by Leslie Meier
“Anthrax?” Lucy gave the cashier a ten-dollar bill and put the change on her tray, which she carried over to an empty table. “Like those postal workers?”
“Yeah.”
Lucy remembered the scare, which had dominated the news for weeks. “Didn’t a couple of them die?”
“It can be fatal,” admitted Lance.
All of a sudden her heart felt like it was in a vise. “But the doctor says Elizabeth is much better.”
“There are two kinds,” continued Lance. “Inhalation anthrax; that’s when you breathe in the germs. It’s very serious. But there’s also cutaneous anthrax; you get that if you touch the stuff but don’t breathe it. And that’s not as serious as the other kind.”
“You mean Elizabeth’s spider bite could really be an anthrax sore?”
“Yeah. And it would respond to antibiotics.”
“What’s the other kind like? The inhalation kind?” demanded Lucy.
“Like the flu. Like a really bad case of the flu with respiratory problems.”
“Really?” Lucy was thinking of Nadine. “And how do people get it? Is it contagious?”
“It’s not contagious. You have to be directly exposed to get it.”
“It’s a germ?”
“A spore, actually, and it’s not usually around in the environment, like most germs. It has to be introduced. The post office workers got sick when the anthrax was shaken out of an envelope by a sorting machine. Some nut was sending it to people in the government.”
“Right. They had to shut down congressional offices, didn’t they? To decontaminate them.”
“And that’s the other thing,” said Lance. “Most germs have a pretty short life span unless they find a host, but not anthrax. It forms spores that can lie dormant for years until they find the right living conditions. That’s why it’s such a good biological weapon.”
“Biological weapon? I think we’re getting a little crazy here. You know, Elizabeth never had chicken pox. The others did but she was away at summer camp and missed it. It could be something like that.”
“The doctors will figure it out,” said Lance. “You think it’s okay if I visit her tonight?”
“I think she’d love it,” said Lucy. “Right now she’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long. I’m supposed to be bringing her something to eat.”
As she made her way back to Elizabeth’s room Lucy tried to remember everything she could about the anthrax scare a few years earlier. It wasn’t much, she realized. She didn’t even know if they’d ever figured out who had sent the stuff, or why. The only thing she was sure of was that ever since the attack, the discovery of any unspecified white powder was enough to shut down schools and offices until it was positively identified. Some pranksters had even managed to shut down Tinker’s Cove High School for an afternoon last fall by spilling some salt on the assistant principal’s desk.
“Is that all you got me? Fruit and yogurt?” demanded Elizabeth, when Lucy delivered the tray.
“It’s just to tide you over,” said Lucy, amazed at Elizabeth’s sudden interest in food. Maybe it was true that every cloud had a silver lining. “They’re going to bring you a big dinner, eventually. I saw the meal trolley at the end of the hall.”
“I don’t know how people survive in the hospital,” said Elizabeth, digging into the yogurt with a plastic spoon. “You could starve to death.”
“Take mine, too,” said Lucy, who was too distracted to eat.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
She stood up. “I have to make a phone call. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Standing in the hallway outside Elizabeth’s room, Lucy felt a bit like a cartoon character with an angel perched on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The good little angel was telling her that she really ought to alert somebody at Jolie magazine about the possibility that the office was contaminated with anthrax, while the bad little devil was telling her it would be a waste of time.
“People’s lives are at stake. You must warn them,” said the angel.
“How are you going to do that?” scoffed the devil. “Camilla’s the one you should call and you can be sure her phone number is unlisted.”
“That’s just an excuse. You need to find a way,” insisted the angel.
“There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” whispered the devil. “You’re exhausted. Frazzled. You deserve some time to take care of yourself.”
“You’ll never forgive yourself if someone else gets sick because you were too lazy to make a phone call,” said the angel.
Lucy checked her watch. It was just after five. That meant the best she could probably do would be to leave a message on Camilla’s phone mail. But when she dialed the receptionist answered and put her right through to Camilla.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” began Lucy, feeling rather awkward. “There’s something I think you should know.”
“I heard your daughter’s in the hospital. How’s she doing?”
“She’s going to be fine,” said Lucy.
“Well, I’m glad she’s recovering. You must excuse me—this is not a good time,” she said.
Lucy was suddenly guilt stricken. In her haste to do the right thing she’d completely forgotten that Camilla and Nadine were close friends. The poor woman was probably wracked with grief and completely shattered by her loss.
“I’m afraid there’s no good time for what I have to tell you,” said Lucy, her voice gentle, “but trust me, the sooner you know, the better.”
“Well, go on,” said Camilla, impatiently.
“Okay,” said Lucy. “I think there’s a very real risk the Jolie office is contaminated with anthrax.”
“What?”
“Anthrax. Nadine’s death and my daughter’s symptoms are consistent with anthrax, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”
Camilla’s voice was hard. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not ridiculous at all,” insisted Lucy. “And if the offices are contaminated other people are at risk of getting sick. That would be terrible.”
Camilla’s words were clipped, precise. “The doctors say Elizabeth has anthrax?”
