by Kava, Alex
No, Emma guessed that being in the advertising business her mother probably saw the whole “pink thing” as a way to avoid white. Her mother was very big into subliminal messages. You are what people think you are. That was a favorite line her mother used. It totally worked for her. Besides, she’d already done the white-dress thing with Emma’s dad. No sense in reminding people, and at the same time, why not pretend that she cared about breast cancer?
Emma was very certain that when it came her turn, she would definitely choose white. Not like it was something she needed to worry about right this minute. How could she have time for boys when her dad kept nagging her about college applications and scholarship stuff and keeping her grades up. All Emma really cared about were the gorgeous sling-back shoes that matched her bridesmaid’s dress. Even if pink wasn’t quite her color she knew she looked hot in those shoes.
She glanced at the other magazines spread around her, all of them flipped open to must-read articles. In Cosmo was “The Four Things He Doesn’t Dare Tell You.” Entertainment Weekly had something about Project Runway. The TV show The Office was on the cover. J Lo was all aglow in People. Exciting stuff and yet Emma chose to stick with the packet of love letters.
September 16, 1982
Dear Liney,
It was so good to see you. I wish you were still here. I can’t believe how much I miss you.
J.B. is still going on and on about the grape jelly beans you bought him. He’s just jealous. He knows he’ll never be like me and get someone like you. You know, it’s funny I can’t even remember knowing, let alone mentioning to you that grape was his favorite flavor, but you’re amazing.
So are you wearing the T-shirt I gave you? I knew you’d love it. It about killed me to not give it to you this summer. I bought it the day we went to the Art Institute. Do you remember how I didn’t even want to go? Vatican art? Who cares? Remember? But you made that whole day such an adventure I wanted to repay the favor. I’m big on that, you know. I always repay favors. And it was easy to sneak off and buy it when you were standing there mesmerized. Actually, it was when you were looking at the one by that Caravaggio dude, Deposition from the Cross. See, I remember. I’ve been telling you, I’m a details guy.
Also, I wanted to apologize again for leaving you right when the pizza got there. Even if it was just an hour. My sister’s such a moron. I can’t believe she had to pick Saturday night to call me. She’s been trying to guilt me into coming home. Like I told you, that’s not my home anymore. I know you said it wasn’t a big deal and I know you’re not mad or anything. Sometimes I wish my family would just disappear, you know?
Emma heard a car door slam and started folding and tucking the letters safely away. She rolled her discarded sweatshirt around the packet and grabbed the People magazine just as her dad came in the front door.
CHAPTER
49
USAMRIID
Platt took over the small conference room next door to his office. He made a pot of coffee and ate an apple he found in his desk drawer. He started retrieving, sorting and compiling information. In no time he had the contents of file folders spilled across the tabletop. On his laptop computer he accessed documents, browsed and read and printed out pages that went into a separate stack. And on a legal pad he scrawled a series of lists and notes.
On one page he jotted bits and pieces about Ebola Zaire.
The symptoms:
First stage (within 1–2 days of infection) :
fever, severe headache, sore throat, muscle aches, weakness, nosebleed.
Next stage (within a week, as little as 3 days) :
vomiting, abdominal pain, jaundice, diarrhea, conjunctivitis (red eyes).
Final stage (7–21 days) :
tissue destruction, organ failure, massive hemorrhaging, shock, respiratory arrest, death.
On a separate pile was everything he could find about the vaccine, including a copy of the original report that first appeared in the Journal Public Library of Science Pathogens, January 2007. The research team that developed the vaccine had been from Canada’s National Microbiology Laboratory in Winnipeg and USAMRIID, right here at Fort Detrick.
On another page he scribbled pieces about the vaccine:
Most effective when giving injections in a series (comparable to rabies shots)
Administered after infection within 30 minutes—90% survival rate.
24 hours after infection—50% survival rate.
Administered before infection—potential for the vaccine to protect but unproven to date.
Tests to date all performed on macaque monkeys. Human trials limited. Not enough data to establish survival rates.
Not approved by the FDA.
Would require an emergency “compassionate use” permit.
Platt underlined “compassionate use.” He wouldn’t have time to make an argument to the FDA, but as part of a military research facility he would try to find an exception. He’d do whatever it took. Janklow had said that there were sacrifices that often had to be made in war zones and in hot zones. The same was true about exceptions.
He remembered Afghanistan and a makeshift medical facility in the back of a truck. Every time they came under fire the protocol was to move, get the hell out, but in the middle of an amputation no way could you rumble to safety. So you sat in the line of fire, trying to keep the soldier on the gurney from bleeding to death and hoping all of you didn’t get blown apart.
No one ever questioned breaking protocol. You did what you had to do under special circumstances. Protect and serve. You certainly didn’t leave a soldier behind to bleed to death and you didn’t stand back and watch while four people under your care crashed.
