Homework. She hadn’t thought of homework, either. She hadn’t thought of a lot of things, all of which seemed to be yammering for attention right now. Perhaps it would be best to let him go on to school, keep life as near normal as possible. A copout; you just want to get to work.
“Tell you what. You get ready for school, I’ll get ready for work, and we’ll eat at the Extraburger.”
“Like we do?”
“Yes. However, Mutt will have to stay here. She can’t get around well with that cone on her neck.”
“By herself?”
Dinah stared from the dog to Jonah. Jonah who hardly slept last night, who was now living in a new place, had a whole new life, and what could she tell him? Think, Dinah. You are known for your ability to think on your feet, now do so. They returned to the apartment.
“Well, she can’t go to school with you.”
He looked around at the white world. “What if she has an accident in the house?”
“Has she ever had an accident?”
“Not since she was little but…” He chewed his bottom lip. “She wasn’t hurt before, either.”
You should pick him up today. But the last time she did that, things didn’t go well. So many things to think about, and she had an interview to prepare for. “You get ready and we’ll talk about this on our way to the Extraburger.”
Dinah kept the Don’t think command at the front of her mind as she dressed in a men’s-wool-suiting, warm, white three-button jacket with matching slacks. She filled in the neckline with a scarf in hues of violet, magenta, and deep blue. Silver loop earrings and an etched silver bracelet finished the ensemble. She stared in the mirror. She would need to do heavier makeup for the camera, but that would be last minute. She looked pretty bleary. Two-inch heels; she refused to wear trendy shoes after a chiropractor warned her that shoes like those were helping keep bone and muscle people in business.
Jonah waited patiently on the sofa, backpack at his feet and dog halfway in his lap. He kissed the top of her head, promised Mutt he would come back after school, and said sorry she couldn’t go along today, but soon. She followed him to the door but didn’t try to go out.
Dinah locked the deadbolt behind them and they took the elevator down to the lobby. Dinah wanted to reach out and set Jonah’s cap straight, but he always wore the bill sideways and she figured he had a reason. Probably something his dad did. Would he ever talk about his father?
Jonah looked up at her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting Mutt sleep with me on the sofa last night.”
“You are welcome. This weekend we’ll get a bed for you.”
“We could go to my house and get my bed from there.”
“That’s true. We could.” A blast of wind bit them as they rounded the corner to the Extraburger. At least it hadn’t started raining again. Maybe, should have, what if, all bombarded her if she allowed herself to think of anything other than the coming interview. Preparing for that kept her mind occupied enough that she could fend off more personal things. Like a little boy and his dog now living with her.
“The usual?” Tattoo asked.
“Yes, please.” Dinah paused. “What is your name? As long as we’ve been coming here I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Eric, Ms. Dinah.” His neck pinked. “Where’s your dog, Jonah?”
“She stayed home today.”
“Strange to see you without her.”
“Some other dogs beat her up and the vet said she should be quiet for a while.”
He frowned. “She gonna be okay?”
Jonah nodded.
“Glad to hear that. I’ll bring your order to your table.”
“Thank you.”
Breakfast as usual. Had last night really happened, or was she still walking around in some dream world? Jonah ate, thanked her, and left as usual. She went upstairs to her offices as usual.
April smiled as she entered. And the usualness ended.
“Jonah’s mother died early this morning.”
April sucked in air. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t get much sleep, did you? How is Jonah? Want to cancel the interview?”
“I was thinking about it, but no. I just want to get it over with.”
“So that explains the lawyer’s call. A Mr. Jensen.” April handed her half a dozen orange slips.
Dinah nodded. Coffee in hand, she headed to her office.
Last night was real. Her lack of sleep was real. The coming interview was going to be on her before she had time to finish her coffee. Too real.
She tapped in the number on an orange slip and hit the speaker. “Mr. Jensen? This is Dinah Taylor. You left me a message.”
