“I just finished with some interviews and I’m noticing a pattern.”
His face clamped down, as if an iron gate had been slammed shut. “A pattern? We don’t like patterns in double blinds.”
She had to tread carefully. “We do if they’re positive.”
He snorted. “How often does that happen?”
He had a point.
“There are some patients who are showing marked decline. Others are maintaining remarkably. It’s pretty unmistakeable, and I—”
“You know how to report it.” Gian could shut a person down faster than a prostitute who learns her trick is flat broke.
“I did report it. Last month. This month I’m seeing it too, especially with one patient.”
“A sample size of one is not ‘data.’”
“No, it’s not. It’s a human being.” They’d been through this argument a thousand times before. Time to hit him with #1001.
He sighed. “I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks. If we have to break the trial—”
He reached for a Costco-sized jar of antacids. “Don’t do this to me, Josie.”
“I’m not doing it, Gian. The data is doing it.” Walk away and keep your mouth shut. Point made, Josie. This might be the first of many difficult conversations that could lead to improvement for Ed and some other patients, so she needed to take it slow. Be diplomatic. Careful. Constrained.
Maybe she needed to buy her own jar of antacids bigger than her head. She might need it to make it through this maze.
Following that inner voice, she stepped away, holding her breath. She’d pass out, though, before he’d make any changes.
Easy part over, she went back to her desk and worried a koosh ball to death with her left hand, sucking down her fourth coffee of the day. Was it worth calling Laura? Three sets of messages and texts had gone unanswered. This was getting ridiculous. She was ready to hop in the car and drive out to Mike’s cabin, if for no other reason than to make sure her best friend was still alive and not being devoured by her cats.
Then again, Laura had Dylan, Mike, and the baby. If Josie needed to worry about anyone dying alone and becoming cat food, it was herself. Even Crackhead would come out of hiding for a piece of Josie’s thigh.
Ever the optimist (not really), she grabbed her phone and punched Laura’s number.
Miracle of miracles, her friend answered. “Hello?”
“It’s aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive!”
The baby screamed right into the phone.
“I didn’t need that kind of proof!” Josie said, her ear ringing. She held the phone a few inches from her head. “Laura? You there?”
“Yeah. Colic. Jillian’s been a horrible mess for days.” A pang of guilt shot through Josie. Whoops. That explained the silence.
“I’m just glad to reach you,” Josie admitted. “I’m sorry you’re having a tough time with the baby.”
Burp! A belch worthy of a trucker came through the phone. “Oh, thank God,” Laura exclaimed.
“Was that you or the baby?”
“Ha ha. Now she’s happy and on my shoulder. Whew.”
“You measure your life in burps?”
“Yes. And milk letdown and naps and puke-covered shoulders and what color comes out of me today as the bleeding fades.” Three weeks post-birth and she still bled? Josie made a pained face but said nothing.
“Nothing but glamor for you and your two billionaires.”
Laura snorted. “I see nothing’s changed with you, Josie. Or has it? How’s Dr. Perfect?”
“Doctor who?”
“No. That’s a television series.”
Silence.
“Oh no,” Laura groaned. “What have you done now?”
“I—”
“He was perfect for you!”
“Well…”
“You slept with him and then blew him off, didn’t you? You always do this, Josie. Why?”
“I didn’t call for a lecture.”
“Too bad.”
A rainbow-haired troll stared at Josie from across her crowded desk, its demented grin making it look like it was sneering at her stupidity with Alex even more. “You weren’t exactly around to talk to about it, Laura.”
“Don’t use me as an excuse!” Laura huffed. Geez, when did Laura get so tough?
“Okay. Fine. I pulled away. He wanted me to meet his mother.”
“Oh.” Laura’s anger drained fast, the syllable more contrite. That was more like it. “I see.”
And this was why she missed Laura so much. Because Laura got it. Instantly. She didn’t have to explain herself in depth, or fumble for the right words, or try to go down some analytical path to get to a conclusion. Shorthand between best friends was such a damn relief.
“Yeah.”
“What’s his mom like?”
“She’s a clinical psychologist.”
A sputtering sound came through the phone, like a spit take. Then laughter. “Oh, Josie, you’ve got to admit that’s some awesome karma.”
“I know, right? Can you imagine the moms meeting? Marlene could show her how to get a guy to buy her a top-shelf martini without having to give him a blowjob, and Alex’s mom could use the DSM-V and a necklace of garlic to keep my mom at bay.”
A sigh came through the phone. “But you know that’s not a good enough reason to throw away what could be the best relationship of your life.”
Yes, it is, she thought. “Yes, it is,” she blurted out.
“When are you going to separate yourself from your mom?”
Slap. “WHAT?”
“You are not your mother.” Laura said the words slowly, with a resigned tone. “She treated you horribly after the accident. She lives with brain damage and has no real conscience. You were her scapegoat for years. That doesn’t mean you get to hide behind all that and use it to keep yourself from real love, Josie.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are.”
“But…no…it’s that Alex just—” Fuck. Laura was right.
“Do you like him?”
“Yes.”
“The sex is good?”
Josie made an unintelligible sound of groaning delight.
“Is he kind and respectful?”
“Yes.”
“Does he make you laugh?” Josie could hear the smile in Laura’s voice as the trap began to work. She was caught.