“Well, no,” admitted Lucy. “They’re still testing. But I did some research and I’m pretty sure….”
Camilla was practically shrieking. “You did some research?”
Lucy felt her face warming. “Well, actually it was Lance, Norah’s son. He’s a student at Columbia and he does research at the hospital with a professor.”
“A college kid has some crackpot idea! And you decide to call me?”
Lucy was flabbergasted. Here she’d gone out of her way to do a good deed and Camilla was practically biting her head off. “I thought the sooner you knew the better.”
“Oh you did, did you? Well, I’m going to wait for official notification before I go to the expense and trouble of closing the office and having everyone stay home. Furthermore, I don’t know who you think you are, spreading ridiculous rumors like this.” Camilla paused for breath. “I’m warning you, if you so much as whisper this preposterous idea to anybody I’ll slap you with a lawsuit so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“Okay,” said Lucy, taking a step backward.
“It’s been absolutely lovely getting to know you,” said Camilla, her sarcastic tone giving the lie to her words, “but I’m sure you know the makeover is officially over tonight. The magazine will no longer assume the cost of your hotel and I hope you have medical insurance because we are certainly not responsible for your daughter’s illness and hospitalization.” Camilla paused a moment, as if remembering something. “That’s right, you were the one who was so very interested in the ten-thousand-dollar prize, weren’t you?”
With all the worry over Elizabeth, Lucy had forgotten all about it. The prize, the makeover, it all seemed part of another life. Elizabeth’s illness had changed everything. But now that she was recovering, the money would sure come in handy. �
��Did we win?” she asked.
“Not in your dreams.”
Lucy felt as if she’d been slapped, and leaned against the wall. “Well, thanks for telling me,” she said, swallowing hard.
“No problem.” Camilla’s voice was silky and Lucy knew she wasn’t finished. “Have a nice day,” she purred.
Chapter Ten
SEXY, SEXY: LINGERIE HE’LL LOVE!
Lucy pressed the “end” button on her cell phone and leaned against the wall. Here she’d tried to help Camilla and all she’d gotten was a stinging rebuke. She felt as if she’d been slapped. So that’s what you got for trying to do the right thing, she thought. It was true what people said: “No good deed goes unpunished.” Her emotions in turmoil, she called home.
“What’s going on?” demanded Bill, picking up on the first ring. “How’s Elizabeth?”
“Better,” she said, quickly. “Much better. She’s sitting up, talking, and the wound is already starting to heal. She even asked for some food.”
He let out a big sign of relief. “That’s great.”
“I know.”
“So why don’t you sound happy?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed,” said Lucy, hedging. She was terrified by the possibility that Elizabeth might have caught anthrax but she didn’t want to alarm Bill unnecessarily. It was a struggle to keep from saying the word. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue, and she had to keep it in while getting other words out. “I don’t know how long Elizabeth’s going to be in the hospital and I have to find someplace to stay, there’s all these expenses, we didn’t win the prize….”
“Hey, hey, hey,” said Bill. “Calm down. It’ll be okay.”
“What about the health insurance?”
“I’ll take care of it. You take care of Elizabeth, and yourself.”
“I’m okay,” said Lucy, biting her lip. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do after tonight. The magazine is kicking me out of the hotel.”
“What?”
“They say the makeover is over and they won’t pay for my room any longer. Like I don’t have enough to worry about.”
“Calm down, Lucy. Give Sam a call. I bet she’d love to have you stay with her.”
“I must be going crazy. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“It’s understandable. You’re upset. You’re away from home and you have a sick child. It’s very stressful. But everything’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so.” Something in the hall caught her eye. It was Dr. Marchetti, heading her way in green surgical scrubs and carrying a chart. “I’ve got to go. The doctor’s coming.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I will,” promised Lucy. She closed the phone and turned to meet the doctor.
“Mrs. Stone, I need to have a word with you,” he said.
Lucy’s heart gave a little jump in her chest.
“We can talk here,” he said, leading her to a small waiting area where the scarred coffee table was covered with well-thumbed magazines. He indicated a bright orange sectional sofa. “Have a seat.”
“Is everything all right?” she asked, nervously twisting her purse strap.
“Elizabeth’s doing very well and I expect she’ll make a full recovery. In fact, we’re going to move her out of ICU tomorrow, if her progress continues.” He paused and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. The move seemed intimate; the scrubs looked like pajamas to Lucy, and she could see his curly black chest hair sprouting at the V-neck.
She slid back in her seat, away from him. “That’s good, right?”
“Right. But the bad news is,” he paused, giving her time to prepare herself, “she has anthrax.”
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been half expecting it, but the news was still devastating. She was suddenly cold and she could barely breathe, she felt as if she had to remind her heart to keep pumping.
Dr. Marchetti took her hand. “Are you all right, Mrs. Stone?”
Lucy struggled to put her thoughts into words. “I knew…I mean, I thought it might be anthrax…” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. It’s crazy.” Suddenly, it occurred to her that tests were often wrong. A false positive they called it. She locked eyes with him. “Are you sure, absolutely sure? Maybe it’s something else, like chicken pox.”
