Robin Cook - Marker

For a moment, Laurie stared at Roger, and Roger stared back. Laurie mulled over this new fact and tried to think how it could be connected. Nothing came to mind although it reminded her of Jack's comment the day before during the afternoon conference when he learned St. Francis, another AmeriCare institution, had seemingly had a similar series of deaths like hers. He'd said, "The plot thickens." She'd not had a chance to ask him what he had meant, nor did she follow up this morning when he'd said the new cases "cast a pall over AmeriCare," but now that Roger had told her this new fact, she was even more eager to ask him to explain. Laurie knew that Jack had a visceral hatred for AmeriCare, which colored his thinking, but still, he was smart and also intuitive.

"I really don't know if this is significant," Roger repeated. "But it is curious."

"Then it has to be significant in some form or fashion," Laurie said. "But I don't know how. These victims have all been young and healthy. AmeriCare actively recruits such customers. It's to their detriment to lose them."

"I know. It doesn't make sense, but I thought I should inform you anyway."

"I'm glad you did," Laurie said. She stood up. "Well, I've got to get back. The reason I'm not doing Mulhausen's autopsy is that I was supposed to go right up to my office and sign out McGillin and Morgan's deaths as being natural this very morning."

"Not so fast!" Roger said. He caught Laurie's arm and, with a little pressure, eased her back down into her seat. "You're not getting away that easy. But first, who's forcing you to sign out the cases as natural?"

"The deputy chief, Calvin Washington. He claims that the Chief, Harold Bingham, is getting pressure from the mayor's office."

Roger shook his head. He had a disgusted expression on his face. "I'm not surprised, considering what the hospital president said to me yesterday. He said that I should know for my own good that AmeriCare wants this problem to fade into the woodwork."

"That's hardly surprising. It would be a PR nightmare. But how does it come through the mayor's office?"

"I'm new to the organization, but I've gotten the sense that AmeriCare puts a lot of stock on being politically connected, as evidenced by them landing the city contract. I don't have to remind you that healthcare is big business, and there's always a lot of lobbying going on about a myriad of issues."

Laurie nodded as if she understood, but she didn't. "I'm going to sign them out as natural deaths, but I'm hoping with your help I'll be changing the certificates in the near future."

"Enough of this business talk," Roger said. "More important, how are you? I've been really concerned, and frankly, I've had to hold myself back from calling you every fifteen minutes."

"I'm sorry I've made you concerned," Laurie said as her mind frantically searched for a way to placate Roger without lying and without telling him the crux of the problem. "But as I said yesterday, I'm holding my own. It's just a difficult time for me."

"I understand. I tried to imagine how I would feel if I had been told I had a marker for a gene that was associated with developing cancer and then allowed to walk out the door. The burgeoning field of medical genetics has to come up with a better way to present this kind of information to patients than they do now, along with some reasonable cures."

"As someone who's in the process of going through it, I'd have to agree, although the social worker did make an attempt. But American medicine has always been like that. Technology has been the driving force, pulling the sociology of patient care behind."

"I wish I knew how to be more supportive for you."

"I'm afraid at the moment you really can't be. I'm caught up in my own personal odyssey. But that doesn't mean I'm not appreciative of your thoughts, and you have been supportive."

"What about tonight? Can we get together?"

Laurie peered into Roger's pale eyes. It bothered her that she wasn't being forthright, but she could not get herself to tell him she was pregnant and was having dinner with Jack because she and Jack had conceived a child. It wasn't that she thought he couldn't handle it, because she thought he could. It was more because of her sense of privacy, and until she told Jack, she didn't want to share it with anyone, even someone she cared for, such as Roger.

"We could have an early dinner," Roger urged. "We don't even have to talk about the BRCA issue if you don't want to. Maybe I'll already have some personnel data from here or Saint Francis. I mean, it's possible I could get some, even though, as you say, it's Friday."

"Roger, with everything that has happened to me recently, I need some space, at least for a few days. That's the kind of support I need. Can you try to live with that?"

"Yes, but I don't like it."

"I appreciate your understanding. Thank you." Laurie stood up again, and Roger did the same.

"Can I at least call you?"

"I suppose, but I don't know how much I'll want to talk. Maybe it would be better for me to call you. I'm taking it a day at a time."

Roger nodded and Laurie did the same. There was a brief, awkward moment of silence before Roger reached out and gave Laurie another hug. Her response was as restrained as it had been earlier. Laurie flashed a weak smile and started to leave.

"One other question," Roger said. He stepped between Laurie and the door. "Does any part of this 'difficult time' you've described have anything to do with my still being married?"

"To be honest, I suppose a small amount," Laurie admitted.

"I certainly regret not telling you, and I'm sorry. I know I should have earlier on, but at first it seemed presumptuous you'd care. I mean, I'd gotten to the point I didn't care myself, like it was a non-issue. Then, when we got to know each other, and I'd fallen in love, and I knew you would care, I was embarrassed for not having told you sooner."

"Thank you for apologizing and explaining. I'm sure it will help put the issue behind us."

"That's my hope," Roger said. He gave Laurie's shoulder a tender squeeze, then opened his office door. "We'll talk."

Laurie nodded. "For sure," she agreed, and then walked out.

Roger watched Laurie wend her way among the desks and start down the long corridor. He watched her until she was out of sight, then closed his door. As he moved around his desk and sat down, her scent wafted in the air like a wraith. He was concerned about her, and he was worried that he'd botched their relationship by not being forthright with her, and, more damning, he hadn't come clean. He was still holding back things that she had the right to know if their relationship was to grow, and, worse yet, he wasn't telling her the truth about things that he'd already told her. Contrary to what he had suggested, there were unresolved aspects of his relationship with his wife, including unrequited love on his part, which he had not had the courage to tell Laurie, even though she had had the courage to tell him something similar regarding her former boyfriend, Jack.

Roger's biggest secret from everyone, including his current employers, was that he was a former addict. While in Thailand, he had fallen into the trap of heroin addiction. It had started innocently enough, as a kind of experiment ostensibly so he could better understand and treat patients with the problem. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the drug's seductiveness and his own weaknesses, especially since the heroin was so freely available. It was at this time that his wife and children left him for the protection of her powerful family. It was also the reason he was transferred to Africa and eventually dismissed from the organization. And even though he had gone through an extensive program of rehabilitation and had been reasonably drug-free for years, the specter of the addiction problem still haunted him every day. One problem was that he knew he drank too much. He loved wine and was surreptitiously drinking at least a bottle a night, which made him worry that he was allowing alcohol to become a substitute for heroin. As a physician, particularly one who'd gone through rehab, he knew the risks.