“Anything you say to me will stay right between us. I don’t gossip.”
I only nod in response. When we pull in the parking lot, I look for the valet service.
“What are you huntin’?”
“Valet parking.”
She bubbles with laughter. “You won’t find that here, only downtown.”
“Oh.” I circle the lot and find a place to park. Then I help her out of the car. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Ha. I have an SUV, so yes.”
We talk business while we eat. Monday is when the rest of our staff arrives. That doesn’t mean a whole lot—only the receptionist, who Shayla will train, a sales rep, and another admin. Jack will arrive on Tuesday, and Shayla will bring the new admin up to speed on things while I begin to train the new sales rep. Things will start to heat up after that.
“We have a lot going on next week,” I say.
“Boy, don’t we?”
“Once our staff is hired and up and running, we’ll be able to actually do our jobs. So where would you like to eat on Saturday?”
“Oh, I think I’ll let you choose,” she says.
“Fine with me. Just don’t hate me if I make the wrong choice.”
Shayla doesn’t buy it. She already knows I’ll pick a great restaurant.
Chapter Five
Carter
This is a big day for me. As John said, the big kahunas from StrongMeds Inc. come to see me. There are four of them, all dressed in their navy suits, looking stodgy as hell. I offer them a tour of my lab as soon as they arrive, showing them where all the magic occurs. Two of them take copious notes and photos on their iPads as I walk them around and explain exactly what it is I do. Only one of them truly understands. The others get the implications behind it. Translation, if all goes as expected, StrongMeds, Inc., stands to make a whole lot of money from the products of my research.
“Dr. Drayton, let’s make this happen. StrongMeds wants you. All we need is your signature,” the leader of the pack says. His name is Winston Miles and he’s the vice president of research and development.
“Whoa. Slow down. There are a few things I want to clarify first.”
“By all means. Can we go someplace to sit and discuss this?”
There is a conference room down the hall and I suggest that. Winston laughs.
“Dr. Drayton, I’m thinking more on the lines of somewhere that we can get a good cup of coffee.”
He must think I’m an idiot. It’s obvious I don’t get out much.
“Oh, of course. Why don’t we go to the cafeteria? The university has a …”
“Dr. Drayton, do you mind if we get out of this setting and go somewhere a little less … sterile?”
My brow crinkles up as I pull my glasses off. “Yes. Um, we could go to …”
“How about Port City Coffee House? Does that suit you?” he asks.
I relax. It’s not often I take businessmen out for coffee. “Yes, that would be nice. Let me tell John I’ll be gone for a bit.”
After I let John know, we climb into a black limousine and ride over to the coffee shop. Once seated, and after our drinks arrive, we begin.
; “I’d like to mention a few things that need clarification,” I start.
“Fine.” Winston dips his head.
“First and foremost, I don’t work for you, I work for the university.”
“Agreed.”
“Second, I answer only to my supervisor, John Corbin.”
“Agreed.”
“Third, I will only do research that is within my realm of interest and it must always be ethical.”
“Agreed.”
I had expected a lot of pushback since I’m dealing with the corporate world and they always like to be in control, but I get none at all. Winston just smiles at me, and asks, “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so, other than I refuse to be pressured on a deadline. My research is tenuous and not driven by a clock.”
“Understood.”
“Fine. Then explain to me what I’ll be signing.”
Winston nods to one of the other gentleman. He smiles and introduces himself as one of the attorneys from their corporate office. He explains everything in the contract and I ask if I can have my attorney look it over. Winston doesn’t have an issue with that.
The rest of our visit is pleasant.
“I must say, Dr. Drayton, when I came here, I was expecting to meet someone much older than you. What a surprise. How did you accomplish so much, given your age?”
“First off, please call me Carter. Second, you might say I was extremely motivated and I guess you could say I’m a workaholic. I finished undergrad in three years, then I did a combined masters and doctorate after that. I was lucky to meet John at a seminar and land my position with him. The rest is, as they say, history.”
“Oh, I would agree that you are the one that’s making history. Your work is brilliant.”
I can’t help but beam. “May I ask you something, Mr. Miles?”
“Certainly.”
“Do any of these other guys here ever speak?”
The other men look at him, and then he starts laughing. “I don’t suppose enough. Maybe we need to change that, huh?”
“Want my opinion?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
“They look a bit goofy.” I lean forward and say, “I think you need to let them use their brains. They might surprise you.”
The other men gape.
Their coffee cups are empty, so we board the limo and go back to the lab. I shake hands with Winston and tell him he’ll be hearing from me very soon. After he leaves, I wonder about the other guys. Why didn’t they speak? What is Winston really like? How will I like working with him? I’ll find out soon enough.
John and I have a lengthy discussion about the contract Winston wants me to sign. John doesn’t see anything out of order in it, but I still want my attorney to check it out. At two o’clock, I go to see Uncle Foster. He agrees with John. There is nothing in the contract, other than StrongMeds will grant me the funds for research and I will share my findings with them. They will have exclusive rights to create the drugs resulting from my research and that this contract will be binding for as long as I work on PD-L1. I will have profit sharing in any money earned from drugs created from my research in the form of stock options.
Uncle Foster gives me an odd look. “Carter, I always knew you were smart. Your daddy talked about it a lot. He always thought you’d go to law school and follow his footsteps and be a partner in this practice here. But you’re way smarter than he ever was. This stuff, well honey, it’s way over my head. How in the world do you do it?”
I laugh. “Uncle Foster, it’s nothing. To me, legalese is the difficult one. My mission is to find a cure for cancer. And I believe this is one way to target it.”
“Honey, can you give me a rudimentary explanation of how this stuff works?”
