0373401965 (R)

by Lara Lacombe

  “But you’re okay, right?” She looked fine, but he needed to hear her say it, needed her to confirm that, yes, she was perfectly healthy. He’d spent the drive over imagining a set of terrible possibilities, and even though he could see for himself that she looked normal, he wanted her reassurance.

  She blinked up at him, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Did you not hear what I just said?” Her voice cracked a little and she sniffed, lifting her hand to knuckle away a tear. He winced, realizing how insensitive his question must have sounded. But truth be told, he cared more about Avery than the baby. In fact, he didn’t really think of it as a baby yet—it was still just this abstract idea he was trying to wrap his brain around.

  He hadn’t told Avery that, of course. He wasn’t stupid. But the news she was having a miscarriage didn’t elicit much of an emotional response in him. How could it, when he still hadn’t come to grips with the fact that he was going to be a father?

  Judging by her tearstained face and swollen, red-rimmed eyes, Avery was not nearly so detached.

  He searched for something to say, but the past twenty-four hours of illness and lack of sleep made his brain fuzzy. Still, he knew he had to do something. Avery was clearly hurting, and it was his responsibility to make things better. That was his job—to take care of her, to fix the problem.

  Normally, he had no problem taking care of things. But right now? He was totally out of his depth.

  He sat next to her and tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, unsure if she would welcome his touch. She sat straight for a moment, then let out a shuddering sob and leaned over to press her face into the curve of his neck. Her tears were hot against his skin, and his heart cracked as he listened to her cry as if her world was coming to an end.

  “Avery,” he murmured, running a hand down her back. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She didn’t reply, but he thought he felt her shake her head. “We’ll have other babies,” he tried, hoping to distract her from the current situation. It was true—they were going to get married, and they’d already talked about their future two-point-five kids and dog and how they would all frolic in the yard framed by a white picket fence. Maybe if he got her to focus on that, she’d realize there was still something for her to look forward to.

  “I wanted this baby.” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but he heard her all the same. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he sucked in a breath. She couldn’t be serious; it had to be the pregnancy hormones talking. The timing was all wrong for them. And even though he would never wish for her to lose the baby, a small part of him was...relieved? No, that wasn’t right. But he couldn’t deny he felt a little lighter somehow, knowing they now had more time to prepare themselves before becoming parents.

  “Avery,” he said slowly. How could he make her understand? What could he say to convince her it was going to be okay?

  She shook her head again, dismissing his feeble attempts at comfort. A knot formed in his chest as he realized he didn’t know what to do to help her. Helplessness and bile swirled in his empty stomach, and he had the sudden urge to be sick again. He had to do something, say something to make things better.

  Grant pressed his lips to her hair and took a deep breath. The familiar orange-spice scent of her shampoo calmed his nerves, eased the tightness in his chest. “Everything will be all right,” he said softly. There was a small pile of crumpled tissues on the bed, stark white against the dark blue sheets. He stared at the sad little pyramid, absently stroking her back as she cried. “Maybe this is for the best.”

  She stiffened suddenly against him, and he realized a second too late that he had said the wrong thing. “I mean—” he said quickly, trying to explain. But it was too late.

  Avery shoved him away and scooted to the other side of the bed, putting as much distance as possible between them. “What did you just say?” Her voice was lethally quiet and still weighted with tears.

  He groped for the right words, feeling them drain from his mind like sand through a sieve. “We weren’t ready for a baby yet. You know that.”

  She stared at him as if he was a stranger. Emotions swirled in her eyes, but she remained eerily still as she processed his words. Grant shifted on the bed, the silence between them growing thick and heavy. Finally, Avery shook her head.

  “Get out.”

  Fear was a sudden, sharp spike through his heart. He didn’t want to leave her alone, not like this. They’d never parted ways in anger before, and he didn’t want to start now. “Avery, hear me out—I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

  She was immune to his plea. “Get out,” she repeated, her tone flat and final.

  Grant sighed, knowing he had lost this battle. Not wanting to upset her further, he stood. “I’ll give you some time,” he said. “But I don’t want you to stay angry with me. I’ll check in on you later.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Worry made the skin on the back of his neck tingle. “I know you’re mad at me right now, but we’re still partners. I’m not going to abandon you while you’re going through this.”

  Avery shook her head. “No. We’re done.”

  “What?” Shock made his body lock up, every muscle and joint freezing in place. He stood stiff and unyielding, feeling like he’d just been struck by lightning. “You can’t be serious.”

  Avery’s eyes were cold and empty when she looked at him. “You’re not who I thought you were. We’re finished.”

  *

  “I’m finished.”

  Grant jumped a little at hearing Avery’s voice so close. He glanced over to find her standing at the counter, her expression slightly puzzled as she studied him. “You okay?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

  “Ah, I’m fine,” he lied. He hadn’t thought about their last conversation in a long time, and it was a little unnerving to find the memory of it was still so fresh. He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of emotion in his throat. “How are things here?”

