The Iron Quill

by Shelena Shorts

  Realizing she wasn’t going to minimize the experience, I agreed. Clarra swept me into the dressing room. “Let me know if you need help,” she cooed. While I changed out of my clothes and into the dress, I could hear Clarra and my mother talking about the details.

  I slipped it over my head and felt the soft, thin chiffon slide down my body. It felt so light and carefree. Exactly how I wished to be. It was strapless, so I took off my bra, and once I finished zipping it up the side, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  The dress was a pale vanilla color, fitted through the bodice, and hanging gently in long, thin layers of nearly see-through chiffon. The only detailing was in the tiny row of pearl beading that circled the dress below my bust and the uneven hem that hung like upside-down rose petals.

  With even the slightest breeze, this simple dress would blow beautifully. It was perfect. When I stepped out, my mom immediately dug in her purse for a tissue.

  “Do you like?” I asked.

  She dabbed both corners of her eyes. “It’s perfect on you.”

  “It sure is,” Clarra added proudly as she approached me with several clips. “Step up here, dear.” She turned me toward a small platform and gave me an encouraging push. With me now a good two feet higher, she pulled my dress tight and clipped it in the back. Surprisingly, her adjustments made a big difference. I had thought the dress looked good before, but now it brought out every detail of my upper half in a way that made me feel beautiful.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Now, would you like to try on the jewelry and shoes?”

  “Actually, no jewelry.” I wanted to wear my necklace that matched the bracelet Wes had bought me for Christmas. But I did agree to the shoes and ended up choosing a pair of cream ballerina slipper-style shoes that would be comfortable when walking on gravel at the overlook.

  In a little over an hour, my mom and I were walking out of the store with my dress ordered and scheduled to arrive in four to six weeks.

  The time struck me, because I’d be nineteen in eight weeks and having just had a taste of how I felt wearing that dress, I said a silent prayer that Dr. Lyon and Dr. Carter would find that cure soon.

  Chapter 24

  ON THE BRIGHT SIDE

  I worked the rest of the week, and on the weekend, Wes invited me over for dinner with Dr. Carter. Can you say awkward? He was still a little shell-shocked about everything, but he and Wes had gotten to know each other all over again. Me? Well, we still felt like strangers.

  I supposed it would be easier for them to reconnect when Wes could answer all the questions about their past. But I was just as clueless as Dr. Carter was.

  Our conversation started in the living room while Wes was in the kitchen. Dr. Carter initially started asking me questions about my life, how I’d met Wes, and how Wes had told me about the past. He found it interesting, and the way we had both come to terms with everything gave us something in common. Trying to think of other ways to connect, I refocused on that puzzling dream where Dr. Thomas showed me a formula on the pages of his journal.

  It seemed like something he’d like to know, so I told him everything I saw. He was quiet, so I added, “I’m certain it was the formula to Wes’ serum, but wherever he put it, it seems long gone.”

  He looked at me and then studied his glass. I waited for him to say something enlightening or exciting, but he just quietly reflected and replied, “As it should stay.”

  I stared at him, a little shocked that he showed no interest in recovering the magic serum.

  At that point, the aroma from the kitchen became too strong to ignore. I excused myself to go see what Wes was up to when Dr. Carter spoke my name, prompting me to turn back.

  He cleared his throat. “We’re going to fix what they did to you.”

  I’d heard Wes say it, Tom say it, and my mom, but hearing him say it, too, made me believe it even more.

  “Thank you.”

  In the kitchen Wes was simmering some chicken breasts in a red sauce with green peppers. Sitting on a warmer was a pot of rice.

  “Smells really good,” I said, leaning over the pan.

  “So how did it go?” He motioned his head toward the living room.

  “Oh, it went well. It’s a little strange since I don’t have the memories you do, but he seems nice. I can see how it was easy to work with him. He has a good heart.”

  “He does,” he agreed.

  “And so do you,” I added.

