Page 19 of The Session

“No, no, not them,” Mark said. “Remember how I told you I got that $500 check for an athletic scholarship years too late?”

Her expression changed. “From them?”

“Yes. I looked them up and arranged a meeting with them. And it turns out they’re an endowment run by a company called Summit Strategies.” Mark watched her reaction closely.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the money coming out of the blue and his mom having been vague about the time before he was born had started bubbling to the surface.

Byron’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he glanced over at Carol. She gave a small nod to herself.

“You met with company reps?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Seems so,” Mark said. “Down in their Miami office. Four people, including a woman named Tru and a finance guy. His name was Nathan Morris.”

“And they just gave you the money? What did you tell them?”

Mark could tell she was suspicious. “I explained what the foundation did. They asked me a bit about myself. It wasn’t a long conversation.”

“Did they ask about me?” she asked.

“Ask about you?” Mark asked. “Wait? Did you work for them?”

“It’s complicated. Arrangements were made. And at some point, I’ll tell you more.”

“Did my father work for Summit? Is that where you met?” Mark asked.

“Maybe you two should have this conversation another time,” Byron suggested.

“I’m okay with it. I’m more curious than anything else. Did something bad happen to you there?” Mark pressed.

“No. Not at all. Nobody there ever did anything bad to me. It’s just ancient history,” she deflected.

Mark knew she was hiding something important but didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“So is it okay if I cash the check?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Carol said. “I’m glad to see somebody’s looking out for you.”

Ambition

Mark straightened the cuff of his jacket and smiled at Holly’s parents. The waitress had just taken their drink order at the Japanese restaurant Holly and he reserved for special occasions, and now that the drink menu was no longer an object of discussion, they were forced to change the topic to something else.

Mark dreaded the first twenty minutes of conversation with Holly’s parents. Both were medical specialists who spent most of their day talking to peers or commanding subordinates. Neither had physically touched a patient in decades and seemed almost dismayed at the idea that anyone would choose to do that instead of reading reports on a computer screen and offering opinions.

Holly’s father, Howard Vender, would usually ask Mark about sports. Then Lisa Vender, Holly’s mother, would ask about his parents, being very specific about their names to show that she had taken an interest.

In the past, Mark had tried to find common ground in the fact that he was a paramedic and they were medical professionals. But it became apparent that they saw the kind of medical care he provided as no more related to what they did than a biologist was to a grocery store butcher—both worked with animals, but that was the only thing in common. The first time Mark had brought it up, Howard had launched into a lengthy monologue about the number of times first responders and emergency room doctors completely bungled diagnoses, creating problems that he then had to sort out later.

Mark had casually asked how much time he had to figure out the proper diagnosis, which led to an extended explanation from Howard about following billing guidelines and making sure each patient got due care—completely missing the point that the ER doctors Mark worked with often had only minutes to decide the best course of action. And Mark, whose job as a paramedic was to stabilize the patient, had seconds.

“Holly tells us you had a close call,” Howard remarked.

“Yeah,” Mark answered, a little uncomfortable. “A needle prick.”

“Don’t they train you how to avoid that?” Howard pressed.

“The needle was sticking out of her clothing. It wasn’t inside the pocket. I’m not sure what I could have done differently.”

Holly stared at the saltshaker. Mark reached over, took her hand, and squeezed to reassure her.