  “Good. I just finished interviewing Rob, and I’m hoping to talk to Marshall next.”

  He heard her voice but didn’t really register what she was saying. Instead Grant found himself staring at her, the memory of her tearstained face superimposing itself on her present appearance. God, he’d been such a jerk! But he hadn’t been thinking straight. How could he explain that to her? There had to be some way to make her understand. She’d rejected all his calls in the days after their argument, and his letters had been sent back unopened. But now that she was here, in front of him, surely he could convince her to listen?

  But the words didn’t come. Once again, he felt helpless, like a man stranded in the middle of nowhere. He could see where he wanted to go, but he couldn’t figure out a way to get there.

  Maybe he never would.

  Frustration rose in his chest. What was wrong with him? By all objective measures, he was an intelligent guy. Why couldn’t he find a way to communicate something so important to the woman who’d once been the center of his world?

  “Grant?” Avery’s soft hand on his arm jerked him out of his head. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.” It came out a little harsher than he’d intended, and Avery pulled her hand away as if his skin had scalded her. Grant softened his voice. “Sorry. I was just stuck in my head there for a moment.”

  She nodded, accepting his explanation. Getting lost in thought was a trait they both shared, and Avery had never given him a hard time about it. She’d always been very understanding, not like the women he’d dated more recently. They always seemed to take it personally when he retreated into his thoughts. But not Avery. She recognized it as part of who he was, and he’d done the same for her.

  “Did you get any good information from your interview?” He hadn’t bothered to tag along while she talked to Rob. The man was notoriously talkative, and no subject was off-limits. If anything, Grant’s presence probably would have distracted Rob into
one of his characteristic conversational tangents, making it even harder for Avery to get her questions answered.

  A faint smile ghosted across her lips. “I hope so,” she replied. “I certainly got a lot of information, and now I just need to comb through it and see if anything stands out.”

  “I can help you with that,” he said, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think twice. Avery eyed him curiously, and Grant kicked himself mentally. He wasn’t trained in epidemiology, and she knew it. But it gave him an excuse to be around her, a need that grew stronger with every passing hour. It was almost a compulsion, tugging at his guts and occupying his mind so he couldn’t settle, couldn’t think of anything else until she was nearby again. Maybe his subconscious was trying to help him out. If they spent enough time together, surely he would find the words to fix things between them?

  “I might take you up on that,” she said. “In the meantime, I should probably go talk to Marshall.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he volunteered. Avery lifted an eyebrow and he rushed to add, “He’s kind of shy. He might open up more if I’m there.” It was the truth, but it sounded like a lame excuse. Grant felt like he was back in high school, asking a girl out on a date for the first time. Please don’t say no...

  “I appreciate it,” Avery said. “I’m going to take a quick bathroom break and grab a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” A little bubble of hope rose in his chest as he watched her walk away. She seemed to be softening toward him, little by little. Would it be enough in the end?

  *

  Avery sank onto the bed with a sigh, happy to be off her feet. The winter boots she’d been given in New Zealand were great at keeping her feet warm, but it was going to take some time to get them properly broken in.

  Today’s interviews had gone well. She’d managed to talk to the three patients who remained in the hospital and hoped to speak to the other three survivors tomorrow. Nothing had jumped out at her yet, but there was a lot of information for her to sift through. Hopefully, after she’d talked to all the patients, a unique exposure would reveal itself, but she wasn’t going to get her hopes up. The relatively small size of the base meant people interacted with each other and the facilities on a regular, ongoing basis. Any kind of exposure would likely be shared by multiple people, and since only a few had fallen ill, it was going to be difficult to determine where, exactly, this bug had come from.

  She gently toed her boots off, wincing a little as they slid across developing blisters. Maybe she could get some bandages from Grant in the morning. Her traitorous stomach did a little flip at the thought of him. To her surprise, working with him today had been...nice. She had thought their past would get in the way of effective teamwork, but that hadn’t been the case. He seemed just as determined as she was to ignore their shared history, and they had managed to fall into an easy back-and-forth rhythm during the patient interviews. Being around him again felt right, and for the first time in years, she felt complete.

  Their breakup had cast a shadow over her life. It was something she’d managed to ignore at first, but over the years, she’d grown to accept the fact that her life would forever be marked by that event. Her relationship with Grant had changed her in so many ways. She knew what true happiness felt like, what it meant to love someone totally and completely. He’d made her feel safe and cherished, and knowing he was beside and behind her had given her the courage to try new things, both academically and personally. Their time together had been some of the best years of her life.

  And losing him had very nearly wrecked her.

  It wasn’t just the fact that her best friend and lover was gone. What had stung the most was finding out his true feelings about the baby.

  She’d known he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of being a father. The timing wasn’t right for them, but she had figured they would make things work. They were a team, and they could handle life’s challenges together.

