Beyond the Ivory Tower

by Jill Blake

  Leo grinned. “I do good work.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m glad you were the one on call.”

  “Me too. Now close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.” He glanced Ethan’s way. “Is she this much of a pain in the ass with you?”

  Ethan glowered. “No.”

  “Lucky man. Come on, Anush, close your eyes. Good girl. Can you feel this? How about this? Okay, you can look now.” He put her through some passive range of motion maneuvers with the wrist and elbow, then wrapped her fist around two of his fingers. “Squeeze. Harder. Okay. You can let go now.”

  She sagged against the pillows. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

  “We’ll get you some pain medication. All things considered, you’re lucky it was just your humerus. It’ll heal.”

  “What about my ankle?”

  “Keep it up a few days. We’ll get you an aircast. Two, three weeks, and you’ll forget it was even sprained.” He rose from the bed and turned to the nurse. “There’s a PRN order for IV morphine on her chart. Five milligrams should do it. And let’s get the PCA pump set up.” He glanced back at Anna. “The nurse will show you how to use it. If there are any issues tonight, have them page me, okay?”

  “Thanks, Leo.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He turned to Ethan. “Make sure she doesn’t lift anything with that arm.”

  “How long before I can take her home?”

  “Maybe tomorrow, or the next day,” Leo said. “Depending on how things go.” He glanced back at Anna. “And you—behave.”

  She managed an anemic smile. “I’ll try.”

  The curtain swung closed behind him.

  Ethan cleared his throat, drawing Anna’s attention back. “So, how long have you and the doc known each other?”

  “We practically grew up together. My family left Russia first, Leo’s family moved about five years later. My dad helped Leo’s mom get a job at Penn. She still works there. That’s where Leo went to med school.”

  “And somehow he ended up here.”

  Anna blinked. “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry,” Ethan said. “It’s just—”

  He broke off as the nurse returned with Anna’s morphine. “How’s your nausea?”

  “Better, thanks.”

  “I’m still waiting on the PCA pump.” She administered the morphine and disposed of the used syringe in a wall-mounted sharps container. “It’ll give you a steady infusion of morphine, a milligram per hour. If you need more, you just press the button for a bolus. That way you control the amount of pain medication, up to whatever maximum dose Dr. Kogan ordered.” She stripped off her gloves and logged onto the computer to chart the medication. “Your room should be ready in a little bit. I gave your sister the room number. She said she’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, just press this call button. I’ll be back in a little bit to check your vitals.”

  The nurse left. Ethan resumed his place by Anna’s side.

  For several minutes neither spoke. Then Anna prodded him. “You were about to say something…”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “You and Kogan seemed pretty cozy.”

  “I’ve know him since we were in diapers.”

  “So…you’re friends.”

  “Like you and Colette.”

  He flinched, and Anna immediately regretted her snarky remark. Before she could apologize, he said, “I take it you saw the article this morning.”

  “I was at Whole Foods,” she said, “picking up bagels for the staff, and you were on a cover in the checkout line.”

  “You know it’s rubbish, right? I was trying to reach you all afternoon, to make sure you didn’t get the wrong idea. And then…things came crashing down.”

  He looked so distressed that Anna wanted to wrap her arms around him, reassure him. Would have, if not for the bum arm and IV tubing that limited her mobility. She settled for squeezing his hand. “I won’t lie to you—I did get angry. For a minute or two. I mean, it would be nice if the tabloids would leave us alone. But it seems like you’re a paparazzi magnet.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “I know. But there it is. And if I’m going to spend my life with you, I guess I’d better learn to ignore it.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Ethan, I need the use of at least one hand—”

  “Oh—sorry!” He relaxed his grip, and brought her fingers to his lips. “I love you, Anna. And we’ll be happy, I promise.”

  “I love you too,” she said, and then she couldn’t speak at all because his mouth covered hers, stealing her breath away. But that was okay, because what else was there to say? Just a few hours ago, she thought she’d never experience this again, the joy and thrill of being with the man she loved, the man who—miracle of miracles—loved her back.

  Dimly, she heard a beeping sound, the whoosh of a curtain parting.

  “Oh!” The nurse said. “Excuse me. Your monitor was going off…”

  Anna blinked and caught her breath as Ethan slowly straightened up. The nurse scooted around him and pressed a button. The beeping stopped.

  “Mr. Lazarev,” the nurse said. “Please try to remember, this is a surgical recovery room, not a honeymoon suite. I don’t want to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As soon as the nurse was out of sight, Anna burst out laughing. “Mr. Lazarev?”

  Ethan grinned. “It got me in here. Though I have to say, Mrs. Talbot does sound better.”

  “Sorry,” Anna said. “But was there a question that I somehow missed?”

  Ethan lowered the side rail and sat on the edge of the bed. “Will you, Anna Lazarev, do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I’m keeping my name.”

  “Fine,” Ethan agreed. “As long as the kids are all Talbots.”

  “Hyphenated?”

  “No hyphenation. Just Talbot.”