In a short time, Platt was finished. He packed up what he needed, left the mess in the conference room to clean up later, locking the door behind him. Then he headed back up to the labs, the confidence back in his stride. As the head of the facility he required no other signature but his own. He didn’t need Janklow. He didn’t needed McCathy. All he needed now was the vaccine.
CHAPTER
50
Reston, Virginia
Tully rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. He had spent the afternoon fast-forwarding through security tapes from Quantico. He had looked at three-days’ worth and found no one entering who didn’t belong and nothing remotely close to a doughnut box being carried in. He was exhausted. He wanted simple and easy like paper plates. They had to have paper plates.
Emma leaned over the service counter, watching him, not helping, of course, just watching. Then out of the blue she asked, “How did you and Mom meet?”
“Excuse me?” The question startled him so much he bumped his head on an open cabinet door.
“Mom. Where’d you meet her?”
“I think it was at a party or something.” He made it sound like no big deal instead of adding that Caroline had been wearing a baby-blue sweater and pearls. He remembered thinking she was the classiest act he had ever met. “She was with a buddy of mine.”
“You stole her away?”
He found paper plates, an unopened package. “Not exactly,” he told Emma. “I guess she thought I was charming or something.”
He pulled out a shaker of hot peppers and grated parmesan cheese and suddenly remembered that Caroline hated getting any hot peppers on her side of the pizza. Then he realized he didn’t know whether or not Gwen liked hot peppers or grated parmesan. He still put them out on the counter.
“When did you stop?” Emma asked.
“When did I stop what?”
“Being charming.”
He quit rummaging and glanced back at her. “You’ll have to ask your mother.” Then he turned to give her his full attention. “Why the sudden interest in all that? I thought you were happy your mother was getting married?”
“I guess I’m glad she’s happy. It’s just…I don’t know. He’s so different from you.”
“Evidently your mother wanted different.”
> “I guess. But he’s such a dork.”
This made Tully smile. “So I’m not a dork?”
“For sure not. You’re like…I don’t know, like Indiana Jones.”
“Indiana Jones?” It seemed an odd reference for his teenage daughter, but then he remembered there was a new movie in the series. Strange to have his daughter referencing someone, even if it was a movie character, that he actually knew.
“Indiana Jones. Rugged but cool, not so smooth sometimes but funny…all in a good way.”
“Well, Conrad makes your mother happy. That’s the important thing, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” She came around the counter now and started helping him, getting napkins out and silverware. “And Dr. Patterson…I guess she makes you happy?”
Tully watched her tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear as she busied herself with pulling drinking glasses out of the cabinet.
“Yes, she does.”
“What about Maggie?”
“What about Maggie?”
Emma shrugged. She avoided looking at him. There was another swipe at her hair. “I don’t think she’s interested in that Nick guy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Like get real. He didn’t even know she wasn’t coming home. She obviously hadn’t called him.”
“Good point.” Tully nodded, keeping that in mind and reassuring himself. He hadn’t told Morrelli where Maggie was or why he was taking her dog. He had figured the same thing as Emma—if Maggie wanted the guy to know, she would have told him herself.
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Maggie? Of course I like her. Sweet pea, Maggie’s my partner, my coworker.”
“Mom worked with Conrad for a while before they started, like, dating or anything.”
“That was different.” He wasn’t sure where all this was coming from. “They didn’t work for the same company. Your mom is the CEO of an advertising agency. He’s what? The vice president of a pharmaceutical company.”
He opened the refrigerator to check for sodas, when he really wanted to sit Emma down and ask what was going on. He knew better than to make a big deal of her questions or else she’d never ask questions again. “Maggie and I are friends,” he said and moved on to check the ice maker. “You’re gonna really like Gwen. I promise.”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter. Flipped her hair back to reinforce that it didn’t matter.
As if on cue the doorbell rang and Harvey came running into the kitchen, circling Emma, making sure she was okay. Emma smiled but Tully knew it was because of Harvey and not anything he had said. He went to answer the door and took a deep breath when he knew Emma couldn’t see him. Everything would work out. Of course the two women he cared about would like each other.
CHAPTER
51
Razzy’s
Pensacola, Florida
Rick Ragazzi couldn’t believe his luck. Just when the refrigerator repair job was finished—okay, $778—he got the call from his best waiter, telling him he couldn’t make it in tonight. Something about a Jet Ski accident and being in the emergency room at Baptist Hospital. Rick had heard sirens in the background.
Saturday night was the absolute worst to find a substitute, especially an hour before the shift began, which meant Rick had to fill in. And he was feeling like crap, full-blown flu symptoms—fever, headache, muscle ache and a nosebleed that stopped only long enough for him to take orders. As soon as he retreated to the kitchen, it started all over again.
Joey was giving him a hard time about it, calling him a cokehead because he knew it was safe. Rick was no closer to being a cokehead than Joey was to being an altar boy. It was funny until the fourth or fifth time and then his cousin grew concerned. He grabbed Rick’s arm at one point during the evening and took him aside.
