“It could be a factor, but since you’d have to go to some effort, we can hold off for a while.” He wanted to say that he was horrified that any family could be so callous as to shut out as gifted and wonderful a woman as Irene, but that would not be proper or acceptable, especially now. “If it comes down to that, I can recommend a good firm to locate them. They’re very discreet.”
“I know of a good firm, too.” She recalled the detective firm that had traced Tim Stevenson to San Diego for her, and kept her informed of his life. They could be employed to locate her mother’s family, she guessed.
“Let’s do the tests first; no sense getting worked up over a little anemia.” He leaned forward and touched her arm. “Listen to me, Irene. I won’t let anything happen to you. I give you my word.”
“As a southern gentleman and a Texan?” she chided him. “Don’t tell me that yet, okay?” With an effort she disengaged her hands and smoothed her skirt. “How soon would you want me to do this? I’ll have to arrange with the housekeeper . . . Steven and Brice don’t need any more upsets. Especially Steven, since Sean Gradeston . . .” She looked at him. “They said he had an unknown blood disease.”
“There are all sorts of blood diseases, Irene; all sorts, and there are new conditions we’re identifying every day.” Reed shook his head, proud of the leonine mass of russet hair that was only slightly frosted with white. He was a good-looking man and knew it; often he took advantage of his attractiveness to distract his patients, but now he could not bring himself to use that. He was too worried about Irene Channing to charm her into false hopes. “That’s one of the reasons I want to do these tests, to eliminate any possibility that you might have come in contact with the same . . . oh, virus or contamination, whatever caused Sean’s death. Or any of the other factors that could enter into your problem. Don’t let it get to you, though: it’s a long shot, but I want to make sure you didn’t pick up a case of it.”
“Whatever it is?” she suggested.
“Whatever it is,” he concurred.
She watched him, perusing his features as if searching for a flaw in a painting. “You’ve almost convinced me,” she said finally. “Almost.”
“All right, almost is the operative word until you tell me otherwise,” he said with some of his gallantry returning. “I’ll do everything I can to show you—”
“Don’t start,” she interrupted him. “Please.” A little of her control was shaken and she brought one trembling hand to her face. “I . . .”
Impulsively, Reed came around his desk, his hands extended to her. “Irene. Don’t.” He pulled her to her feet and into his arms before he could remind himself that he never intended to reveal his feelings to her, not this way, not any way, not ever.
“Some bedside manner,” she said, swallowing hard against the panic in her chest. “Dale, I . . .”
He did not release her. “It’s not bedside manner, dammit.”
“I should hope not,” she rallied. “Half the husbands in Dallas would be after you with shotguns.”
“Stop it, Irene.” Now that he had gone this far, he let himself be lost. “This has nothing to do with doctor and patient. It has to do with you being my oldest friend’s widow. If you weren’t, I . . .”
“Dale, don’t be ridiculous.” She tried to push away from him, but changed her mind, finding absurd solace in being held.
“I’m forty-nine; no one’s ridiculous at forty-nine,” he said, his face against her shining hair.
“And the tests? Are they a ploy?” She knew better, but it was the one hope that she could seize upon. “An outflanking maneuver?”
“No. A post-opening private dinner would be an outflanking maneuver,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been thinking about trying it.”
She nodded. “And if I were, oh, Missus Jack Smith from El Paso, would you still order the tests?”
“Yes,” he said, no banter left.
“Because something’s wrong?”
“I’m concerned, I admit it. If you were a different patient, I might not be quite so worried, but I’d still want the tests done.”
“Oh.” This was hardly audible; Irene sought for strength to deny her dread, but could find nothing but the sting of anger and apprehension.
“It’s a little late now,” he said, finally moving a step back from her. “But suppose, Irene, suppose I had asked you to a post-opening private dinner. Would you come?”
“I’m counting on it,” she said, with more emotion than she realized.
“That makes two of us,” said Reed, feeling shaken and lightheaded. He had taken shameful advantage of her vulnerability and his position, he reminded himself sternly, and all he could do was repress the urge to grin.
“But tests first?” she said, sounding weary.
“It’s the most sensible way,” he told her, deliberately trying to minimize her apprehension. “That way, you won’t have unanswered questions hanging over you and you can get on with your work.” He wondered if he sounded too glib.
“And if I have answers I don’t like, what then?” She looked at him with her direct, unnerving stare. “What if you have every reason to be concerned, what if there is something seriously wrong?”
“There won’t be,” he said at once. “But on the off-chance that you might have something chronic, that will give you a little time to learn how to deal with it. You’ll be able to pace yourself better and be more on top of things.” He let his hands rest on her shoulders. “Irene, I shouldn’t have done this, and I won’t take any of it back. I would have said something later on. If I hadn’t been worried, it might never have come up.” This last was a lie, but he said it as much for himself as for her.
