Chapter 26
Tuesday 6:30 a.m.
The alarm is loud as I tap on my bedside table with my eyes closed. I finally press the clock and the sound stops. My eyes feel puffy and swollen. I can’t seem to open them.
I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay in bed all day, with a bucket of Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream, and watch every single Bridget Jones’s Diary movie one after the other.
But I can’t. So I pull the blanket off and sit up, my eyes still shut.
I walk to the bathroom, blindly open the tap, and lean over the sink to wash my face. Once I’m done, I manage to open my eyes, so I straighten up and look at myself in the mirror.
Oh, my goodness! What is that?
I have sandbags under my red eyes, and my cheeks are swollen. I can’t go in public like that.
I need a cold shower!
I open the door of the shower cabin and let the water run, turning the cold knob a lot more than the hot one.
Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!
The last time I spent all night crying was in high school, when Hugh left me waiting at home to be picked up for the prom while he went off with Samantha. Hell, I didn’t even cry like that when Danny dumped me!
Who is this guy, anyway, to make such an enormous impression on me?
It’s better this way…
I know that line.
I so know that line . . .
I hate myself for getting into this stupid mess—and in such a short time too.
Why?
Who is he anyway?
Just some guy. Some stupidly gorgeous guy . . . with a voice, and a smile, and a way about him that drives me crazy.
I wave my hand dismissively. There are thousands of guys like that. And—and I’m an attractive woman. I could be with any of them, too.
If I wanted to.
I look at the side glass of the shower cabin, seeing my blurry reflection.
So how come I’ve never met anyone before who affects me like he does?
My throat shuts tight and I can feel the tears coming.
I close my eyes and press my lips together. Then I push these thoughts deep, deep down a well, the one where all the unhappy emotions go.
I stay like this for a few moments, eyes closed, pulling myself together. And the tears don’t come.
After several minutes, I feel strangely peaceful.
The well is closed, a thick brown wooden plank on top of the deep dark water of the place where I drown my painful memories.
I open my eyes, then walk into the shower.
Argh! Whose idea was the cold shower, anyway?
***
“What happened to you?” Miyako says, looking at me with wide eyes as we walk toward the basement lab. “Are you okay?”
Frank turns around, assessing me as well.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just a . . . restless night.”
She nods slowly but doesn’t seem convinced.
Chris lifts his ID card to the panel and opens the door for us.
David is already in the pre-lab, hunched over a computer, paging through the data we collected last week. He turns around, looking at us over his glasses, propping his arms on his knees. “Good morning, everyone. Have a seat!”
Once we’re all sitting, David starts, “So let me hear it. What’s our progress?”
Florence looks at me, then at David. “Well, we’ve had some . . . questions come up.”
“There are always open questions in research, Florence, you signed up for that,” David says in too much of a patronizing manner.
“These aren’t the usual open questions, David. There are some uncertainties that shouldn’t be uncertainties at all.”
David frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, you know the genotyping data in Dr. Rosenberg’s folder was wrong, right? It was for the Thermus strain only, not Crazy Gro.”
“Yeah, but that’s probably only a glitch in the data.” He looks at all of us. “You have the sequence now, right?”
“Not yet,” starts Florence. “The genomics lab was backed up before Christmas, but I went down this morning and they said they should have it either today or tomorrow.”
David raises his hands in front of him. “Fine. So, the sequence comes soon. Jane, you’ll be able to design a blocker. Florence, you’ll be looking into the DNA polymerase. What else?”
I look at Chris.
“Well, the other thing,” Chris begins, reacting to my cue, “is that the food Crazy Gro use is not what we thought it was. It’s not our usual food agar.”
David’s frown deepens and he says, almost spelling out his words, “What are they growing on, then?”
“We don’t know,” I say, “but we’re going to find out. I took a sample of the food to proteomics for mass spectrometry. I do need your signature on the form, though, to run it.”
David nods. “Ah, that was the form you left me. Yes, yes. Did you leave a message for me last Friday?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Jane. The connection was so bad I didn’t understand any of it. But okay, it’s clear now, I’ll sign off on that.”
