“I didn’t give you permission speak,” Lillian admonished him, once again more commanding. “Give me a few minutes. They owe me. And Sean is being bad.”
The line clicked off somewhat abruptly, and Clarissa wondered exactly what was going on over at Lillian's place. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe the nice, quiet Lillian played the dominant role over her police officer fiancé.
Wild, and also not her business.
CHAPTER 8
Clarissa walked over to the refreshment room, where she found Mrs. Pfouts organizing the snacks. “Hey, I'm Dr. Morgan.”
The mom rolled her eyes, looking a lot like Hermione for a second. “Let me guess, she swore at you, asked you inappropriate questions, and told you that everything was the end of the world. She wants to stop chemo. I'm really sorry. She hates being cooped up.”
“I can understand,” Clarissa said. “Actually, I was gonna ask if it was okay that I reach out to Valkyrie Stormflyght, the band, informally.”
“Is this another Make-A-Wish? We've already had three Make-A-Wish trips. Disneyland, Disneyland, and Disneyland again. She refuses to go to Universal Islands of Adventure.,” Mrs. Pfouts said. “Like, for once, let her dad visit Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer.”
“Yeah, can't always get what you want like that.” Not the time to mention they should have considered that possibility before they named their daughter Hermione and tried to force their enjoyment onto her. “Should I hear from the band—I would confirm appropriateness, of course—would it be okay for me to share anything I get with Hermione?”
The mom contemplated the stack of puddings for a few seconds, so Clarissa shifted to her ‘make the sale’ mode.
“You aren't wrong that she's down. I think it would give her something to look forward to during the week she's stuck here and the four weeks afterward while she's in isolation at home.’ Clarissa ventured to remind the mom this wasn’t about what the mom wanted but what her daughter wanted in a world of extremely limited options.
Capitulation was pretty much the only sensible choice.
“Fine. If it works, she might even be pleasant to be around for a whole five or ten minutes. It's weeks like this where I'm glad we only have one child.” The mom started to blink rapidly. “I mean, you shouldn't wish that, because when… if this happens, she's not going to be here anymore...”
When faced with an issue that was both unsolvable and unable to be optimistic about, Clarissa opted to take immediate evasive action. She took a pudding from the bottom of the pyramid, knocking the rest down for the mom to restack.
The mother appeared grateful for the distraction.
Then Clarissa's phone beeped, and she opened it up.
It was an invitation to have a video chat with Gael from Valkyrie StormFlight.
“Wow, Dr. Hernandez works fast. The band wants to chat with your daughter. Is that okay? I promise to stay in the room, make sure nothing creepy happens. I'll just mark consent in the chart. They won’t be able to communicate with your daughter through email or anything, I promise, just through my professional emails.”
“I guess.” The mom shook her head. “Why couldn't she have done, like, a Make-A-Wish Daniel Radcliffe instead of shirtless, yelling rockstars?”
“What happens, happens,” Clarissa said and went to find a computer on wheels with a working camera. After noting the mom’s verbal consent in the chart, she thoroughly sterilized all surfaces of the computer just in case before rolling it through the two sets of doors into the positive pressure room.
“Surprise. Gael from Valkyrie StormFlight has invited us to do a video chat. Right now.”
Hermione started jumping up and down. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. How do I look? How do I look? Should I have makeup or maybe a different wig?”
“You're fine,” Clarissa told her. “Other than getting better light and making sure nothing around you will show up in whatever background filter you pick, it's going to be okay.”
“Oh my God, I need to hide my makeup. Hang on.” Hermione scurried around the room, flinging items in various directions. Meanwhile, Clarissa clicked on the link that arrived in her email.
The first page was many pages of an NDA, so she signed that on behalf of herself and Hermione before clicking the join link.
Her screen was suddenly filled with a redhead with green eyes and the handsome face of a man who said, “You do not look thirteen.”
Clarissa switched the background to a generic living room. “I'm Dr. Clarissa Morgan. I'm friends with Dr. Hernandez. Hermione is behind me. It's she who's thirteen. First, you've got to promise, though, that you're going to behave yourself and keep it PG.”
She'd have hoped that rock stars participated in regular PR and would know how to control themselves. Behind her, Hermione said loudly, “PG-13. I'm good with rated R.”
Clarissa said, “Okay. PG-13. Comprende?”
“It's no problem at all,” the man said. “I'm Gael, by the way. I'm the rhythm guitarist.”