“Really? Do men cherish unrequited passion in this day and age?” She had meant it to sound teasing but it came out wistfully.
“This man was prepared to.” He meant it, and his manner told her that he would not modify his statement to suit her whim.
‘That’s a little daunting, Doctor Reed,” she told him, her face turned toward his.
“Does it frighten you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m too busy being scared of the tests to be frightened of you. Once I know if something’s wrong with me, then I’ll have a chance to be afraid of you.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “In the meantime, I plan to take full advantage of your involvement.”
“How tactfully you put that,” he said, moving away from her with reluctance. “Call me tonight, when you’ve spoken with the housekeeper, and I’ll make arrangements for you at the hospital.”
“All right.” She picked up her marten-fur coat and pulled it around her shoulders before he could help her with it. “I’ll do what I can to get everything settled. Will you visit me while I’m having the tests done?”
“Twice a day at least. More if I have the time and you want to see me.” There was a question hidden in his last few words and he waited for her response.
“Hospitals bore me when they don’t terrify me. I’ll monopolize you if I have the chance.” She started toward the door, then looked back at him. “Why did Margaret leave you?”
“She fell in love with someone. I wish I could say someone else, but she was never really in love with me. I don’t know if she thought she was. When she met Daniel Spears, it was as if a light went on in her that had never shone before. She would have mopped the floor with her hair for him.” Reed looked down at the top of his desk. “I understand they’re very happy together.”
“I’m sorry, Dale,” Irene said simply.
“I used to be. But that was some time ago.” There was no mistaking the intent of the look he gave her. “I’ll talk to you later, Irene.”
“Fine,” she said.
—Edgar Haliburton—
“Laurie’s fine,” said Doctor Haliburton t
o the Greys as Jonathon and Catherine faced him over the counter in the medical lab. “That’s the good news.”
“The only good news?” Catherine asked, shock making her face appear stark and old.
“It’s not that bad,” Haliburton assured her at once. “I want to do a few more tests, in case we’ve overlooked something obvious. If Marilee hadn’t . . .”
“Died,” Jonathon said bluntly. “She died.”
“Yes,” Haliburton agreed slowly. “If she hadn’t, I might not be so cautious, but under the circumstances, I believe that it is wisest, psychologically as well as medically, to check as carefully and as thoroughly as possible. Do you understand my purpose?”
“Yes,” said Catherine for Jonathon as well as herself.
“I realize that you have had a terrible loss,” Haliburton went on, determined to say something encouraging to these grieving parents. “I wish I knew what to say. If I had been on the case sooner, I might have been able to spare you this now, but since it’s only been six weeks, there’s a lot of ground to cover.” He knew that everything he said was dismaying to the couple, and he tried to minimize the impact of his words once more. “If I were in your place, I might end up deciding not to help out; there’s no reason you should. But there are others coming down with the same thing Marilee had, and . . . we want to find a way to treat it.”
“You mean Miss Cuante?” said Catherine, remembering the illness of Laurie’s ballet teacher. “Have there been other deaths?”
“Nine that we’re sure of, another four questionable, and we’re seeing more cases of it all the time. Most of them are teenagers, and we still don’t know why.” Haliburton did not know the way his face had changed, the hardness that had come over his features, sharpening his mild expression to one of honed determination.
“I’m . . . so sorry,” said Jonathon. “One of my employees got the disease. In a way I feel responsible.”
“You’re not,” said Haliburton promptly. “Whatever is spreading this bug, it isn’t your food, or all of San Diego would be sick by now, just because the people that eat in your restaurants have friends and family. And it would be spreading much faster than it is. We think that it has something to do with an unidentified toxin, and an unregistered toxic waste dump. We want to identify it.” He stared toward the banks of machines along the Wall, as if by will alone the computers would bring forth answers and solutions.
“And these tests help?” asked Jonathon.
“We hope they will. They can give us needed information. They might show us where to look for the cause, for the specific toxin that is behind the condition.” He put his hand out in an unconscious bid for aid. “We don’t want to see any more of this if we can.”
Catherine shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand this.”
“Neither do we, Missus Grey.” Haliburton met her eyes. “I hope we do before we lose any more.”
“Suppose we agree to help out—what would that entail?” asked Jonathon in a quick, decided way.
Haliburton concealed his relief; he knew that the Greys would be willing to cooperate if he did not press them too hard, and he did have access to their health records and the Standard Public School Blood Screens. “For one thing, we’d need to do a regular monitoring of your family. As I’ve said, Laurie is all right, but there are a few indications that I want to keep an eye on.”
“What indications?”
“There’s an odd reading—nothing dangerous in itself, you understand—on Adrenocorticotrophic Hormone and Corticotrophin Releasing Factor. These are chemicals found in the brain, and it’s true that there are subtle changes in this balance at puberty, The ACTH and CRF levels might tell us more about what—”
“Do you mean that she—and all of us—might have what Marilee . . . had?” Catherine asked, her voice becoming faint and her face paling.