  He gave me a slight smile and a long look that said maybe having that quality wasn’t enough. I wanted to encourage him, so I thought of something else positive to say.

  “Dr. Carter is pretty sure you’ll have a cure soon.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, turning his attention to the stove.

  We moved the food onto the serving dishes and carried them into the dining room. The three of us gathered at one end of the rectangular table, Wes at the head and Dr. Carter and I across from each other.

  For the first half of the meal, Wes and Dr. Carter talked about lab funding, and then Dr. Carter talked about his military career and his passion for helping save lives. He spoke regretfully about how misguided he’d been. How he’d been drawn into the cold-blood concept, and how disappointed he was in himself for not seeing the real picture.

  For the first time, I spoke up. “It wasn’t misguided, because it brought you and Wes together.”

  My theory took him back a little and then he smiled. “I never thought of it that way. Who knows where I’d be if I hadn’t taken that assignment.”

  “Looks like we’re all here for a reason,” Wes chimed in with confidence.

  Thinking of the three of us brought me back to Tom’s theory that my situation was not a coincidence.

  “I think that goes back to what Tom said. Obviously we all have a purpose in this.”

  The realization came to me as the words flowed out. Dr. Thomas’ knowledge was needed. Wes was needed to carry on the memories and the journey through time, and I was needed to bring it all together. There was no longer any doubt. I pushed away my remaining food.

  “You have to test it on me,” I urged.

  Wes dropped his head, but Dr. Carter studied me. With his attention, I kept talking.

  “You can’t let other people with this go on suffering because you’re afraid of white blood cells.”

  “This is serious, Sophie. Your body could shut down over this. You could die,” Wes said, now pushing away his own plate.

  “Wes, I don’t think I’ll die. I believe it will work. Seriously. If I don’t volunteer, it will be strictly for selfish reasons. And Amelia didn’t get anywhere by being that way. It was her selflessness that got you here, and if you expect anything out of life in return, you have to be willing to put others first. If I do this, everyone benefits. Everyone. Not just you or me.”

  “I remember you,” Dr. Carter murmured, astonished.

  Wes and I both looked his way, with wide eyes.

  “Well, not actually remember, but I’ve yearned to work with someone who inspires me to keep going, and all along it was you I was missing.”

  When I decided to sound like my mother by giving advice, I didn’t plan on it being so profound.

  “It’s not ready,” Wes interrupted.

  “It will be,” Dr. Carter countered. “It will be.”

  Wes and I cleaned the kitchen while Dr. Carter retreated to the study to go over his notes. Wes was quiet and worry waves were rolling off of him. It was so obvious that I didn’t need any reptile sense to pick up on the vibe.

  Hating to see him so tense, I hugged him from behind, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. He paused and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want you to do it, Sophie.”

  “I know,” I whispered. I wanted to tell him it was worth the risk. That I’d be fine, but I just squeezed him until he turned around and hugged me back. Neither of us was willing to jump into anything too risky, so we just left it at that.

  I d
id however mention the idea to my mom, and she was surprisingly all for it, and Tom was thrilled to possibly witness what he called the Revolutionary Cure.

  After that, Wes and I fell into the routine of going to movies and eating in, and before I knew it, the test trial was ready . . . way sooner than I’d anticipated. While Wes and I had been busying ourselves with things to take our minds off of the virus, Dr. Carter and his team had worked around the clock to come up with the cure before my virus spread any further. It was only a couple of weeks before Dr. Carter called to say that the serum was ready.

  Wes almost wasn’t going to tell me. In fact, had I not been sitting right next to him when the call came, he might not have. He was that worried, but I couldn’t sit around and do nothing, so I convinced him it was our only option for the long term.

  Once everyone was in agreement, things became so intense and uncertain that we decided to push my starting college off until the spring semester. I had been accepted to Berkeley, but there was no way I could think about upcoming schoolwork and getting my life straightened out. So I picked up some hours at Healey’s and prepped for the trial.

