After the Fall (10 page)

Laura's nurses had produced a case of cosmetic products, and Tim had watched as they fixed her hair and cleaned her face with magical pads that left her looking much fresher. The girls noticed right away, and when Nicole said, “Wow, Mom is looking great,” Laura promptly opened her eyes.

Tim literally held his breath. Had Laura meant what she said?

The girls adjusted the angle of her bed and her pillows while they all chatted about how much better she seemed.

“I have news,” Laura said, her tone cut though the chitchat.

Instant silence.

Tim risked a breath.

“Tim and I—” Laura stopped to flash him a smile, while he scrutinized the young faces as each of the kids sputtered, “What?”

“—are getting married.”

For Tim, time stood still, until all the faces turned to him in one major grin.

“When?” Kevin was asking him.

Tim had no idea.

Laura looked up. “When, Tim?”

“As soon as you break out of here? In my opinion,” he added, “we've already waited too long.”

“Really, Mom, are you sure?” Natalie asked. “I mean, it seems so sudden, and you just had that concussion and—” Natalie turned to Tim, “Oh my God, Uncle Tim, I didn't mean… It's just so…”

Tim and Natalie had a special relationship ever since he'd stayed at her side when she'd been critically ill several years ago. He'd earned her trust and she'd never let him down. Tim knew that. And he'd always loved that Laura's kids called him “Uncle.”

“Are you okay with this? I mean, I was going to ask your permission, each one of you, but your mom just blurted it out.”

The three boys shook his hand, slapped him on the back. Said things like “great news,” “about time,” “welcome to the family,” “we still get to call you Uncle Tim?”

So far, so good. Eventually, would they want to call him…Dad?

Tim had arranged six chairs around Laura's bed and, once they'd all settled down, Natalie and Nicole directed the chatter into the what-to-wear theme—long dress, short dress, white or not.

Tim saw the boys exchange exasperated looks, but he could not erase the grin on his own face. Until Mike asked in an elaborately casual tone. “What about your job, Mom?”

Laura, always the pragmatist, seemed relieved to get back to solid ground. She was a beautiful woman, always well dressed,
but with little interest in fashion. “Right. My job. I have to quit my job. But I have an offer. Here, in Philadelphia. Won't need my hand.”

Just like Laura, Tim thought. Matter of fact. Move forward.

“A job? Here?” Nicole's turn to ask, her tone a shade skeptical.

“Keystone Pharma. Vice President of Research.”

“That's wonderful,” Natalie said. “You'll be living close to us. At least until we finish med school—”

“Keystone—” Mike said. “Mom, did you know that doctor who was killed?”

“Killed! But who—?”

Tim had not told Laura about Dr. Fred Minn. Her condition, in his opinion, not exactly compatible with shocking announcements.

“Tim?” She looked at him for an explanation.

“Laura, you've been so ill… Fred Minn died last Sunday night.”

“Fred Minn?” Laura's eyes widened in shock.

“Something terrible happened when he left the dinner with you Sunday night. He was struck by a vehicle that was leaving the Four Seasons. His injuries proved fatal.”

“It's been in all the papers,” Patrick said. “They don't know who did it or why.”

“Fred was a wonderful man, a brilliant doctor, looking forward to retirement with his wife. Paul Parnell wanted me to replace him… Oh, that's just so sad.” Laura hesitated, then added, “Tim, do you think this would change their objectives?”

“Not at all. Paul Parnell stopped by yesterday to ask about you. He made me promise to have you call him as soon as you're able to think about their offer. They're very anxious to recruit you, Laura.”

“Good. I'll call tomorrow and accept, but I feel terrible about Dr. Minn.” Laura's expression saddened momentarily, then she forced a grin through the pain, through the uncertainty of a new career. “Okay, kids, you're going to be stuck with me in Philadelphia.”

They all chatted a bit longer until Tim suggested Laura get some rest. As soon as the kids had left, she rang for the nurse to insist that they take out the urinary catheter so she could use the bathroom, and that they discontinue her intravenous and step her down to oral pain meds.

W
EDNESDAY
, F
EBRUARY
19

Addie had fussed over a dinner of Jake's preferred Western dishes—roasted chicken, potatoes au gratin, steamed green beans—and she had bought a pecan pie for dessert. But now it was after nine o'clock, and no Jake. They'd usually eat between seven and eight, then move on to the bedroom. Jake seemed to really care about her, but what were her feelings for him? She didn't know. She'd had little experience with men.

Addie had arrived in the United States at age twenty-one, gone straight to Ann Arbor, where she'd spent six years earning a PhD in biochemistry. A Muslim woman in a country where she knew no one, she at first detested the US with its wealth and evil ways. She thought she could tolerate the place long enough to obtain a respected advanced degree. At home in Iraq, Addie and her sister and mother wore the burka. On coming to America, she'd decided to adopt a simple scarf head cover, long-sleeved shirts, and skirts covering the knee. After a week, she'd shed even the scarf and started to spend the limited money she got from home on clothes. Later on, when she became a laboratory assistant under a research grant, she spent her pay on more fashionable clothes and her coveted collection of shoes. She saw no reason to impose Islamic dress code restrictions on herself when living in the West. She needed to appear the professional
scientist that she was; didn't want to provoke distrust or trigger racial prejudice.

The fusion of Addie's scientific brilliance with a generous dose of luck resulted in her discovery of the family of compounds that had produced Immunone. When Replica licensed Immunone from the University of Michigan, they hired Addie as their principal scientist. Replica, a small startup pharmaceutical company, had recognized the potential blockbuster drug, and they realized they needed her expertise to move it through development. They couldn't pay her a mega salary, but in what must seem to them now like a reckless move, they offered her 5 percent of any subsequent sale of Immunone at the time of its ultimate approval. The math: Keystone Pharma had paid $150 million for Immunone; Addie's payout would be $7.5 million.
Once the drug was approved
.