  “I thought we were negotiating,” Anna said. “‘Just Talbot’ isn’t much of a compromise.”

  “I suppose not,” Ethan said. “How’s this for a compromise: I’ll move to L.A. We’ll get a nice big house with room for lots of little Talbots.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I was getting kind of tired of San Francisco anyway.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I fell in love with a stubborn math professor who happens to live in L.A.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” Anna said, poking him in the ribs. “Or at least, not any more than you.”

  Ethan caught her hand and stretched out on his side next to her. “Anyway,” he said. “The climate’s better here. Warmer. All that Bay Area dampness was getting to me. Not good for the joints, you know.”

  “What about your work?”

  “That might take a while to figure out. But someone told me not too long ago that there’s all sorts of tech startups here that need VC funding. Sounds like the Talbot Fund might be missing out on the next big thing if we don’t open an L.A. office.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “For you, and for me. Though I have to admit, the benefit of being well known—don’t roll your eyes—is that I could probably set up shop in Timbuktu and people would still find me.”

  Anna gave a watery chuckle. “Arrogant much?”

  “When it comes to business, maybe. When it comes to love, I never take anything for granted.”

  “Mm.” The morphine was starting to kick in. Anna felt her lids drooping. “I still think your ‘drop out to find yourself’ program is full of hooey.”

  “So you’re not going to blog on behalf of the Talbot Foundation?”

  “I took my blog down.”

  “I noticed. You could always put it back up again.”

  “You could always endow a scholarship fund for those who want t
o return to school…”

  Ethan propped himself up on an elbow. “I’ll think about. Anything else you want while we’re negotiating?”

  Anna looked up at his beloved face. “Give me time.”

  “Always,” he said, smiling. “As much time as you want, for the rest of our lives.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three years later…

  Anna sat on a couch in the improvised green room, nestled in the crook of Ethan’s shoulder. She shivered slightly as his fingers traced the faint scar along her upper arm. Six months of physical therapy, another surgery to remove the hardware, and she’d been able to slowly ease back into her usual exercise routine. These days, her strength and range of motion were pretty much back to baseline. There was only an occasional twinge to remind her of the injury. The nightmares were another story, and persisted for months after the physical symptoms abated. In her sleep, she relived the same events over and over, knowing what was about to happen, but powerless to stop it. She saw her student falling, felt the bite of the bullet as she bent over him. Each time she awakened in a cold sweat, grateful to be alive, wracked with guilt over the fact that her student had been less fortunate. She and Ethan had attended his memorial service shortly after she’d been discharged from the hospital.

  Keeping busy helped. Anna rarely had a free moment to dwell on the past. Especially lately.

  Several feet away, Colette finished checking her makeup in a compact mirror. She snapped it shut and tucked it into her bag. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  “Thanks,” Anna said, “but I’m fine.”

  An assistant popped her head in the door. “It’s time.”

  Colette nodded and followed her out. Seconds later, her image appeared on the backstage monitor. The audience quickly settled down, and Colette launched into her introduction.

  “I’d like to welcome you all to the seventh annual Talbot Fellowship summit. We have some very exciting speakers lined up for you today. Usually we open with a few words from our program founder, Ethan Talbot. This year, however, we decided to change things up a little. Our keynote address will be delivered by the woman whom many of you may know as Ethan Talbot’s better half.”

  There was a ripple of laughter, right on cue.

  “Professor Anna Lazarev,” Colette continued, “holds the Broussard/Conroy Chair in Applied Mathematics at UCLA. She is a Fellow in the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and a recipient of the Fermat Prize. She is also the director of the Talbot/Lazarev Initiative, which started as an outgrowth of the Talbot Fellowship, but has taken on a life of its own.”

  Ethan squeezed her hand. “You sure you’re okay to do this?”

  “Of course,” Anna said. “I just need a little help up.”

  As Ethan rose and helped Anna to her feet, Colette wrapped up her introduction. “Please put your hands together for Dr. Anna Lazarev.”

  Anna smiled and walked slowly across the stage, ignoring the nagging ache in her low to mid-back that had started sometime during the night. She still had five weeks until her due date. Besides, everyone knew that first babies tended to arrive late.

  At the podium, she paused for a moment to look out at the sea of faces, some new, but many familiar to her from her last few years of involvement with Ethan’s work.

  There was Klara, sitting in the first row, giving her the thumbs-up. Klara was part of the Talbot/Lazarev Initiative’s inaugural class. With a year of college beneath her belt, and two years of developing her own startup under the auspices of her Talbot mentor, she was working on finishing her degree—while scaling up production and distribution of her start-up’s applications.

  Becca and Leo sat beside her, holding hands. It had taken them considerable time and effort to stop circling around each other and make a commitment, but Anna was glad to see that her instincts had been spot on.

  The applause died down. Anna took a deep breath—or at least as deep a breath as possible, given her condition—and started speaking.

  “A few years ago,” she said, “shortly after my husband and I met, we made a deal. Ethan promised to fund several college scholarships in exchange for my agreement to mentor a few of his Talbot Fellows. Ethan believed so strongly in his mission—to provide an alternative route to success for some of our smartest, most entrepreneurial students—that he was willing to pay me to experience his program first-hand.

