Robin Cook - Contagion

Jack played for several hours. Unfortunately his shot wasn’t as smooth or accurate as on the previous day. Warren teased him unmercifully, especially when he guarded Jack during several of the games. Warren was making up for the ignominy of the previous day’s defeats.

At three o’clock after another loss, which meant Jack would be sitting out for at least three games, maybe more, he gave up and returned to his apartment. After a shower he sat down to try to read again, but found himself thinking about Terese.

Concerned about being rejected a second time, Jack had not planned on calling her. But by four he relented; after all, she had asked him to call. More important, he truly wanted to talk with her. Having partially opened up to her, he felt curiously disturbed not to have told her the whole story. He felt he owed her more.

Even more anxious than he had been the evening before, Jack dialed the number.

This time Terese was much more receptive. In fact, she was ebullient.

“We made great progress last night,” she announced proudly. “Tomorrow we’re going to knock the socks off the president and the CEO. Thanks to you this idea of hospital cleanliness and low infection rate is a great hook. We’re even having some fun with your sterilization idea.”

Finally Jack got around to asking her if she’d like to get together for some coffee. He reminded her it had been her suggestion.

“I’d love it,” Terese said without hesitation. “When?”

“How about right now?” Jack said.

“Fine by me,” Terese said.

They met at a small French-style café on Madison Avenue between Sixty-first and Sixty-second conveniently close to the Willow and Heath building. Jack got there ahead of Terese and took a table in the window and ordered an espresso.

Terese arrived soon after. She waved through the window, and after entering, she forced Jack into a repeat of the cheek-pressing routine. She was vibrant. She ordered a decaf cappuccino from the attentive waiter.

As soon as they were alone, she leaned across the table and grasped Jack’s hand. “How are you?” she asked. She looked directly into his eyes and then at his jawline. “Your pupils are equal, and you look okay. I thought you’d be black and blue.”

“I’m better than I would have expected,” Jack admitted.

Terese then launched into an excited monologue about her upcoming review and how wonderfully everything was falling into place. She explained what a “ripomatic” was and how they had managed to put one together with tape sequences from their previous National Health campaign. She said it was terrific and gave a good impression of the Do-No-Harm Hippocrates idea.

Jack let her carry on until she’d exhausted the subject. After taking a few gulps of her cappuccino, she asked him what he’d been doing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the conversation we had Friday night,” he said. “It’s been bothering me.”

“How so?” Terese asked.

“We were being open with each other, but I wasn’t completely forthright,” Jack said. “I’m not accustomed to talking about my problems. The truth is: I didn’t tell you the whole story.”

Terese put her coffee cup down and studied Jack’s face. His dark blue eyes were intense. His face was stubbled; he’d obviously not shaved that day. She thought that under different circumstances Jack could appear intimidating, maybe even scary.

“My wife wasn’t the only person who died,” Jack said haltingly. “I lost my two daughters as well. It was a commuter plane crash.”

Terese swallowed with difficulty. She’d felt a welling of emotion clog her throat. Jack’s story was hardly what she’d expected.

“The problem is, I’ve always felt so damn responsible,” he continued. “If it hadn’t been for me they wouldn’t have been on that plane.”

Terese felt an intense stab of empathy. After a few moments she said: “I wasn’t entirely forthright either. I told you I’d lost my child. What I didn’t say is that it was an unborn child, and at the same time I lost the child, I lost my ability to have any more. To add insult to injury, the man I’d married deserted me.”

For a few emotionally choked minutes neither Jack nor Terese spoke. Finally, Jack broke the silence: “It sounds like we’re trying to outdo each other with our personal tragedies,” he said, managing a smile.

“Just like a couple of depressives,” Terese agreed. “My therapist would love this.”

“Of course, what I’ve told you is for your ears only,” Jack said.

“Don’t be silly,” Terese assured him. “Same goes for you. I haven’t told my story to anyone but my therapist.”

“I haven’t told anybody,” Jack said. “Not even a therapist.”

Feeling a sense of relief from having both bared their innermost secrets, Jack and Terese went on to talk about happier things. Terese, who’d grown up in the city, was shocked to hear how little of the area Jack had visited since he’d been there. She talked about taking him to the Cloisters when spring had truly arrived.

“You’ll love it,” she promised.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Jack said.

Jack was irritated at himself. He’d had time to buy a new bike on Saturday, but he’d failed to do so. Consequently, he had to use the subway again to commute to work, although he’d considered jogging. The problem with jogging was that he’d have to have a change of clothes in his office. To give him the option in the future he brought some to work in a small shoulder bag.

Coming in from First Avenue, Jack again entered the medical examiner’s facility through the front entrance. As he passed through the glass door, he was impressed with the number of families waiting in the outer reception area. It was highly unusual for so many people to be there that early. Something must be up, he surmised.

Jack had himself buzzed in. He walked into the scheduling room and saw George Fontworth sitting at the desk Laurie had occupied each morning the previous week.

Jack was sorry Laurie’s week as supervisor was over. George had rotated to the position. He was a short, moderately overweight doctor of whom Jack had a low opinion. He was perfunctory and often missed important findings.

Ignoring George, Jack headed over to Vinnie and pushed down the edge of his newspaper.

“Why are there so many people out in the ID area?” Jack asked.

“Because there’s a minor disaster over at the General,” George said, answering for Vinnie. Vinnie treated Jack to a jaunty but disdainful expression and went back to his paper.

“What kind of disaster?” Jack asked.

George patted the top of a stack of folders. “A whole bunch of meningococcal deaths,” he said. “Could be an epidemic in the making. We’ve got eight so far.”

Jack rushed over to George’s desk and snapped up a folder at random. He opened it and shuffled through its contents until he came to the investigative report. Scanning it quickly, he learned that the patient’s name was Robert Caruso, and that he had been a nurse on the orthopedic floor at the General.

Jack tossed the folder back onto the desk and literally ran through communications to the offices of the PAs. He was relieved to see Janice was still there, putting in overtime as usual.

She looked terrible. The dark circles under her eyes were so distinct, she resembled a battered woman. She put her pen down and leaned back. She shook her head. “I might have to get another job,” she said. “I can’t keep this up. Thank God I have tomorrow and the next day off.”

“What happened?” Jack asked.

“It started on the shift before mine,” Janice said. “The first case was called in around six-thirty. Apparently the patient had died about six P.M.”