  Looking back, she couldn’t really blame him for not being too upset at the news of her miscarriage. After all, she’d been the one carrying the baby. She’d been the one to feel the effects of early pregnancy, to know on a cellular level that things would never be the same again. For Grant, the baby had been an abstract concept—she hadn’t even started to show yet, so he could hardly be blamed for feeling a little detached.

  No, in the end, it was Grant’s relief that had made Avery realize she could no longer be with him. He’d tried to hide it, but she’d seen the way his body relaxed at the news, the tension draining out of him with his breath. And then when he’d tried to tell her that losing the baby was for the best? Her heart had snapped into pieces, the jagged edges making her soul bleed along with her body.

  The memory of it brought tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away before they could fall. No matter how much her body liked being around Grant again, she couldn’t afford to forget why things had ended between them. He had hurt her before. She wasn’t going to give him the chance to do it again.

  But what if he’s changed? The question popped into her head without warning, and try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the thought. It was possible, she conceded. She certainly wasn’t the same person she’d been ten years ago. Was it really fair to expect that Grant hadn’t changed, as well?

  Mallory had said as much in her email. Avery’s best friend had even gone so far as to suggest it might be time for Avery to forgive “the stupid mistake of a dumb kid.” Avery knew her friend was right—it was time to let her anger go. But that was easier said than done.

  Besides, her forgiveness wouldn’t really change anything. Even if by some miracle she was able to overcome the hurts of the past, she and Grant lived very different lives now. She had a stable, steady job in Atlanta. He was working a temporary position at the bottom of the world. Who could say where he was going to go next?

  Moving quickly in a feeble attempt to stay warm, Avery shucked off her clothes and donned the sweats she wore as pajamas. Then she dove under the covers with the notes she’d taken from today’s interviews. Time to start digging into the information and hopefully get a better idea of where and how these patients had contracted the disease.

  She spent a few minutes making lists and organizing points. The work was soothing, and thoughts of Grant and their past fell away as she lost herself in the intellectual puzzle. This was the part of the job she loved most—identifying patterns, picking out the common threads that ran between patients. Sifting through a million seemingly insignificant actions to find the one or two that resulted in a life-changing event for these patients. Most people found it mind-numbingly boring, but there was something about the process she loved. It was logic, pure and simple, immune to any emotion or personal whims.

  Time flew by as she read over the interviews. By this time in her career, she’d done enough of them that she had the questions memorized, but she forced herself to read every word. Complacency was the enemy, and if she relaxed her standards, who knew what important detail she might miss?

  The men she’d spoken to today were fairly ordinary, except for the fact that they worked on a base in Antarctica. But other than that, there weren’t any glaring risk factors to explain why they, out of all the people here, had become sick. They ate pretty standard stuff, although she would still need to further investigate the cafeteria and its food-prep areas. Still, if the contagion was being spread through the chow hall, she would have expected many more cases by now.

  The patients all worked on different areas of the base—one of them studied ice core samples, one was doing astronomy work and the third was considered support staff, an employee whose responsibility was to keep the facilities running and in good repair. Since they had such varied jobs, it was unlikely their exposure had occurred while they performed their regular work duties.

  How, then, had they encountered the pathogen? Each one of the men had assured her they weren’t sexually active. All three of them were married, an
d while she knew that didn’t stop some people, Grant had privately told her he didn’t think they were fooling around with anyone on-base. Assuming that was the truth, it meant the bug wasn’t spreading via sexual transmission.

  At least not yet.

  She dove back into her notes, paying special attention to what the men had eaten in the days before falling ill. Patient recall of specific meals was always a bit spotty, but perhaps they had all eaten something that had been contaminated?

  She scanned their responses, but nothing jumped out at her. One of the men was a strict vegetarian, while another appeared to be allergic to anything green. Avery sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. Hopefully, after she spoke with the other three patients tomorrow, she’d have a better idea of where the pathogen was lurking on-base...

  Avery leaned back in her chair, enjoying the stretch and pull of her tired muscles. A quick glance at her watch confirmed it was well past time for her to go to bed. A good night’s sleep would give her fresh eyes and make it easier to find the patterns in the data.

  She moved to sweep the pages of her notes into a pile, but something caught her eye and she paused. The bar. One of the men had mentioned having a drink at the bar before falling ill...

  No, she realized, flipping through the pages. Not just one of the men. All of them had shared a drink on the same night, right before getting sick.

  A tingling sensation zinged down her back, and she sucked in a breath. Coincidence? Perhaps. But something told her she was on the right track.

  According to their responses, all three men had met for a drink at the base bar approximately twenty-four hours before they experienced the first symptoms of the disease. They’d all had beer and eaten peanuts, but nothing heavier. And according to Rob, the first patient she’d interviewed, there had been a fourth man at their table: Paul Coleson.

  Avery frowned at the name, not recognizing it from the list of victims or survivors. Who was Paul Coleson, and why had he remained unaffected by the disease when the three men he’d shared a drink with had not been so lucky?