“Thank you, Dinah. I just want you to know that everything has been taken care of. Corinne did not want to put Jonah through a funeral, but I think it wise if we have a bit of a gathering with their neighbors and some folks from their church. People talking about how much Corinne meant to them.”
“I value your judgment, and I agree, Jonah ought to have some sort of closure. But I’d like to run any plans past him first.”
“As you wish. We’ve arranged to have the condo cleaned and painted and put up for sale. I will have Jonah’s things delivered in the next couple of days. If he asks for anything, we will get it to him. All his mother’s keepsakes and the pictures on the walls will be boxed in case he wants them someday.”
“He was asking about his bed. I don’t have a second bedroom.” At least until she could get her home office rearranged for his bed and things. What all did a small boy need?
“I’ll see about it.”
“And he wanted to go to school today as usual, so I let him. Apparently he has a spelling test.”
A brief silence. Then, “Keeping things as normal and routine as possible may be the best policy. My assistant has already informed the school about his mother and that you are in loco parentis. She’s taking the school some papers with Corinne’s signature to confirm it. There shouldn’t be any problem.”
Well, there was a problem once. I wonder if the police still consider me a pervert. Another rush of panic swept over her briefly. This was all so weirdly weird.
The deep voice spoke gently. “If you have any questions at all, please feel free to call.”
“Thank you. Please keep me informed.” Staying in professional mode could cover a hundred feelings. Is that what Jonah did, bury his feelings? Stay analytical? Go on as normal? The former normal would never return, not for either of them.
They goodbyed. Silence. She dropped the orange slip in the wastebasket and looked at the next one. Maybe normal and routine was the best for Dinah, too. Keep her occupied, lest she realize the enormity of what had been dumped on her.
April rapped and entered. “They’ll be setting up the video equipment, and the interviewers are to arrive at twelve thirty. You don’t need to see them until ten minutes before it starts, if you don’t want to. No gracious host or any such thing. Hal said to remind you this will probably be an adversarial interview. He says he will be here at noon.”
“Sounds good.”
April left.
Dinah had just enough spare time to sit down and sprawl out in her chair, shut her eyes, and take a series of deep breaths, exhaling all the tension away. At least that was the way it was supposed to work. This time it didn’t, of course.
A gentle rap on the door; “Time,” April called softly.
On one more exhale, Dinah opened her eyes. “Makeup time.” By habit, Dinah did her own makeup rather than bringing someone in. It was rare that she needed powder and paint; her only public appearances, usually, were product rollouts.
With moments to spare, April and she made their way to the conference room, now set up with five comfortable chairs and a low table with several pots of blooming tulips and daffodils. A display of the company products took over one corner of the room; the lighting could have been adjusted a little better—the right-hand
side looked a bit dark.
Two cameras on wheels and one on the photographer’s shoulder seemed like overkill to Dinah. The conference table had been shoved back against the wall; only the dents in the carpet from its heavy feet marked where it had stood. This did not at all look like her conference room anymore, and that put her off balance a bit. So did the one reporter’s appearance. She was an older woman, toothpick slim, with professional hair and makeup. Watching her, Dinah felt somewhat frumpy. The other woman, the expert, Dinah assumed, was not so obviously manicured for the camera. But she was prim, straight-backed, with a grim, no-nonsense set to her chin and horn-rimmed glasses. Seated casually in the middle chair was a third reporter, an august-looking gentleman with graying sideburns. He, too, was impeccably dressed and made up. A second reporter?
“Oh, there you are.” The older woman looked at Dinah. “I was beginning to wonder. You’ll sit here.” She waved a hand. “Pete and Marty will sit there”—she waved again—“and your moderator can have that chair.”
Dinah might as well throw down the gauntlet right away. “I asked for one reporter and subsequently acquiesced to a photographer and expert.”
She frowned. “Obviously, your people failed to brief you. Pete and I will be asking the questions. Marty is our expert adviser. I hope you don’t try to snow us with a lot of scientific blather; Marty knows biochemistry and physiology better than you do.”
