10

“HOLY SHIT, IT WORKS!”

Randy, one of Hope’s interns, stared at the screen as numbers and code scrawled across it. He pointed to a spot on the screen and said, “Look, it is not only feeding the data in and separating it, it is actually giving us predictors.”

Hope clapped her hands, her joy overriding her usual calm. The program was working just like Jackson had said it would!

It had taken him three weeks to build it and get the bugs out of it. The weeks had gone by with the two of them spending a lot of time together not just for the program’s sake, but for the sake of the budding relationship building between them.

Jackson was a great guy, and Hope liked him a lot. He was brilliant under that arrogant demeanor. He was also kind and thoughtful, and he had a dry, sharp wit that constantly amused her.

The program scrolled up more data, and she asked, “Can you start feeding today’s results in and see what happens?”

Randy nodded, “Can do. I think this is it Hope; this is exactly what we needed to impress the grant boards.”

Hope really wished that was true. It had to be enough because it was all they had. Her research had never really been a high priority thing in a world riddled by disease and death. Most people gave up on the comatose, and she knew it. This was research that had been put on the back-burner over and over again, and if she did not get that grant, she would be forced to look for private investors, which meant leaving her campus-affiliated position and working for a pharmaceutical company that wanted to make money off the deal.

Her stomach knotted as she watched the data being processed and more predictors coming up.

She said, “You know, if this keeps up we might be able to start using the patients in the way we wanted to use them.”

Randy knew that was also a sore point for her. Up until now, they had only been allowed to use rats that had been put into medically-induced comas, and he knew just as well as she did that what they needed was a human subject.

Hope said, “I have to get out of here. Can you put all this on a flash drive for me to take to the board meeting tomorrow?”

Randy nodded. “Sure. Anything else you need done right now?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

She ducked out of the lab, hurrying now. Jackson was meeting her at her place in less than an hour to go to dinner at her parents’ house, and her nerves were already stretched to the breaking point.

She had asked Jackson to go, but now she sort of wished she had not. The phone call from her mother a few days before had been filled with the usual conversations about Clara’s nabbing of a big account – one bigger than even the biggest account held by the most senior person in her firm – and Robert’s latest takeovers. The occasional prodding question about Hope’s working life had left her feeling raw and vulnerable, so she had blurted out that she was bringing a date.

She knew if there was any one thing Robert would approve of, it would be Jackson. Why would he not approve of him? He was richer than anyone in their circles, he was handsome, and he was an MIT grad. So maybe he would be a sort of shield to get her through dinner.

Asking him to go had been a selfish thing, and she walked faster along the campus, praying that the evening would end mercifully quick and without the usual bloodshed.

She showered and dressed in a nice dress, brushed her hair until it snapped and shone, then put it into a neat twist low on her neck. She put on a bit of lipstick and mascara and checked her nails.

As usual, she needed a manicure. She did the best she could with a file and cuticle cutters and a buffer then called it a day. Clarissa, her mother, would notice immediately that the manicure was not professionally done, but unless, provoked she would likely not say anything.

“Good thing I chose closed-toe shoes,” Hope muttered as she paced nervously along the confines of her living room. “God knows I need a pedicure.”

She really did. She kept her toenails painted and trimmed, but she could use a good pedi, and she knew it. Just one more thing she never had the time or money for.

She always made time for Jackson though.

That stopped her in her tracks.

She had been making time for him, something she simply had never done before. Most guys were put off by her work, the hours she kept in the lab, and the often absentmindedness that hit her when she was struck with an idea that she had to puzzle out in her brain.

Jackson was willing to put up with all of that. He was willing to meet her at odd times and to not see her for a few days at a time when things were going full circuit at the labs and she was caught up in something.

He was a prize, and she was lucky to have him.

But for how long?

Eventually, he was bound to want more and she was not sure if she would ever have it to give to him. If she hit a major breakthrough, her working life would only get more hectic and she would have no time at all for him. No guy was going to sit on the sidelines and wait it out, not when the waiting could be that long.

Jackson was gorgeous, and he was rich. He was every girl’s dream date, and that was before they got to know him as a person. He would have no trouble at all filling the hole she would leave behind.

The doorbell rang. Hope stood there, shaking. She did not want to lose him.

That thought careened around her skull, screaming against the sides of her brain and echoing all the way down to her heart. She did not want to lose Jackson. She wanted to be with him in every way, but if it came down to it, she was going to have to choose between him and the research that meant so much to her.

And which would she pick? If she truly wanted him it should be an easy choice, shouldn’t it?

The doorbell rang again. Hope called out, “Coming!’

She went to the door and opened it. Jackson stood there. He looked amazing in a set of tailored black slacks in Italian wool, a matching jacket, a crisp white dress shirt, and blue and gray-striped tie. His hair, freshly cut, was combed back neatly, and his body gave off the faintest whiff of expensive aftershave and soap.

Hope said, “You look…wow.”

He said, “I was just about to say the same for you. If I am not mistaken, that is the same dress that caused us to miss out on our first dinner date and end up having dinner at The Pit.”

She looked down and burst into laughter. “It is. You love The Pit though.”

“I love their pizza,” he replied, and then he gathered her into his arms. He gave her a long, slow kiss and then, when he lifted his head, he said, “Damn, now I am wondering if your folks would be upset if we were late.”

“They would be really upset.” She stepped back and wiped a bit of lipstick off his mouth with the ball of her thumb. “The wailing would go on forever. The first course would be utterly ruined. The cook would weep in the kitchen, and the house would shudder on its foundation.”

Jackson shot her an amused glance, “Well, shit. There goes that plan then. Are you ready?”

No. She was not ready for this. Not for her folks, and not for the emotions running through her. She was not ready for the truth that was beating at her heart and brain either.

She had fallen in love with Jackson, and being in love with him could threaten everything she had worked so hard for. If she was forced to choose between him and her research, she had no idea which she would choose, and so she had no way of knowing if what she felt for him was real and solid or just an infatuation that would die out eventually or if it was, as she suspected, really love.

Jackson asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said.

No, no she was not okay at all.