  I didn’t even want to know what was in it. It was enough that it would rid me and millions of others of the burden of carrying around a silent killer. Therefore, I did what my mom usually did. I brushed the details under the rug and blocked them out. I knew I’d be mentally stronger by not thinking about it.

  Before the medicine could be administered, I was put through a lot of pretests to check blood counts and current organ functions. By August, I was cleared for the trial. On a sunny Monday morning, Wes drove me to the lab.

  Once I was in a pale green gown, sitting atop an examination table, Dr. Carter administered a shot in my right shoulder. It hurt like a tetanus shot. Immediately, a cool burning sensation spread through my arm. I cringed at the odd sensation, and Wes started reeling off questions with composure.

  “What’s happening, Doctor?”

  “What do you feel?” Dr. Carter asked, securing the large Band-Aid over the site of the injection. I told him how my arm felt.

  “That’s expected,” Dr. Lyon said.

  Everyone was staring at me and after a minute, the pain in my arm went away.

  “It’s gone now,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” Dr. Carter said, seeming satisfied.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  Dr. Carter transferred comments and notations to my medical chart and then answered, “We wait.”

  It seemed simple enough, but I looked around feeling uncomfortable. “How long do I have to stay here?” I asked.

  “Just for a little while. We’re going to keep you for observation for a few days.”

  At the lab? That’s not what I had in mind, but that was their plan, so I went along, with minimal complaining.

  Wes and my mom spent every waking hour with me, and Wes stayed while I slept. The next day, they ran test after test to see how my body was reacting. My results did show a slight peak in my white blood cell count the following day. And on the next day, I ran a fever of 102.1°.

  Wes was out of his mind, but Dr. Carter and Dr. Lyon insisted it was fine. So far nothing had occurred that wouldn’t follow any standard present-day vaccine.

  On day three, I was able to go home, and on day four, I was tested for the virus. It came back an overwhelming, disappointing positive.

  “Damn it,” Wes whispered as soon as Dr. Carter read the results. It was the second time I’d heard him curse.

  “It’s all right,” Dr. Carter assured him. “It’s only been a few days. Let’s give the medicine a chance to work.”

  “Why isn’t it working already?” Wes pressed.

  “It may be,” Dr. Carter replied. “We have to give it a chance to isolate all of the virus. If any remain, it will show a positive result.”

  “Don’t give up,” Dr. Lyon added. “It’s a success already.”

  Wes shot him a hard glare. “She’s still positive,” he urged.

  “Yes, but she’s also exhibiting no signs of her body attacking itself. That’s encouraging.”

  Wes took a deep breath, trying to remove his personal feelings from the situation. Once he looked at it from the outside, he saw that I was a test subject and the trial they’d just run was huge, and I showed no major signs my body was rejecting the serum. Even if it didn’t work completely, it was a huge step forward.

  I took his hand and gave it a squeeze to relax him and let him know I was all right. After a few more checks and notations to my chart, I was free to go for the day.

  On the way to my house, I decided I was ready for a change. I wanted to move forward and felt like I’d given my all to combat the virus inside me, and if that didn’t work, I was ready to accept it for what it was and to live my life to the fullest. If it wasn’t successful, I didn’t want the dark cloud to permanently reign over me.

  That’s when I felt ready.

  I waited until we pulled up to my curb to tell him and just came out with it. “Wes, I want to get married . . . on my birthday.”

  His emotions had been in knots for weeks and now he looked like he was going to crack from the roller coaster ride.

  “Sophie, you said—”

  “I know what I said. And I feel good about what we’ve done up to now. No matter what happens, I want to focus on being with you. That’s it. And I want to do it on my birthday because I refuse to let the number nineteen rule me. I want us to be in control on that day.”

  I thought he might come up with a few reasons why we should wait and focus on the trial, but he just got out of the car, came around to my side, and opened my door. When I stepped out, he hugged me in an embrace that lifted me off the ground.