“We’re sure. When you told me about the woman at the magazine, Nadine Nelson, I checked with the medical examiner’s office and learned the cause of death was anthrax. We then tested Elizabeth for anthrax and got a positive result. But we caught it early and Elizabeth’s prognosis is excellent.” He looked down at the file in his hand. “Maybe I misunderstood you. Did you say you thought it might be anthrax?”
“A friend mentioned it. He did some Internet research for me.”
He slapped the file down on the coffee table. “And what did this friend tell you?”
“It’s a spore…there’s two kinds…” Lucy was aware she was babbling, avoiding her fear. “Is this some sort of terror attack?” she asked. “Are we all going to get sick?”
“It doesn’t look like it, at least not yet. But of course there are homeland security concerns and there will be an investigation. The FBI is going to want to talk to you and your daughter.”
“The FBI? But we haven’t done anything!”
“Of course not. I made that very clear to the investigators. But they do need to track down the source of the anthrax. We’ve been lucky so far, with only two cases. There doesn’t seem to be a widespread outbreak. Still, we have to be concerned. There could possibly be more deaths, if the source of the anthrax isn’t discovered.”
“But Elizabeth’s in the clear, right?”
He leveled his eyes at hers and took both her hands in his. “Listen, I learned long ago not to make promises in this business. There are no guarantees in medicine, too much can go wrong. But having said that, and bearing in mind that complications are always possible, I think it’s safe to say she’s out of the woods.”
“So how much longer will she have to stay in the hospital?”
The doctor studied the chart. “I’m afraid I don’t really know. We’ll just have to see what happens.”
“But you said….”
“I said there are no guarantees. We want to keep an eye on her. She’s on some serious medication and there could be side effects.” He paused. “Anthrax is very rare, you know, and we’re not that familiar with the disease itself. And then, there are some curious anomalies in your daughter’s case….”
“Anomalies?”
“Some unusual factors we haven’t seen before.”
Lucy felt like screaming. “Like what?”
“Nothing for you to be concerned about, honestly. Just variations from the usual course. Frankly, I would have expected her to be sicker.”
Relief flooded Lucy. “Oh. That’s good then, right?”
“We think so. But we want to be cautious.” He got to his feet and handed her a piece of paper. “This is a Cipro prescription for you. You’ve been exposed so you need to take it as a precautionary measure. Be sure to finish the bottle and take all the pills.”
Lucy sat on the couch, staring at the piece of paper in her hand, for a long while after the doctor had left. This was very scary. It wasn’t something she was reading about in the newspaper, it wasn’t taking place miles away, it wasn’t happening to somebody else. It was real life, her life. She folded the prescription and put it in her purse.
When she returned to Elizabeth’s room and saw how well she looked, she was reassured. Elizabeth was sitting up in bed eating from her dinner tray. The color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling, probably because Lance was perched on the side of the bed. Giddy with relief, Lucy wrapped her arms around her and gave her a big hug.
“Mom! What’s the deal?” exclaimed Elizabeth, squirming out her mother’s embrace and spearing a chicken nugget.
“You’
re going to be okay,” said Lucy. “I just talked to the doctor. But Lance was right. You have anthrax.”
“What’s that?” asked Elizabeth, spooning up some applesauce.
“Don’t you remember….” began Lance, eager to fill her in.
Lucy stopped him with a glance and a shake of the head. This was no time for a current affairs lesson. “How are you feeling?” she asked Elizabeth.
“Great! When can I leave?”
“I just talked with the doctor and he says you’ll probably have to stay for a while.”
“Why? I feel much better. Besides, I don’t want to spend another minute in this awful johnny!”
Lance laughed. “I think it’s kind of cute.”
Elizabeth scowled at him. “You would.”
Lucy was making a mental note to bring Elizabeth’s pajamas when there was a knock on the door and Fiona entered, clutching a bunch of pink and white Oriental lilies.
“I’m not dead,” protested Elizabeth, laughing.
“Those are different lilies, I think,” said Fiona. “I got these because they smell so nice.” She gave them to Elizabeth. “Take a sniff. Heavenly.”
“I can smell them from here,” said Lucy. “Lovely.” She got up. “I’ll go see if the nurse has a vase.”
When she returned Fiona was also perched on the bed, sitting at the foot, lighting a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in here,” said Lucy, horrified. “It’s a hospital.”
“Really? You Yanks are too much.”
“It’s not a Yank thing, it’s a health thing.”
“You know, Americans wouldn’t be so fat if they smoked more,” said Fiona, putting her cigarettes back in her purse.
“I’ll tell the Surgeon General,” said Lance.
“It’s true,” insisted Fiona. “People are much thinner in Europe, much healthier, despite the fact they drink like fish and smoke like chimneys and eat all sorts of fatty foods like fish and chips and foie gras.”
“If you like it so much better there, why did you come here?” asked Lance, resentful of the intrusion.
“Oh, I like it here just fine,” said Fiona. “And I’d like to stay longer, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
