Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

Kim lowered the passenger-side window and jauntily stuck her arm out. “This feels like a mini-vacation,” she said.

“Particularly for me,” Edward said. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I usually spend just about every day in the lab.”

“Weekends too?” Kim questioned.

“Seven days a week,” Edward admitted. “The usual way I can tell it is a Sunday is when there are fewer people around. I guess I’m just a boring guy!”

“I’d say dedicated,” Kim said. “I’d also say you’re very considerate. The flowers you’ve been sending me daily are glorious, but I’m hardly accustomed to such gallantry. I certainly don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Edward said.

Kim could sense his unease. He pushed his hair off his forehead several times in a row.

“It’s certainly not ‘nothing’ to me,” Kim said. “I want to thank you again.”

“Did you have any trouble getting the keys to the old house?” Edward asked, changing the subject.

Kim shook her head. “Not in the slightest. I went over to the lawyers right after work yesterday.”

They drove north on route 93, then turned east on 128. The traffic was light.

“I certainly enjoyed our dinner last night,” Edward said.

“Me too,” Kim said. “Thank you. But when I thought about it this morning I wanted to apologize for dominating the conversation. I think I talked too much about myself and my family.”

“There you go apologizing again,” Edward said.

Kim struck her thigh in mock punishment. “I’m afraid I’m a hopeless case.” She laughed.

“Besides”-Edward chuckled-“I should be the one apologizing. It was my fault because I bombarded you mercilessly with questions that I’m afraid might have been borderline too personal.”

“I wasn’t offended in the slightest,” Kim said. “I just hope I didn’t scare you when I mentioned those anxiety attacks I used to get when I first went to college.”

“Oh, please!” Edward laughed. “I think we all get them, especially those of us who tend to be compulsive, like doctors. I used to get anxiety attacks in college before every test even though I never had any problems with grades.”

“I think mine were a little worse than run-of-the-mill,” Kim said. “For a short time I even had trouble riding in the car, thinking I might get one while I was cooped up.”

“Did you ever take anything for them?” Edward asked.

“Xanax for a short time,” Kim said.

“Did you ever try Prozac?” Edward asked.

Kim turned to look at Edward. “Never!” she said. “Why would I take Prozac?”

“Just that you mentioned you had both anxiety and shyness,” Edward said. “Prozac could have helped both.”

“Prozac has never been suggested,” Kim said. “Plus even if it had been I wouldn’t have taken it. I’m not in favor of using drugs for minor personality flaws like shyness. I think drugs should be reserved for serious problems, not mere everyday difficulties.”

“Sorry,” Edward said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Kim said. “But I do feel strongly about it. As a nurse I see too many people taking too many drugs. Drug companies have got us to think there is a pill for every problem.”

“I basically agree with you,” Edward said. “But as a neuroscientist I now see behavior and mood as biochemical, and I’ve reevaluated my attitude toward clean psychotropic drugs.”

“What do you mean, ‘clean’ drugs?” Kim asked.

“Drugs that have little or no side effects.”

“All drugs have side effects,” Kim said.

“I suppose that’s true,” Edward said. “But some side effects are quite minor and certainly an acceptable risk in relation to the potential benefits.”

“I guess that’s the crux of the philosophical argument,” Kim said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Edward said. “I remembered those two books I’d promised to loan you.” He reached in the backseat, grabbed the books, and slipped them into Kim’s lap. Kim leafed through them, jokingly complaining that there weren’t any pictures. Edward laughed.

“I tried to look up your ancestor in the one on the Salem witch trials,” Edward said. “But there is no Elizabeth Stewart in the index. Are you sure she was executed? Those authors did extensive research.”

“As far as I know,” Kim said. She glanced in the index of Salem Possessed. It went from “spectral testimony” to “Stoughton, William.” There was no Stewart at all.

After a half-hour drive they entered Salem. Their route took them past the Witch House. Edward’s interest was immediately aroused, and he pulled to the side of the road.

“What’s that place?” he asked.

“It’s called the Witch House,” Kim said. “It’s one of the prime tourist attractions in the area.”

“Is it truly seventeenth century?” Edward asked as he stared at the old building. “Or is it Disneyland-like recreation?”

“It’s authentic,” Kim said. “It’s also on its original site. There is another seventeenth-century house nearby at the Peabody-Essex Institute, but it had been moved from another location.”

“Cool,” Edward said. The building had a storybook appeal. He was enthralled by the way the second story protruded from the first, and by the diamond-shaped panes of glass.

“Calling it cool dates you.” Kim laughed. “Call it ‘awesome.’”

“OK,” Edward said agreeably. “It’s awesome.”

“It’s also surprisingly similar to the old house I’m going to show you on the Stewart family compound,” Kim said. “But it’s technically not a witch house since no witch lived in it. It was the home of Jonathan Corwin. He was one of the magistrates who conducted some of the preliminary hearings.”

“I remember the name from Salem Possessed,” Edward said. “It certainly brings history to life when you see an actual site.” Then he turned to Kim. “How far is the Stewart compound from here?”

“Not far,” Kim said. “Maybe ten minutes tops.”

“Did you have breakfast this morning?”

“Just some juice and fruit,” Kim said.

“How about stopping for coffee and a donut?” Edward asked.

“Sounds good,” Kim said.

Since it was still early and the bulk of the tourists had yet to arrive, they had no trouble finding parking near the Salem Commons. Just across the street was a coffee shop. They got coffee-to-go and strolled around the center of town, peeking into the Witch Museum and a few of the other tourist attractions. As they walked down the pedestrian mall on Essex Street, they noticed how many shops and pushcarts were selling witch-related souvenirs.

“The witch trials spawned an entire cottage industry,” Edward commented. “I’m afraid it’s a little tacky.”

“It does trivialize the ordeal,” Kim said. “But it also stands as testament to the affair’s appeal. Everybody finds it so fascinating.”

Wandering into the National Park Service Visitor Center, Kim found herself confronted by a virtual library of books and pamphlets on the trials. “I had no idea there was so much literature available,” she said. After a few moments of browsing, she purchased several books. She explained to Edward that once she got interested in something she usually went overboard.

Returning to the car, they drove out North Street, passing the Witch House again, and turned right on Orne Road. As they passed the Greenlawn Cemetery Kim mentioned that it had once been part of the Stewarts’ land.

Kim directed Edward to turn right onto a dirt road. As they bumped along, Edward had to fight with the steering wheel. It was impossible to miss all the potholes.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Edward asked.