  “Okay,” he whispered in my ear.

  Instantly, nothing else mattered in the world. Fate couldn’t take away the happiness I felt when I was in his arms. Not Andy, not Tim, not anyone.

  Once I told my mom about the date, she freaked over the short time frame she had to prepare. “I can’t put on a wedding in three weeks.”

  “I don’t want a production. Just a small ceremony and no reception, please.”

  She walked in circles a few moments before smiling with a sigh. “Fine,” she agreed and in no time, she was holed up in her bedroom with her wedding planning books. She even took charge and spoke to Wes about his duties and attire.

  The following Thursday, Mom took me to ring shop for Wes—something I would’ve completely forgotten about had she not reminded me. She offered to help pay for his ring, but I had enough saved up to buy it myself.

  The style was easy. I went with a plain platinum band that was wide enough to look masculine, but thin enough not to get in the way of everyday activities. What was more difficult was deciding how to personalize it. I originally wanted to put the numbers: 16-63-09 on the inside, because those are the years he met Amelia, Lenny, and me. But then I remembered that Wes had chosen a brand new ring for me because he wanted our wedding to represent Sophie and Wes’ story.

  This is my story, I thought. How do I want it to go?

  After a few minutes of thinking, it came to me.

  On the inside of his ring, I had the words For tomorrow engraved, hoping it would keep him looking toward a new day. No matter what happened.

  Chapter 25

  THE FINAL RESULTS

  For my fourth follow-up test, Mom and Tom drove me to the lab. It was determined that if after three weeks I was still testing positive, the cure would be considered ineffective and they would go back to the drawing board.

  I really didn’t want to go, because my mind was in a zone getting prepared for my wedding. The thought of getting news I didn’t want to hear was bringing me down a bit.

  Once we arrived, the procedures for awaiting the preliminary results were the same.

  Wes had stocked my favorite cookies, candies, and drinks in the lounge to keep me occupied.

  Wes, surprisingly, ended up eating most of the candies, an
d my mom munched on the Sun Chips like they were going out of style. Tom kept his cool as always.

  After the first hour, the silence was killing all of us, so my mom decided to drop some wedding bombs.

  “So, Sophie,” she started, while brushing the crumbs from her palms. “I have a little bit of news regarding your wedding.”

  I teetered back and forth between not wanting to hear it while I was at the lab and wanting to hear it because I was at the lab. I went with the second option, remembering the whole need to be in control of my life.

  “What’s up?” I said, finally caving and opening a Sprite.

  “Well, I’ve been working on the guest list.”

  “Mom! No guests. I just want it to be us. And the Healeys. I already told you that.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll only do this once, and I want it to be as nice as it can be for you.”

  I raised a brow, calculating how many of her co-workers she invited when she spilled.

  “I invited Kerry, and she’s flying in.” My first thought was perfect, in a good way, and then I flipped, because I hadn’t told Kerry about my incident yet.

  “Kerry doesn’t know about my attack,” I said.

  “That’s fine, honey. I didn’t tell her anything. I just invited her to the wedding. She’s coming with Rich.”

  I exhaled a deep breath. That wasn’t so bad.

  “Who else?” I asked, knowing there was more.

  “Well . . . I sort of spoke with your father.”

  “What?!” I thrust my back into the couch.

  “Yeah, well, he is your father and I thought he should know you’re getting married. And no, I didn’t tell him about the attack, either. You can call and tell him if you want.”

  “Mom, I haven’t called him since I was like twelve.”

  “Well, you won’t have to.” She braced for the wrath to follow.

  “What does that mean?”

  “He said he’s coming.”

  “Oh my gosh. Mom . . . I don’t want any drama on that day. Any other day, but not that day.” I sounded so childish, but geez. All I wanted was a small ceremony with just Wes and me, and now my father would be coming?