“I doubt it,” Haliburton said quickly and mendaciously. “This has all the earmarks of something in the environment, and in cases like this where there may be contamination involved, I want to make sure that any change in you and people in your general area be noted and tracked. That means Laurie as well as everyone else,” he added for emphasis. “Just because no one else in the family has shown symptoms, it does not follow that there has been no further contamination. We have to be careful, not only for your family, but for all those who might be in the contamination range.”
“I can’t stand this,” Catherine said softly. “I don’t think I can take any more right now.”
“Catherine, honey,” Jonathon said, putting his hand on her arm, “we’ve got to listen.”
“But monitoring and tests . . .” She put her hand to her mouth and shook her head vigorously. “Please.”
“Missus Grey,” Doctor Haliburton said, “I remember you were one of the parents who supported the Standard Public School Blood Screens. You know what a difference it made and continues to make. Without it, Tunis Flu Two and Three would have been far worse than they were, and we might not yet have stopped AIDS. This isn’t much different than the SPSBS.” He looked to Jonathon. “You can understand the problem, can’t you?”
“I . . . think so,” Jonathon said slowly. “I think I see what you’re getting at.” He turned to Catherine. “We ought to do it, honey. We owe it to Marilee. If there’s anything that could go wrong because of what she had and we don’t do our part, we . . . we . . .” He put his arms around her. “Doctor Michaelson has been telling us all along that it will take time to work out what . . . what Marilee died of. You said you wanted to help, and now you can.”
She swallowed hard; her eyes were wet. “I keep wanting to put this behind us, the way we put Gary behind us.”
“It’s not the same thing,” said Jonathon to her, his words so sad that Haliburton felt a pang deep within himself in response.
“I know, and I know that we said we’d consider the tests and all the rest of it, but Jonathon, I don’t know . . . It’s been so hard already. What’s the point of dwelling on it?” Her eyes were reddening with her effort not to cry. “It’s bad enough that Marilee died, but if we’re constantly reminded, what then?”
“We have to . . . keep going.” Jonathon pressed his lips together, enforcing his self-control with determination. “And that might mean we have to help. There may be more to go through before it’s really behind us.”
Catherine nodded several times. “What about Jared and Shelley? Is there any reason to think that they might . . . have the same thing?”
“I don’t know yet, Missus Grey,” said Haliburton. “Between Ben Michaelson and this office, we hope to avoid that possibility.” He had great difficulty dealing with such naked pain, and was honest enough with himself to know that some of his passion for research sprang from his reluctance to deal with the helplessness and anguish of others. He sensed that he had come to a point where he might lose that precious insulation, which was briefly more distressing to him than the prospect of continuing deaths. At once he rebuked himself for his own cowardice.
“But constant tests . . . why?” Catherine asked. “Why more than one?”
“We don’t know what this is,” Haliburton repeated patiently. “Until we have an identification, we won’t know what we’re up against or what has to be done about it. I don’t mean to frighten you, or to cause you trouble, but your family has been touched by this trouble already and it won’t go away.”
“And once you know what it is, what then?” Jonathon was curious as much as worried.
“That will depend on a great many things,” Haliburton admitted. “I believe that whatever has caused this problem is related to a certain group of toxins, and there are methods for minimizing the damage they do. I won’t promise you that we can eliminate the effect from everyone totally, because, unfortunately, that simply is not possible. These conditions are very complex and o
ften the reactions cover a wide range of symptoms and recovery curves.” He paused, weighing his next words. “I wish I could tell you that all we had to do was identify the toxin and that would be that. I can’t. But if you agree to help us, we might speed up the identification, and that means that fewer people will be harmed by the contamination.”
“You’re certain that you’re dealing with contamination?” Catherine challenged.
“What else could it be?” Haliburton countered. “If it’s a matter of infection or contagion, I don’t understand . . .” He shook his head. “We aren’t ruling anything out, not yet. But I have to tell you that it isn’t likely that it is any disease. It might be that there is a disease factor, but without more tests, there is no way to—”
“What if it is a disease? What if it’s like the thing that killed all those sheep back in the Seventies? I remember Dad saying that there was lots more where that came from.” The words poured out of Catherine, and she was powerless to stop them. “What would all those tests be worth if it’s that kind of disease?”
Haliburton held her eyes with his own. “I don’t know. Which is all the more reason to do the tests.”
She looked from Haliburton to Jonathon. “I want to talk to Ben Michaelson. I’ll cooperate, but I want Ben to tell me what’s going on, every step of the way.”
“All right,” said Haliburton evenly. “That’s not an unreasonable condition.” He waited a moment. “I want to schedule tests for your family next week, and every month thereafter, at least for the next four months. It might be necessary to have more, but until we know more, this will provide basic comparisons. It’s for your own safety as much as the public safety, Missus Grey.” The last was more apology than warning.
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