Dinah felt her face flush hot, but she let the snub go, for now, and crossed to the woman with the glasses. “Marty. Expert—ah, of course. Martha Harding.” She extended her hand for a shake. “I have read your work on fibrocalculous pancreatopathy. Very well researched. I am delighted that you can be with us.” She gripped the woman’s hand firmly and received a firm grip in response. “Frankly, Dr. Harding, considering the long list of your credentials, you seem quite young.”
The woman smiled softly. “So do you, Dr. Taylor.”
The slim woman snapped impatiently. “Please sit down, Ms. Taylor. We want to get started here.”
Was rearranging her old familiar conference room a ploy on this woman’s part to make her feel uncomfortable? Along with the verbal slaps? She could almost think so. On the other hand, it gave the cameras more room to move around. But why should they have to? A hundred thoughts raced around in Dinah’s head; sometimes such a scramble of ideas was a blessing, sometimes a curse. But this time they showed her a route to take. Ignore the professional snub and don’t let it rattle you—that’s her purpose.
Her guiding thought had to be, I am here to help people, to improve their health, and I know my stuff.
Yes, but they brought an expert.
And then, But you are an expert, Dinah!
She bridled her runaway thoughts and hardened her voice. “I am assuming you are Constance Maloney. My associate, April, mentioned your name. You will use the appropriate honorific, Ms. Maloney; it is Doctor Taylor; and please keep in mind that you are the guest here.”
“Unless it is an earned doctorate, I see no need to—”
Dinah interrupted her, something she rarely did. “Earned doctorates in both physiology and biochemistry, with post-docs at Johns Hopkins and Mayo.” She did not sit down. “Apparently you did not read the materials we sent you.”
“I read enough of them to know you’re a charlatan. But then, that will become clear in the course of the interview.”
Hal came bursting in the door. He nowhere near resembled a white knight, but Dinah considered him so. He boomed, “Good, good! I admire a person who can just say up front where she’s coming from.”
Stuffing down her disgust with the woman, Dinah grinned. “Let me introduce our moderator, Harold Adler.”
He wiggled a finger at the reporter with graying temples. “You, sir, if you would scoot your chair that way about a foot and a half…thank you, that’s good. Dr. Harding, since you will be our resident expert, where would you prefer to sit?”
Dinah fought off a smile. Thank you, mentor extraordinaire. Hal had just taken the reins out of Ms. Maloney’s hands, slick as you please. He had already warned Dinah that as moderator he had to remain neutral and couldn’t protect her, but neutral was good enough. Thank heaven they were not using the moderator Ms. Maloney had recommended—in fact, had insisted on.
They settled themselves. The cameraman, a mousy little fellow with unruly hair, fiddled for about ten minutes adjusting lights and background features. Finally he picked up his on-the-shoulder camera and nodded.
Hal began, painting this interview as a substitute for the lack of Q-and-A previously. He introduced everyone briefly by name and role, and they were off and running.
Ms. Maloney asked the first question on the list they had given her. Dinah answered.
She asked the second. Good! She was simply going down the list. Dinah felt a bit more relaxed.
And then Ms. Maloney threw a curve, a loaded question that was not on the list. “Balancing research and development plus cost of production against market price, what do you think your profit margin will be?”
Hal was nodding slightly. And Dinah realized with a jolt that Hal had not seen the list of questions. He had no idea which were good questions and which were stumblers, like this one.
Except that Dinah didn’t stumble, at least not this time. “Your question is impossible to answer because our research and development is not limited to this one product. So it can’t be quantified. As for profit margin, we’re keeping it as low as possible, and, I might add, with our backers’ approval. Our mission is to get good health to the greatest number of people, and keeping prices low maximizes this.” Take that, you harpy!
Ms. Maloney snapped back instantly with “Then why not operate at cost?”
Dinah was beginning to feel intensely irritated, and that was not going to serve her purpose. Not at all. “For the same reason you are getting paid to do this interview, Ms. Maloney. You gotta eat.”
