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His lips tighten into a teasing smile. "That old? You seem much younger."
"Well, I am younger—than you. Eight years younger, to be precise." I pick up another grape and roll it between my thumb and forefinger. "I like precision. It's a side effect of my job."
Why am I saying the most boring thing imaginable? My need for precision and my obsession with gathering data won't make him hot for me. And ever since I met Richard Hunter, I've developed a new obsession—shagging him.
Oh yeah, that's my new favorite word.
"You mentioned you're an epidemiologist," he says. "I don't quite know what that is."
Nobody does. Even once I explain, most people still have that baffled look on their faces.
I lean back against the palm tree behind me. "I'm a disease detective. That's the common term for it. It's not a sexy job. Basically, I do lots of research, gather data, collate statistics, look for patterns. Whenever there's an outbreak of a new disease or an old one, epidemiologists like me show up to ferret out the source and come up with a treatment. Until ten days ago, I was in Ethiopia working with my colleagues to pinpoint the source of an Ebola outbreak."
"Did you succeed?"
"Yes. But a dozen people died before we got there. Eight more died after we showed up." My throat goes dry, and though I try not to, I remember the sight of those bodies lying under white sheets. "The site was way out in the boonies, and nobody could get the right medicine to the village until we brought the stuff. The treatments don't always work, though."
"Do you work for a hospital or an organization or something?"
I grab my half-eaten sandwich, my gaze aimed at the food while I try to shake off the memories. "I used to be with Doctors Without Borders. After that, I took jobs with various organizations, wherever I was needed."
"That all sounds past tense."
"Because it is. I'm unemployed or taking a sabbatical, whatever you want to call it. Though I have been offered a job at the CDC, which is the Centers for Disease Control. It's in Atlanta, Georgia." I dropmy sandwich and reach for the bottle of beer I've been nursing while we eat, then I take a large swig of it. Naveen Misra recommended me for the CDC position, but I haven't decided if I want to work with my ex. Or if I want to be a disease detective anymore. "I got burned out, I guess. A human being can only watch so much suffering before it starts to eat away at your soul. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe nobody else feels that way. I needed to get away from my job and my life for a while so I can decide what I want to do moving forward."
"I understand how you feel," he says. "My career has become a sort of albatross around my neck. Partly my fault. I made a few questionable decisions that have congealed into one massive pile of shit, and I'm trapped underneath the whole stinking mess."
I lean toward him, sniffing. "I don't smell any shit."
"When I said it's a 'stinking' mess, I meant that as a metaphor."
"Yeah, I know. Just trying to make you smile, but I failed." I couldn't even make myself smile. We both need a cuddle, I decide, so I wriggle sideways to edge closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder. "I'd like to hear more about your work, if you want to tell me."
"Later." He grabs his beer bottle and guzzles the remaining half of it in one long gulp.
He's reluctant to talk about himself. I get that. I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled to discuss my life either.
"Let's talk about you some more," he says. "Where did you go to medical school?"
"Nowhere. I'm not a physician."
"But you're an epidemiologist, and you said people call you Dr. Solberg. Your sister tells everyone you are a doctor."
Oh, Rika. I know she means well, but really, she has a bad habit of giving people the wrong impression of me.
"I love my sister," I tell Richard, "but she tends to exaggerate when she's talking about me. Well, it's more like she lets other people infer the wrong conclusion from what she says. I'm not an MD. I have a PhD, a doctorate in epidemiology."
"Your sister says you're her hero because you save lives every day."
"Let me guess. Rika has everyone believing I'm a superhero doctor who cures people with a wave of my hand." I drink some beer before I say more. "I'm afraid it's nothing that glamorous or exciting. It's mostly a numbers game for me. Once I've collated and analyzed all the data, I work with my colleagues to come up with a treatment for the disease in question. I also look for ways to prevent another outbreak. Finding out where an outbreak started is key, but I'm not a cop who arrests the bad guys. And I don't directly save lives like surgeons do."
"But your work is critical. You shouldn't downplay the importance of what you do."
"I don't. Maybe I'm uncomfortable with how my sister has been describing me to other people when I'm not around, but I'm proud of the work I've done."
"As you should be."
I sneak an arm behind him to loop it around his waist. "Now, are you going to share your burnout story with me, or do I have to torture it out of you?"
