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“Remember how I had measles as a kid?”
I nodded.
“Everett was at a boarding school twenty-five miles away when I was admitted. They told him, and he never bothered to come in. They called him four times—four—to tell him I might not make it through the night. Do you know what he did?”
I gave another mute negative response.
“He went on holiday with his friends. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life, how much I try to keep away from him: he always finds another way to let me down when I need him.” Davis advanced on me another step, and I remembered the day in the break room where we’d argued until suddenly we weren’t arguing at all.
There would be no moment like that today.
His volume dropped. “How dare you cross that line? You, my—my friend.”
Of all the times I’d seen pain in his very blue eyes, this time broke my heart the worst. Because this time, I was the one who’d put it there. He’d considered me a friend? He would never make that mistake again.
“I’m sorry,” I tried once again.
“Enough, Queen Ethics.” He sank onto the bed and waved his hand as if dismissing an irritating servant, not even looking at me.
I turned away, picked up the guidelines, and let myself out. As the glass door slid shut between us again, I turned back. Davis looked up and met my gaze.
Now I was the one experiencing shortness of breath and chest pain. How could I have done this to him? He was my friend—and yes, I was trying to help—but how stupid could I have been? Just because I’d want to take care of my sister, that didn’t mean the brother whom Davis had told me not to contact repeatedly would do the same.
I’d known when he said “you could call them every hour” it wasn’t actually permission. I’d talked myself into meddling to prove to him his family did care.
I’d broken into his phone when he trusted me with the passcode. Texted the brother he’d said he didn’t want contacted. Even if I’d been trying to act as his coworker instead of his doctor, these were the kinds of breaches that brought a reprimand down on your shoulders at the minimum, and probably worse.
And worst of all, I’d done them to my friend.
Davis turned away first. I found Dr. Donaldson to transfer Davis’s care. Whatever Dr. Donaldson thought, he remained impassive. Maybe Dr. Donaldson was coldhearted, but he was a good doctor. A good person.
Unlike me.
I was right to be going into research. Clearly I couldn’t be trusted to deal with actual human beings. At least at the NIH, I couldn’t hurt a fly. Or a mouse. Well—no, if we were experimenting with mice, we’d usually have to put them down. But people wouldn’t suffer because of me.
I didn’t think I could have explained the situation to Dr. Donaldson or Natalie or anyone else other than my plant, but I was home that night before I remembered Phil was still with Davis. I didn’t even have my little silver stripe philodendron to commiserate. But I probably deserved that. And a lot more.
Even as a hospital administrator, the machinations of the red tape factory that was Beaufort were beyond me, and for reasons I didn’t understand, they kept me another night. The next afternoon, Dr. Donaldson strode in with my lunch.
“Good news for you,” he said. “Forty-eight hours have elapsed, and your nasal swab culture does not indicate anthrax.”
“I don’t have anthrax?” I sat up in bed. “I’m okay?” Even Phil had started to point out so-called symptoms, as if every twinge and itch were a flashing light that said YOU’VE GOT ANTHRAX.
“Well, we detected no anthrax in your nasal passages. You’ll still need to watch for symptoms and continue on the protocol Dr. Croft gave you.”
My club sandwich was almost as dry as Dr. Donaldson droning on about symptoms and risks for my final, official discharge. I had no patience left as a patient. As long as I didn’t have to face Cassie again, I didn’t care how boring and longwinded and condescending and—yeah, I was definitely not in a great mood.
Maybe he and Cassie could ride off into the infectious disease sunset and be very happy together. It would serve her right.
“Can I ask you something?” I interrupted Dr. Donaldson, setting aside the last quarter of my sandwich.
“Of course.”
“Is everyone in this city a psychopath? Or do you find that everywhere?”
“Well... I... have a limited sample to draw from, and the literature varies on the prevalence of clinical psychopathy among the general population.”
“Okay.” I’d take that to mean he didn’t know.