“What’s going on, dude? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
“Just a bug,” Rick told him.
Then he realized he was probably inflicting his bad luck on every one of his customers. He’d need to be more careful, though he had already accidentally gotten a finger in someone’s soup. A little boy at table five kept sticking his French fries into Rick’s ear every time he leaned over to serve the rest of the boy’s family. Who knows what else? He didn’t feel good. It was difficult to pay attention. Toward the end of the evening it was difficult to care.
Joey pulled Rick aside again when the dessert crowd came. He made him drink a syrupy concoction that tasted like black licorice and coffee.
“My dad swears by this stuff,” Joey told him. “He claims it’ll cure anything from a hangover to anthrax. I can testify to the hangover. Fortunately, I have no idea about the anthrax.”
“What are you talking about? Uncle Vic’s never been drunk or sick a day in his life.”
“Yeah, right,” Joey said. “My mom says he was quite the party hound before his FBI days.”
Rick couldn’t help thinking that Joey actually sounded, if not proud, then somewhat pleased.
“We just know him as Mr. FBI man,” Joey told him. “Mr. Macho Shithead, Mr. My-Way-or-the-Highway.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Nah. I’m not disappointed. I just wish he’d remember sometimes that he wasn’t always perfect.”
Rick watched Joey get back to his soufflé. And more than ever Rick realized that he’d never be able to tell his cousin about the thousand dollars his dad had sent.
CHAPTER
52
Reston, Virginia
“For centerpieces they’re having pink and white calla lilies,” Emma was telling Gwen as Tully sat miserably across from them hoping for something, anything that would get his daughter to stop talking about his ex-wife’s upcoming nuptials. He’d even considered kicking her under the table. And Gwen was being polite, listening and nodding like Tully imagined she did with her patients, especially the severely narcissistic ones. But then who could be more narcissistic than a teenager?
It had taken Tully two slices of pizza—one piece of his favorite, supreme, and another of Emma’s favorite, pepperoni—for him to realize Gwen somehow knew what their favorites were. His, he could understand. They’d gone out for pizza, but had he ever mentioned Emma’s favorite? Was it coincidence that she had chosen pepperoni? After all, lots of people liked pepperoni pizza.
He watched Gwen smile at Emma. God, this woman had a great smile. It crinkled her nose a bit and showed off the tiny freckles. But there was something tight in the smile tonight. She said she had just come from seeing Maggie.
“How is she?” he’d asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” she had answered too quickly, obviously not wanting to discuss any of it before dinner and in front of Emma.
Now Gwen asked Emma about the sling-back shoes that the bridesmaids were wearing. Tully couldn’t help thinking she was a glutton for punishment, but somehow she managed to look interested.
That’s when Tully decided it was no coincidence that Gwen had brought both his and Emma’s favorite pizzas. She’s a psychologist, for God’s sake, of course, it was no coincidence. All of Emma’s questions earlier about him and her mom had stirred up a sense of nostalgia. Gwen bringing his favorite pizza reminded him that Caroline used to buy him his favorite flavored jelly beans. At the time he was never sure whether or not it was because she cared about him or she simply wanted to make her old boyfriend jealous. With Caroline there always seemed to be an ulterior motive to everything she did.
“They have over two hundred people invited,” Emma announced like it was a competition.
Tully thought Caroline hadn’t changed much. It sounded as if she was using even her wedding as a way to impress her friends and colleagues. He had wondered more than once or twice during their marriage if she regretted her choice of husband, especially when Tully settled into the FBI field office in Cleveland. After all, he wasn’t the D.C. hotshot making the evening news and busting up cases like the Unabomber or the Beltway Sniper
s or finding Eric Rudolph in the woods.
Even now with all of Caroline’s own successes—she still seemed to be looking for something or someone else to make her bigger and better. That wasn’t fair, Tully realized. Maybe she really loved this boy VP. And he realized that despite the feeling of nostalgia there was no longer that sense of loss that he had felt in the early days after the divorce. He couldn’t remember when it disappeared. Didn’t know that it had disappeared so completely until this very moment. It was gone and that was the important thing.
Emma had finally taken a breath long enough to let Gwen talk. When Tully tuned back into the conversation he couldn’t believe his ears. The two of them had gone from pink wedding dresses and sling-back shoes to Gwen telling Emma about a New York university that specialized in fashion design. And Emma was actually listening.
God, he loved this woman. Then his stomach did a pleasant flip. Evidently it was an evening for revelations, because he hadn’t realized before how much he did care about…perhaps even loved, Gwen Patterson.
Tully sat back, watching the two of them. Neither one appeared to remember he was in the same room, let alone at the same table. Harvey came over and laid his chin on Tully’s knee. He patted the big dog’s head, the two of them bonding after being ousted by their women. Except that Harvey really just wanted Tully’s pizza crust.