  “For those of you who didn’t know me at the time, let me just say that I was dead set against the idea of anyone dropping out of school. For any reason.

  “As a university professor, I felt that Ethan’s criticism of the way we educate our students was a direct attack on me. And, like much of the academic establishment, I believed that the Talbot Fellowship posed an imminent threat to the very foundation of our secondary education system. So when Ethan asked for my cooperation, it was a bit like having a preacher invite an atheist to a church revival meeting.

  “But Ethan refused to be put off. Just as proponents of green energy advocate for a transition from fossil fuel to something cleaner and more sustainable for the benefit of future generations, Ethan had a vision for transforming the future of education into a more affordable, flexible, and streamlined process for our children.

  “He was betting on my falling in love with the idea, and then turning around and helping him spread the message. As most of you probably know, Ethan can be very persuasive.”

  She waited for the laughter to subside before continuing.

  “The result is an innovative partnership between the Talbot Foundation, a collaborative of Fortune 500 corporate sponsors, and several of California’s top universities. This initiative offers qualifying students the opportunity to earn college credit while gaining practical work experience in STEM fields. While it’s still in the early stages—an experiment, if you will—I believe it has the potential to revolutionize how we as a society approach education.

  “The Talbot Fellowship remains an integral part of this experiment. Today, as we begin the seventh year of the program, I want to take the opportunity to welcome you all, and to remind you of the critical role you play in this process. We look to all of you—the current and former Talbot Fellows—to help lead the way toward a brighter future. A future in which knowledge continues to empower and improve all of our lives, as well as the lives of our children, and our children’s children.”

  The ache in her back intensified, spreading to her belly. She gripped the podium, barely managing to stay upright. She gritted her teeth and breathed through the pain.

  “While we’re on the subject of children,” she said, glancing toward the wings, “I think this one is angling for an early appearance…”

  Pandemonium erupted as Ethan burst onto the stage, closely followed by Leo, who sprang up from his seat in the front row and clambered up toward the podium.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Ethan demanded, wrapping an arm around her and easing her into a chair that someone had managed to shove behind her just in time.

  “I just did,” she panted.

  “I’m calling 911,” Leo said, already dialing. “Legs crossed, Anush, okay?”

  “Don’t you mean fingers crossed?” Ethan said.

  “No,” Leo said, pausing to give a series of rapid-fire instructions by phone, before turning back to Anna. “There’s a reason I chose orthopedic surgery. And it’s not because I had a burning desire to deliver babies. Haven’t done it since med school, and I’m hoping you’re not going to make me do it today. So try to hold off a bit longer, okay?”

  “Doing my best,” she said, clutching Ethan’s hand hard enough to make him wince.

  Toward the rear of the auditorium, a scuffle broke out, temporarily diverting Anna’s attention. Security personnel closed in on a man wielding a long lens camera.

  Anna sighed. Here we go again. The paparazzi’s fascination with Ethan’s personal life had petered out sometime after the wedding—only to flare back to life when Anna’s pregnancy started
showing. Apparently, bump watching was a popular sport in L.A. Anna managed to shrug off the renewed tabloid interest. The fact that she was so busy helped, as did the additional security staff Ethan hired.

  Another wave of pain pushed all thoughts of paparazzi aside.

  Twenty minutes later, Anna was at the hospital, getting hooked up to a fetal monitor. Ethan didn’t leave her side while the labor and delivery staff circled around her, drawing blood, running IV fluids, doing an ultrasound.

  The contractions slowed, and eventually stopped.

  “You were dehydrated,” the ob/gyn said. “And you have a urinary tract infection. We’re running the first dose of antibiotics through the IV. Are you sure you didn’t experience any symptoms like fever or flank pain? Maybe some burning with urination? Urgency, frequency?”

  “Junior’s sitting on my bladder,” she said. “I thought the urgency and frequency were normal. But the flank pain? That didn’t start until last night.”

  Ethan frowned. “You didn’t tell me. I would never have agreed to let you do the speech if I’d known.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Anna said. “I knew you’d be unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable?” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “You think it’s unreasonable that I want to protect my wife and child from unnecessary risks?”

  “Alrighty then,” the ob/gyn interrupted. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Sorry.” Anna glanced at the doctor. “We really appreciate your help. When do you think I can go home?”

  “We’ll monitor you for another few hours, Mrs. Talbot. Make sure those contractions don’t come back. Assuming all stays quiet, you’ll get a prescription for some antibiotics to continue after discharge. Try to stay well hydrated. You’ll need to follow up with your regular OB in the next couple of days. And obviously if you have any recurrent contractions or worrisome symptoms, come back sooner. We’re here twenty-four/seven.”

  He left, and for several minutes the only sound in the room was the rhythmic whoosh of the fetal monitor.

  Anna rested her hand atop her belly, reassured by the movement she felt beneath her palm. Ethan stroked a thumb across her knuckles. “I’m sorry if you think I overreacted.”