by Kira Peikoff
* * *
There was only one thing on Arianna’s mind as she rushed to the lab the next morning, black case in hand: the progress of the research. But as she passed Washington Square Park, she saw a little boy a few yards ahead of her walking awkwardly next to his mother. His right foot twitched and stomped with each step as he held his mother’s hand to stay balanced. As Arianna observed the pair, she noticed an orange rubber bracelet around the mother’s wrist: the awareness-raising accessory of the MS Walks Foundation, a nonprofit that sponsored charity walks to raise money for research. Arianna’s heart sank for them both—it was one thing to face the disease as an adult with access to a possible cure, but it was another to be a child or a parent staring down a lifetime of suffering.
“Can I play with them, Mommy?” the boy asked, pointing to the park, where a handful of kids were kicking a soccer ball.
The mother glanced at the kids with unmistakable longing. “Not today I’m afraid, sweetie.”
Arianna yearned to rush up and put her arms around the woman, and to tell her son that one day, he might be able to play any sport he wanted. They just had to hold on a bit longer … hopefully not too much longer.…
The pair took no notice of her as she hurried past them, forcing her numb ankle to cooperate. It seemed she could not reach the lab fast enough. As she knocked on the door to deliver embryos, it felt like a relief to be so close to the source of her obsession.
Patrick opened the door and smiled for the first time all week. Her heart fluttered; progress?
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Better, now that we have more embryos.”
She walked in and saw Sam peering into a microscope, his shoulders hunched. He did not look up.
“He’s checking cells he altered the other day,” Patrick explained.
Arianna’s eyes widened. “So this could be it?”
Patrick looked hesitant. “It could be. But we test cells all the time.”
“But eventually you’ll hit on something. Statistically, you have to!”
A kind smile flickered on his lips, but Arianna could not read the emotion in his eyes. Was it hope, she wondered—or a tacit recognition of naïveté, a lament of idealism?
“You guys have come a long way,” she said firmly. “It could happen any time.”
She thought of the progress the scientists had made in the six months since they began researching: They had already coaxed the stem cells—total blanks—to differentiate into neuroprogenitor cells, the necessary first step before the cells could specify further into oligodendrocytes. These were the golden ticket, the crucial cells that could regenerate her spinal cord. But what would precipitate their occurrence remained a glaring unknown. They had to stumble upon the right combination of growth factors to coax the altered cells to differentiate the proper way. The growth factors were some series of molecular cues that would be injected into the cells to stimulate genes to make certain proteins that biologically spelled oligodendrocytes.
It was like mashing up all the languages of the world and then attempting to pluck the correct letters of the right alphabets to spell a specific word.
Arianna eyed Sam more closely. He was using an inverted microscope, which held a petri dish with cells. He lifted his head. She held her breath as he turned around.
Despite the face mask covering his nose and mouth, Arianna could tell that his eyes were solemn. Her heart felt as if it were bleeding out into her stomach.
Patrick put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought supplies.”
She nodded, afraid to speak. But one thought prompted her to ask.
“What about the embryos Ian was working with? What happened to those?”
“Sam and I split them, but took out a few to make clones for the clinic.”
Arianna frowned; it was already the last Friday of December, which meant that there would be an inspection Monday. And the freezer was missing dozens of embryos that still needed to be stocked.
“Don’t tell me you’re behind schedule.”
Patrick smiled. “In fact, we’re a step ahead. We already have the right amount for Monday all prepared and frozen. So, we’re using Ian’s batch to get a head start for January, since we’re always rushing to make all the clones at the end of the month. Ian usually did the cloning, so I figured I would take over.”
“Can’t Sam help you?”
Patrick shrugged. “He’ll throw a fit if he has to do anything mildly bureaucratic. It’s easier for me to do it alone and let him research.”
“I don’t blame you.” She rubbed her temples, feeling a sudden darting pain near her eyes. “I can’t wait to get another month’s inspection over with.”
She glanced over at Sam, wondering if he was finally ready to come over and speak to her again. He had stepped into the tiny bathroom in the rear of the basement. The door was ajar, and through the crack, Arianna could see him leaning over the sink, vigorously scrubbing out the glass petri dish.
* * *
A copy of Saturday’s New York Times lay discarded on their table at the restaurant, a noisy bar and grill place that Trent had suggested for its dependable chaos. Trent elbowed the newspaper aside as he sat down in the booth across from Arianna and loosened his shirt collar. Jed and Megan had yet to arrive. Not far from their table, a crowd of rowdy patrons sat around the bar. It was as far from the suffocating quiet of fine dining as he could take them.
The deception he would have to pass off tonight was troubling him: as far as Arianna knew, Jed was simply his college friend and a freelance reporter. Jed was also not supposed to know about her MS, so Trent could say nothing about that. And what was the name of the fraternity he and Jed were supposed to have been in? Had they even invented a name? Trent planned to say as little as possible, for if he and Jed contradicted each other at any point, it could be disastrous.