“Oh, sure. What I’m doing is modulating the gene sequence of cancer cells. You see, all cancer cells have the ability to lock on to the immune system’s own defense mechanisms and disable them so they can’t kill the cancer cell. What I’m doing, or attempting to, is creating a genetic mutation that disrupts the ability for the cell to do that. So instead of treating the cancer with chemotherapy, and making the patient sick, the future therapy will be to give the patient a drug that will instruct the cancer cells DNA to replicate in a way that won’t allow it to disable the human immune system. Does that make sense?”
“How the hell did you figure all that out?”
I laugh at him. “By fiddling around in the lab. Tweaking this and that under a microscope. It’s fun!”
“Jesus, Carter. Your brain … well, it’s a hell of an amazing gift you’ve got there.”
“Thanks, Uncle Foster. But I still have a ways to go. I’ve got some of it figured out. But I want to get it all worked out. I want to cure all pediatric cancers.”
“I’m worried about you, honey.”
“Me? Why?”
“Oh, baby, you know why.”
I always hate these conversations. Foster and my dad were best friends. He misses my dad probably as much as I do. They were work partners, fishing buddies, sailing buddies, you name it. They grew up together and were joined at the hip since pre-school days.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Are you getting out? Doing things? You can’t work all the time.”
“I know. I get out with my friends some.”
Skepticism clouds his expression. He’s too sharp for me to pass anything by him. “Carter, I know what yesterday was. I mourn, too.”
“Yeah. I know you do. It’s getting easier though.”
He purses his lips. “Is it?”
I look at him sharply. “What is it?”
“Megan is getting married. She just got engaged last weekend.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic! Congratulations!”
“The thing is, Carter, I don’t feel excited about it. Daniel and I always talked about what we’d do and how we’d celebrate when our daughters got married. How we’d feel when we walked them down the aisle. We made a pact, you know? He probably never told you. But we did. We promised to be there for each other, with shots of Jameson on hand, before we made the walk. And now, I feel like a lost soul. I also feel like a shit for crying on your shoulder, but you would understand this more than anyone. I can’t tell Megan. And Janet doesn’t understand.”
“Shit.” I get up and move behind his desk to wrap my arms around him. We hug each other and cry. It’s odd because I never think of anyone else on the anniversary. I feel I’m the only one that still suffers. He’s just proven how wrong I am.
“Tell you what, Uncle Foster. On Megan’s wedding day, I’ll be there in Daddy’s place and you and I will do that shot together.”
We look at each other, eyes watery with tears and smile.
“Sounds like a deal to me.”
We sit quietly for a few moments.
“Carter, how did the showing go?”
His question makes me cringe. This is not something I want to discuss with him.
“Fine.”
“Do you think they’re interested?”
“Maybe. The man said he’d call me.”
Uncle Foster’s brows inch up. “Why the hell would he call you?”
“Anne couldn’t be there yesterday. An emergency came up.”
“Still, that’s odd.”
I shrug. It takes every ounce of strength I have to stay in his office. I want to run outside and tear my hair out. I want to scream my lungs out. But I do neither. My teeth clamp together as I nod.
“I know how difficult this is for you.”
He doesn’t have a clue. My eyes focus on my knees. If I look at him, I’m afraid I’ll crack into a thousand pieces.
“Carter, I’m sorry, honey. Your father, well, he was the best attorney, but the worst financial planner.”
Standing, I hug Uncle Foster again, and start to leave.
Before I get to the door, my uncle calls out to me. “Carter, it’s a safe bet—the contract. You’ll be fine there and if you nee
d me to look over anything else, just give me a call.”
“Thanks, Uncle Foster.” My voice squeaks as I speak.
“I love you, Carter.”
“Love you, too.”
I barely make it to the car before I break down, sobbing. There are a gazillion reasons I don’t want to sell the house, and now I have to deal with him. What in the world am I going to do?
Glancing at the clock on my dashboard, I notice how late it’s getting. I need to get back to work. I rein in my emotions and drive back to the hospital. On the way, I call Harper.
“What’s up, Doc?”
She loves to say that when I call.
“Oh, God. You’re such a dork.”
“Uh, I think you have that backward, Carter. You’re the dork who lives in a lab.”
“Truth. But guess what? This dork just got her funding from a huge pharmaceutical company to work on her research. They want my stuff, Harper!”
“Oh, holy lab experiments! Hold up your fist and give me some bone, sister.”
We laugh and her excitement warms me. It’s not often that my friends get what goes on in my life with respect to my work. But Harper is the only one that truly cares.
“This will be it for you. You are now going to be the famous Dr. Drayton.”
“Hey, slow down a minute. My stuff has to actually produce something in the body and not just in the lab,” I remind her.
“Oh, Carter, knowing you, it will. I feel it. I’ve always known you’d do something special one day. You were that kid.”
“Yeah, that geek of a kid. But thanks, Harper. You’ve always stuck up for me.”
When I get back to the lab, I call Winston Miles and leave him a message that I’ll be sending the contract over, signed. He’s probably still on a plane heading back to his office.
My head swims with so many things: the contract, my research, my waning excitement over it due to the necessity of selling the house, and Kestrel Hart. Needing a diversion, I throw myself back into my work, and when I look at the time, it’s ten p.m.
“What the hell?”
When did John leave? Did he even say good-bye? What about everyone else? I need to get out of here. I shut everything down and head home.
The house is dark and silent when I unlock the back door and turn off the security system. I drop my backpack on the counter and grab a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. Pouring a huge glass, I kick off my sandals and head out to the back yard. As it is oftentimes in Charleston in October, the night air is still warm and pleasant. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair as I flop down on one of the chaises by the pool. I turned on the lights as I headed out the door, so the yard looks pretty all lit up and aglow. For a brief moment, I allow myself to imagine how it was when my parents and Ells were still alive. Ells loved splashing in the pool on hot summer days.
Kestrel Page 5