Robin Cook - Marker

Laurie watched Roger pace but couldn't make eye contact. At the moment, the series of suspicious deaths at the Manhattan General was not what was on her mind, but she didn't have the emotional strength to counter Roger's current vehemence about them.

"And then, to make matters worse," Roger added, "we had a homicidal mugging in our parking garage this morning. I mean, I'm starting to get a complex about all this. None of this happened before I came on board."

Roger finally stopped moving and made eye contact with Laurie. His expression suggested that he was looking for sympathy, but it changed when he noticed hers. "Why the long face?" he asked. He bent over to look more closely, then quickly sat down. "I'm sorry. Here I've been ranting and raging and ignoring you, and you're upset. What's wrong?"

Laurie shut her eyes tightly and looked away. Roger's sudden solicitousness reawakened the emotions she'd felt the moment Anne Dickson had given her the definitive news. She felt Roger's hand on her shoulder.

"What is it, Laurie? What's wrong?"

At first, Laurie could only shake her head, for fear that talking would release a flood of tears. She hated her emotionalism. It was such a damn handicap. She straightened up and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sustained huff. "I'm sorry," she managed.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. I was the one carrying on like a selfish, insensitive brute. What's happened?"

Laurie cleared her throat and began her BRCA1 saga, and once she started talking, she ironically got progressively less emotional, as if her professional persona was able to take over. She talked about her mother and her recent surgery and the fact that she was also positive for the mutated gene. She also mentioned her father's advice to get the test. Leaving out Jack's role, she described how she'd come over to the Manhattan General and had the blood drawn the day she and Roger had met. She then explained how she had successfully forgotten all about it until the call she had gotten that morning from Anne Dickson. She concluded by saying that she'd just come from an interview where she'd been told that she was positive for the BRCA1 marker and for the mutated gene itself, so there was no chance for laboratory error. She admitted she'd blamed the messenger, despite trying to avoid not doing so, and joked that she'd denied the poor woman the opportunity to ask her the quintessential therapist's question: how Laurie felt about the news. Laurie ended by chuckling.

"I'm amazed you can find humor in this," Roger said.

"I feel better after talking to you."

"I'm so sorry about all this," Roger said with a voice that suggested utter sincerity. "What are you going to do? What's the next step?"

"As soon as I leave here, I'm supposed to head over to the clinic to see Sue Passero. She's offered to help arrange an appointment in the near future with an oncologist."

She gave Roger a pat on the thigh and started to stand up.

"Hold on," Roger said, reaching out and pressing down on her shoulder to keep her in her seat. "Not so fast! Since the social worker didn't have a chance, let me ask you how you feel. I imagine it's something like finding out your best friend is your mortal enemy."

Laurie peered into the depths of Roger's dark brown eyes. She found herself wondering if he was asking the question as a close friend or as a doctor. If it was the former, was his interest truly sincere? He seemed to have a knack for saying the right thing, but what was his motivation? Then she chided herself for questioning, but after the marriage and children flap, she wasn't sure of anything.

"I guess I haven't had time to feel much of anything," Laurie said after a pause. She was tempted to say something about her newly recognized ability to compartmentalize her thoughts to the point of just not thinking about anything she didn't want to. But then she decided it was too long a story, since she wanted to get over to the Kaufman Clinic building to see Sue. In the long run, it was the oncologist who was going to be key, and the sooner the appointment was scheduled, the better she would feel.

"There must be something you can share with me," Roger persisted. He still had his hand resting on her shoulder. "You can't learn something as disturbing as this without having some specific fears."

"I suppose you are right," Laurie admitted reluctantly. "For me, some of the suggested prophylactic measures and their side effects are the scariest. For instance, the idea of electively losing my fertility by having my ovaries removed is…"

Laurie stopped in mid-sentence. For her, the thought that suddenly raced through her mind like a tornado was the equivalent of being rudely slapped in the face. It brought an instantaneous adrenaline rush that caused her pulse to race and the ends of her fingers to tingle. For a moment, she even felt dizzy, such that she had to grasp the edge of her chair to keep from toppling over.

Luckily, the dizziness passed as quickly as it had appeared. She could tell Roger was talking, but for the moment, she couldn't hear him, as the idea that had occurred to her kept reverberating in her mind with an effect akin to claps of thunder. The old adage "Be careful what you wish for because it might come to pass" again flashed into her consciousness.

Laurie stood up abruptly, effectively pulling Roger to his feet as well, since he still had his hand on her shoulder. All at once, she wanted to be by herself.

"Laurie!" Roger demanded. Using his two hands, he gave her shoulders a shake. "What's wrong? You didn't finish your sentence."

"I'm sorry," Laurie said in a voice that was calmer than she felt. She peeled Roger's reluctant hands from her shoulders. "I have to go."

"I can't let you go like this. What are you thinking about? Are you depressed?"

"No, I'm not depressed. Not yet, anyway. I have to go, Roger. I'll call you later."

Laurie turned to leave, but Roger grabbed her arm. "I have to be sure you won't hurt yourself in any way."

Catching Roger's drift, Laurie shook her head. "Rest assured, I'm not going to hurt myself. I just need to be alone for a while." She extracted her arm from Roger's grasp.

"You'll call me."

"Yes, I'll call you," Laurie said as she opened the door.

"Am I going to see you tonight?"

Laurie hesitated in the doorway and then turned around. "Tonight's not going to work. But I'll be in touch."

Laurie left Roger's office, rounded the nearest secretary's desk, and walked deliberately down the hallway, resisting the inclination to run. She could feel Roger's eyes on her back, but she didn't turn around. Passing through the doorway that separated the administrative area from the rest of the hospital, she slipped into the crowd. Once again, the anonymity was comforting. Instead of dashing out of the building, which was her initial intention, she regained her seat opposite the information booth and spent the next quarter of an hour thinking of the consequences of her disturbing notion.

THE THURSDAY-AFTERNOON conference at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was a command performance, according to the dictates of the chief, Harold Bingham. Although he frequently did not attend himself, citing pressing administrative duties, everyone else under his command in the five boroughs of New York had to attend. The rule was strictly enforced by the deputy chief, Calvin Washington, unless prior dispensation had been granted, which required deathbed illness or the equivalent. Consequently, the forensic pathologists from the branch offices in Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island all had to make the weekly hajj to Mecca for the questionable enlightenment that the conferences offered. For those medical examiners assigned to the home office serving Manhattan and the Bronx, the onus was far less of an imposition, since all they had to do was take the elevator from the fifth floor down to the first.