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Natalie nodded at last. “It’s so hard. Sometimes I do feel like I can’t...careanymore, like I have to protect myself.”
I could only nod, too. Honestly, that was where I lived half the time when it came to Samantha.
“But if it were Sam in that room, I’d still want to know.” She cast me a sideways glance. “It isn’t, is it? This isn’t your subtle way of telling me, right?”
I laughed. “No.”
We reached the point where the trail became more of a sidewalk behind a Walmart and doubled back along the path.
Maybe I’d have to double back with Davis, too, and try again to get him to connect with his family. He was wrong. Of course they cared about him, every bit as much as Natalie and I cared about Samantha.
I just had to figure out how to show him they cared.
I walked into Infectious Disease first thing and made a loop by Davis’s room. Through the little antechamber, I could see him lying in bed. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep still, so I decided not to bother him.
In the main department, Dr. Donaldson caught me before I collected my inpatient census and new consults. “I’ve got news,” he said.
My heart rose in anticipation. No pathogens detected, Gram stain notwithstanding?
“The CDC still needs another day or two to confirm, but it’s anthrax.”
I blinked in the silence, waiting for some good news to offset the bad. But Dr. Donaldson turned back to his computer. Apparently thatwasthe good news.
“Anthrax,” I repeated carefully. “A disease that can kill ninety-five percent of patients if inhaled.”
“Well, that’sifhe inhaled it. We’re still waiting on those cultures.” It was like he didn’t care at all that this was our coworker we were talking about. “At least this will put you on the map, further impress the NIH.”
Was... was that all he cared about? The concern for my career was nice, but a patient’s life was at stake here.
A few more seconds of silence passed, but Dr. Donaldson’s impassive façade didn’t break.
Wow. “Um, thanks. I guess I’ll go tell Davis,” I said. That was dumb; of course Dr. Donaldson had told him.
“Okay, great.” Dr. Donaldson was already turning back to his computer.
With a diagnosis, my plan went out the window, and I wasn’t ready to tell Davis this news. “What’s the plan?” I asked Dr. Donaldson.
It took him a minute to withdraw from his computer and catch up to the single line of conversation. “For telling him?”
“For anthrax.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I was a doctor; I’d delivered dozens and dozens of diagnoses. And I’d gotten vaccinated against anthrax last year before our trip to Africa. “Vaccine, antibiotics?”
“Oh, they’re sending over a vaccine and an antitoxin if he does start to get sick.”
“Okay.” I pulled out my own computer to get on the research. If Davis had updated Napa’s biologic emergency sheets, he might be more familiar with the protocol than Dr. Donaldson.
The CDC had a lot of guidance for a disease that wasn’t all that common in the US. I compiled the treatment plan, finishing just as the courier arrived with the anthrax vaccine.
I didn’t bother running the treatment plan by Dr. Donaldson. It was probably cruel of me, but I almost thought he’d be sad I was killing this fascinating little bacterium before we had a chance to study it further.
Instead, I suited up with the help of a nurse—until we had the official, final word from the CDC that the bioweapon was all and only anthrax, we’d still have to use this level of protection—and headed into Davis’s room.
The suit was instantly stifling, but that was probably not the reason I was having a hard time breathing when Davis looked away from the television and smiled at me. Between the scrubs stretched across his broad shoulders and how ridiculously handsome he was, I couldn’t help but recall the first thing I’d thought when I’d seen him in scrubs weeks ago: Davis looked like a ’90s sitcom version of a stripper.
But no silly sitcom had ever made me laugh enough to release the tension in my chest. Being with Davis made me feel even lighter than spending time with my sister.
“Guidelines are ready.” He pointed at the papers on the table.
“Man,” I joked. “If I’d known a quiet night in was all it would take to get you to do the work, I would have done this weeks ago.”