Trent looked into Arianna’s watery blue eyes, desperately wishing they could share the night alone. Thin red veins stretched like map roads across her corneas. She was in a terrible mood: the scientists were getting nowhere, and she had just made the crushing decision to stop treating patients full-time because her strength was failing. Trent tried to reassure her it was only temporary, but her anger and frustration ran too deep.
She seized the newspaper on their table and flung it to the floor. “Screw the news.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This old OB-GYN on the Upper East Side is getting sued by the DEP for misplacing embryos. The man’s been in practice for forty-two years!”
Trent winced, looking behind her to make sure Jed wasn’t approaching.
“That’s horrible,” he said.
“Those DEP scum thrive off using scare tactics at the expense of good doctors like him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brian Hanson.”
“Brian Hanson? On the Upper East Side?”
Arianna frowned. “Yeah, you know him?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I think I know someone who went to him once.”
The response satisfied her, as Trent’s mind reeled from the connection. He thought about the day Dopp had disciplined the doctor in his own waiting room, how privileged Trent had felt to witness the chief in action. Now he wondered how gaunt the doctor’s face had become—and whether he was idealistic enough to fight or resigned to lose. Guilt seeped into Trent’s conscience like a foul mist, and he fumbled for a distraction.
“By the way,” he said, “how is Sam treating you lately?”
Her face fell to sadness. “Still ignoring me. You’re obviously not a threat, but whenever I say so, he gets even angrier.”
“You can’t blame him, though. It’s a tremendous risk to even refer to what you’re doing at all. You really shouldn’t talk about it.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s just hard for me to believe that there are people who don’t support what we’re doing, and not only that”—from behind her, Jed’s figu
re drew closer—“they are actually doing everything they can to—”
“It’s disgusting,” Trent interrupted. “But, hey, look who’s here.”
Arianna turned around.
“Hey, guys,” Jed said. His reddish hair was slicked back, oily as his smile.
Trent scooted over in the booth to make room for Jed, ignoring his own rising hostility. Then Arianna’s face lit up and Trent followed her gaze across the room. A pretty woman with auburn ringlets was walking toward them. Arianna jumped out of the booth unsteadily and limped over to hug her.
“How’s it going?” Jed whispered to him. “Any headway?”
“Nothing much,” Trent muttered. “She’s tough as a brick.”
The women walked back to the table with linked arms.
“Jed, Trent, this is my cousin Megan—”
Megan gasped.
“Wait a second,” she said, squinting at Jed. “You’re that reporter who was outside the clinic!”
Trent’s mouth dropped open: These two had met?
Jed looked just as shocked to see her. “Wait, wait,” he said, looking at Arianna as if for the first time. “You’re one of the doctors at that clinic? I had no idea you worked there!”
A true professional, Trent thought.
“It’s my clinic.” Arianna looked sharply at Jed. “What were you doing there?”
“I was researching a tip. I interviewed your cousin here when she walked out one day. But nothing ever came of it.”
“I told you nothing would,” Megan said as she and Arianna sat down.
“Sorry,” Jed said. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Such a small world,” Trent marveled. “Anyways, nice to finally meet you, Megan.” He extended his hand to her, hoping its shaking was imperceptible.
“Hang on,” Arianna said, still frowning at Jed. “You got a tip about my clinic?”
“Yeah. That you had record numbers.”
“According to whom?”
Jed did not waver. “A well-placed health source.”
“I see.” She paused. “I can’t imagine why anyone would tip my numbers to a reporter. Yes, we’ve been getting more popular, but who cares except for the patients on the waiting list?”
Jed shrugged. “A lot of times these things mean nothing, but you have to check it out for the hell of it.”
“What a coincidence,” Trent remarked.
“Yeah, dude,” Jed said, watching Arianna. “And when we went to dinner before, I met you and still had no idea.”
“That’s funny.” Arianna looked thoughtful. “So what are you working on now? Now that you’re done bothering my patients?” The defensiveness in her tone watered down her attempt at sarcasm.
“I’ve got a few leads,” Jed answered evenly. “A lack of cleanliness at a certain hospital, a virus spreading through Bronx schools.”
God, you’re quick, Trent thought.
A waiter came up to their table and took drink orders: soda for the women, vodka martinis for the men. Trent silently thanked the bored-looking man for appearing, and for every second he took up reciting the list of specials.
Afterwards, Megan looked at Trent and Jed apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her for a second,” she said, turning to Arianna. “Before we order, I need to ask about one of the drugs you prescribed—and trust me—” She turned back to them. “—it’s not very appetizing.”
“Go ahead,” Trent said. “By all means.”
“We’ll be right back.”
“That’s my life,” Arianna joked. “Always on call.” She got up to follow Megan, whose hand closed around her arm. Trent watched their receding figures until they were out of earshot.
* * *
Arianna felt Megan’s fingers clamping her biceps as they walked away from the table.
“What’s up?”
Megan steered her toward the back of the restaurant, past the raucous bar, to the restroom. She said nothing until the door closed behind them, sealing out the din of the restaurant. Then she scanned the bottom of each of the four stalls, verifying that they were the only occupants, and leaned hard against the door.