“Thanks, David.”
“Good. What else? Francesco, what’s happening with your antibiotics?”
Frank shakes his head. “Nothing. None of them work and I used everything I’ve got.”
David sighs and looks at the floor again.
“There is one thing, though,” I say, looking at Frank.
“What?” Frank and David say at the same time.
I look at Frank. “The delay?” I say, nodding encouragingly, trying to remind him what I mean.
“A-ha!” Frank clicks his tongue. “That. Well, the cells experience a very small setback of their growth speed right at the time when I add the antibiotics.”
“What? I don’t understand.” David turns his head to him.
“The cells grow, right, with a certain speed. But when I add the antibiotics, they slow down just slightly. They still grow, but for several seconds their growth is not as fast as before. Or after.”
David looks at me. “What do we know about this slowdown?”
“Not much yet, but Frank’s doing the staining, and we’ll check some of the markers to get a better idea,” I say.
“Fine. Let me know as soon as you get something on it. Anything else?”
None of us say anything.
“Good!” David says. Then he pushes himself up, leaning on his knees. “Let me know how things progress. Next meeting is on Monday, unless something comes up. And Jane,” he says, turning to me, “I’ll be in the office until lunch, you know, for the signature. After that, I’m out. I have an important meeting to attend to.”
“Okay.” I nod, and I’m about to follow him when Frank stops me.
“Jane, would you mind helping me today with the staining?”
“Sure. I’ll prepare the reagents in the lab, then I’ll bring them down. Okay?”
“Great! Thanks, Jane.”
“No worries! I need to catch up with David.” I wave my hand to all and hurry to leave.
I reach him just as he’s entering the elevator.
“Wait for me!” I say and wave.
David puts his hand on the door and smiles. “You’re sure eager to get that signature, aren’t you?”
I hate being in this mind labyrinth with too many open questions. “Well, the sooner the better, right?” The elevator door closes and we head up.
He nods, smiling. Then he looks at me more closely and narrows his eyes. “Are you okay, Jane? You seem a bit . . .”
Oh, no! Cry puffiness. When is it going to go away?
“I’m fine. I had a bit of trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
David opens his mouth to say something else, but I interrupt, wanting to change the subject. “So, what’s this important meeting you need to attend to?”
“Ah, that . . .” He looks back at the elevator door. “Well, actually, it’s the company that funds this Crazy Gro research. I need to give them an overview of where we stand right now, report on the progress. It’s a bit of a mess. I was talking to some of them yesterday too. They want results.”
“They didn’t give us much time. It’s only been a few days!”
He tilts his head from side to side. “Ah, well, yes and no, really.”
“What do you mean?”
The elevator door opens and we walk out.
“Well, Rosenberg was working on it for several months before she passed away, without obvious results. And since I told them about your promising experiments, they are all over me, expecting to hear something soon. Also, if I understood them correctly, they have some kind of a deadline, so they are under pressure.”
He stops in front of his door and reaches deep into his pocket, searching for his keys. He quickly finds the one for his office and we enter.
“But they have been working with Dr. Rosenberg—they have to know that research takes time.”
He nods as he sits at his computer. “They should, shouldn’t they? But I think they are more business oriented, rather than science. And also”—he looks at me, raising his eyebrows—“they’re paying an insane amount of money for this.” Then he holds a hand to the side of his mouth and says quietly, “A lot more than this project actually needs. So—we are happy. I’m not complaining.”
He’s paging through papers, searching for the form I left him. Once he finds it, he takes it out, then taps his chest pocket, searching for a pen. I’m already taking mine out.
He looks up at me. “Jane, would you happen to have—ah, I love your mind reading! Thanks!” He takes the pen and signs the form. “There you go! Let me know as soon as something comes out. Clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir!” I say and salute.
He waves his hand at me. “Go! And get some proper sleep tonight!”
That’s not so crystal clear, sir. “I’ll try,” I say and turn around to leave. At the door, I stop and look back. “And good luck with your meeting! I hope they don’t go too hard on you.”