And Pete Whoever-this-was barked, “If your product is so beneficial, surely some foundation can cover production and make it available at cost, or free. Just how deep does your altruism go, Ms. Taylor?”
Hal had said they might use personal attacks. Here it was. She was about to answer when the harpy—aka Maloney—fired off another funding question.
Hal raised a hand. “You have to wait until the answer is completed before you ask another, Ms. Maloney.”
Dinah took a deep breath and composed what she hoped was an adequate answer.
The topic shifted to disease. Dr. Harding seemed quite knowledgeable about diseases, especially in cases where diabetes was a contributing factor. Perhaps they ought to approach the woman to do consulting work for them. They could certainly use her.
She realized her mind was wandering away from the interview, down useless bunny trails, and snapped back to the here and now. Or tried to.
And then someone mentioned pallor and Corinne leaped into Dinah’s consciousness so suddenly and vividly she froze. Now, of all times—and Jonah at school trying to stay normal while coping with the death of his mother, and the stitched-and-bedraggled Mutt waiting for someone to come let her out…
And her flitting mind, which was so creative and useful when it was going in all directions at once, tripped her, dropped her flat on her face. She misspoke—said the opposite of what she wanted to say. And while she was trying to back up and correct her error, they hammered her with new questions.
Bottom line: Their carefully constructed interview, which had started out so full of promise, with which she so wanted to clarify their purpose and the nature of their product, descended into shambles.
And stayed there.
Chapter Fourteen
We just have to get another vet in here. Garret was up and down all night last night, tonight was his night to do the urgent-care shift, and he had a full day ahead. Totally knackered already and it was only eight a.m. He wandered back to the break room.
“You look about as tired as I feel.” Sue wa
s pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Sick kids is about as bad as sick pets. Or maybe worse. The puking is hard to ignore. And so far since midnight I’ve run two sets of bedclothes through the laundry.”
He poured a cup. “Can you ignore it when it’s your own kids?”
“Not when they puke in bed.” She grimaced and swilled coffee.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you should be here?”
Sue shrugged. “Allan is doing the day shift at home. He called in sick at work since he was part of the bathroom parade last night. But he says he feels better this morning. Two of the other three are on the mend. Some kind of fast-acting bug that hopefully leaves as quickly as it arrived.”
Garret grunted. “I was hoping to leave early and maybe catch a nap at least. Valiant did well through the night, but I think we should keep up with the light sedation for another twenty-four hours.”
She nodded. “Jason is on the schedule for tonight. He’s coming in at four, I think.” Sue glanced over her shoulder at the calendar. “I have tomorrow off with baseball tryouts; Allan will take that while Em and I do the Brownie trip to the Toledo Zoo. Or I’d work tomorrow.”
“Maybe moving away from the clinic was not a smart move. I need to run home to feed the livestock, get a shower and back ASAP.”
“Then you best go before things get really busy.”
“Your first three appointments are here.” Amber stuck her head in the door. “Dr. G, Tessa’s here. Can she see Valiant?”
“Of course. I’ll meet her at his cage.”
He stepped out into the hall and Tessa wheeled to a stop next to him. “Good morning, Dr. G. How did he do?”
“Very well. We’re going to keep him in about the same state for another twenty-four hours, so don’t be worried about him.” Garret led the way down the hall and shoved open the cage-room door for her. “What about you? Are you getting along okay?”
“A friend is staying with me for a few days. That gives me time to make whatever arrangements are necessary.”
Garret frowned. “Only one person. Older?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest we keep him here longer than we would need to if you had two people to take care of him. Can you fence off a portion of the kitchen or something to keep him confined? He might still be having an incontinence problem, depending on how long we keep him down. I suggest a roll of red roofing paper to lay over the floor. Protect the floor and easier on him. You just fold it up and toss. You could put down several layers at a time. And a towel or strip of fabric to slip under him in front of his rear legs for assistance when he is walking. Large as he is, a big person would be helpful.”
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