“This is all so bizarre,” she finally said. “I never expected to see that guy again.”
“I know,” Arianna agreed. “It’s a weird coincidence.”
“How do they know each other?”
“College. Trent told me they met in journalism class and then joined the same frat. I guess it’s not strange in that way—it makes sense that they both became journalists, although now Trent is writing a book.”
“And you met him at a book signing.”
“Right. The coincidence is really the fact that Jed covers the health beat, which somehow led him to my clinic. I just wonder who his source was.”
“Do you think Trent knows?”
“I doubt it; otherwise, he would have told me. But whoever it was had access to my numbers, so the person must have an in at the DEP.”
“Which makes me wonder—”
Arianna nodded. “How did Jed get to this person? And what else does he or she know?”
“Exactly. But you can’t ask Jed directly.”
“Plus I don’t want to seem concerned.”
“Should you be?”
“What do you mean?”
Megan’s thin eyebrows knitted. “What if he wants to reopen the story about the clinic? Now that he knows Trent has access to you, maybe he’ll pump him for details—I knew it was a bad idea to tell him!”
Arianna shook her head. “Seriously, Meg, what do you think means more to him? Helping his friend get a scoop or my life?”
“You haven’t known him that long, Arianna. And he’s been friends with this guy for years.”
“He’s not going to say anything. You sound like Sam.”
“Maybe Sam has a point. We can’t take any chances!”
Arianna sighed; why did no one trust her judgment anymore?
“You just don’t know him like I do,” she said. “He would never hurt me. If anything, confiding in him has widened my support system. You, Sam and the Ericsons, and now him—you guys are it for me. And I don’t even know about Sam anymore.”
“I hope you’re right. And what about Jed? Are you worried?”
“Well, I wasn’t that worried the first time you ran into him, and I’m not that worried now, for the same reason: If the DEP had any clue, they would have been all over me by now.”
“But what if someone there is still suspicious about your numbers?”
“So what? I’ve passed every inspection and audit.” A cunning smile tugged at Arianna’s lips. “So really, they’ve got nothing to go on.”
* * *
Trent and Jed both sighed as soon as Arianna and Megan disappeared into the back of the restaurant.
“Shit, man,” Jed said. “That was close.”
“You’re pretty fast on your feet.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe that chick is her cousin. Is she even allowed to treat family?”
Trent shrugged, feeling his gut tighten again. He wondered if there was any way Jed could tell. “Yeah, why not? Plus I’m sure she’s doing it for free.”
“Oh. So what do you make of the case so far? Do you think she’s going to tell you anything soon?”
“I think she would have by now. We’ve been hanging out for quite a while, so I don’t know why it’s taking so long. Maybe there’s nothing to tell?”
“Maybe. But she did seem to get kind of defensive about her numbers, like she had something to prove. Or maybe I’m reading into it.”
Trent shrugged again, aiming for subtle doubt and a hint of detachment. “Who knows? I’ve just got to do the job as long as the boss wants to. I hope we’re not wasting our time, though. For the department’s sake.”
“Yeah, me, too. So you’re not as eager about it as you used to be, huh?”
“I just don’t know if it’s been worth it. All this effort—for what?”
<
br /> “I hear you, man.”
The waiter returned to deliver their drinks. As soon as Trent’s vodka martini touched the table, he picked it up. “Cheers,” he said. “To effort paying off.”
Jed lifted his own. “I’ll drink to that.”
Their glasses clinked. The clear liquid stung Trent’s throat and dulled to warmth sliding into his stomach. When he set the glass down, he scanned the room and saw the women moving toward them, whispering to each other.
“They’re coming back,” Trent muttered. And then, louder, “So what neighborhood are you looking to move to?”
“I’m thinking about Murray Hill,” Jed replied without missing a beat. “The rent is more reasonable over there.”
Arianna and Megan scooted into the booth as Trent answered, “Yeah, prices are so crazy. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay in my place on my savings. Unless I sell my book.”
Arianna smiled at him encouragingly, but before she could speak, the waiter appeared again to take their orders. The waiter’s presence was comforting, and when he disappeared, Trent took another generous sip of his martini. He set the glass down with renewed energy.
“Let’s talk about something happy,” he declared. Off topic, he thought.
“I have something,” Arianna said. “My piano lessons!”
“Oh?” Jed asked. “You play?”
“Well, thanks to Trent, I’m taking lessons now. He surprised me with them!”
The previous night, Trent had invited Arianna over to meet a Juilliard piano professor for private lessons using his keyboard. He knew she had regretted never learning to play, and his thoughtfulness had thrilled her. When she sat down to play a scale, Trent had been surprised at the poignancy of the simple notes under her fingers—like a warrior’s call to battle, they sounded plaintive yet proud, the emotion of a symphony condensed into a scale. It was perhaps the greatest gift he could have given her—an outlet to express her exultant sense of life, which was precisely what had drawn him to her.
“Cool,” Jed said. “That was nice of you, man. What made you do that?”