But the money was still some way off, and the pressure from her father in Iraq was building. He wanted her home, had an important job waiting for her in Baghdad. Her mother never had wanted her to leave Iraq, and had protested her father's efforts to endorse Addie for the coveted United States university slot. Why couldn't Addie, like her younger sister, marry the man of her parents' choice, live in her husband's family's house, have children? Addie loved her mother and her sister, missed them terribly, but could she ever be like them, genuinely unperturbed by the restricted freedom imposed by the Islamic culture?

During Addie's childhood, her father had been a microbiology research scientist at the University of Baghdad. She grew up sharing his love of science. He had encouraged her, against her mother's counsel, to study in America, and when she'd pleaded to stay to work as a scientist, he'd reluctantly agreed. He himself had never been to the States, never visited her here. Unthinkable during Operation Desert Storm and now, because of the United Nations inspection teams' insulting scrutiny of Iraq, combined with his failing health, he never would. Maybe that's why he was now adamant that she come home. She'd explained
repeatedly about the money she would collect when Immunone was approved. He hadn't seemed impressed. Iraq had enough money with its oil.

She would obey him, but she wanted to wait until she got the money. In the United States, even though she was a woman, the money was due. She was quite sure that she'd get it, but had no idea about how long it would take to be paid, even after Immunone was approved. Or in what form she'd be paid: cash or stock or some annuity payoff? And what about US taxes? Could she even get the large sum out of this country? She didn't know a thing about finance. Her salary went straight into her bank account and she wrote checks. She'd never needed to send money home. Her family was well off by Iraqi standards.

A knock at the door interrupted her worries. Finally, Jake. She needed to give him his own key, but was she ready for that? She liked him. He treated her with respect.

“Jake!” She started opening the apartment door. Only it wasn't Jake. At the door was a vision from her past.

“Badur?” The man who'd mentored her for the first few months after she got to America. A fellow Iraqi student at the University of Michigan. About ten years older. Not a scientist. A business major.

“Adawia.” His baritone voice was unmistakable. And he looked no different than when they had first met twelve years ago. Well, maybe some gray at the temples, but no wrinkles and no weight gain. But she knew she still looked good too.

“Expecting somebody?” He glanced at her sexy nightgown ensemble. Still blocking the doorway, she tightened the drawstring belt around her waist. “Or is he already here?”

Addie considered Badur Hammadi westernized, but finding her dressed like this would exceed his benevolent tolerance. What was he doing here? And thank Allah that Jake had not yet shown up.

“Come in, Badur.” Addie held open the door. “No one's here.”

“Dressed like that? But you do look beautiful. Time for you to marry, Adawia.”

“Sit down,” Addie said, now hoping against hope that Jake would not show up. “I can make you some tea.”

“Whiskey would work,” he said. “Let's not pretend we don't drink alcohol. We both know better than that. I've followed your progress, you know.”

She did not know. She hadn't seen him since she'd left Ann Arbor, six years ago.

He sat on her sofa, glancing about, looking for what? He rose when she returned with two old-fashioned glasses half full of Jim Beam. “Want ice? Water?”

“Neat is fine. Can I use your bathroom?”

Shit. She only had one, and Jake's toothbrush and toiletries were sitting right out there to be inspected. She pointed to the bathroom door.

“Adawia, let's not fool around. I know you have an illicit relationship. Jake Harter, a middle manager at the FDA, but right now in quite a strategic position. I have to give you credit for seducing him.”

Addie was impressed that Badur had lost the last traces of the Arabic accent that still had marked his speech when she'd last seen him. But what was he telling her? He knows all about her? They'd had no connection whatsoever…

“Surprised, dear one?”

“Badur, I just don't know what to say.”

“Dru. They call me Dru,” he said, going into the bathroom. “Sounds more American.”

Is that why Jake called her ‘Addie'? He wanted her more American? Why not? Americans hated Iraqis since the war. Did she even belong here? What if the United States attacked Iraq again? Would they revoke her green card?

“Do you think about home much, Adawia?” Badur asked, as he settled back on the sofa and reached for the glass of whiskey.

“Yes, I miss my mother and my sister. And I've never seen my nephews. Yes, I do.”

“Are you loyal?” he asked.

Loyal to what? Addie took a moment to move a magazine off a chair before sitting down with her drink. “Badur, I don't know what you mean.”

“I'm called Dru, remember? To your country. To your parents. To Islam.”

“Yes, I am loyal. I never forget I'm Iraqi and I'm a Muslim. Maybe I'm not perfect.” She gestured with her glass. “But neither are you.”

“Big difference, dear one. Or have you been in the West too long to remember the place of the woman in Islam?” Badur nodded toward the bathroom. “Your father and your brother would have to kill the man who had his way with you. Jake Harter would be murdered, his balls chopped up into little pieces.”

Addie cringed on cue. But Jake prided himself in being a Marine. Would he be frightened away by the men in her family? She doubted it.

“You've been in the land of the infidel for twelve years, Adawia, and now it's your time.”

“My time for what? Dru, why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Let's just say I'm your financial advisor. I'm going to tell you what to do with the money from that drug you developed.” He must have detected her blink of surprise. “Yes, I know about that too.”

“You know, I've been thinking a lot about that, the money, I mean. The company owes me 5 percent of the selling price to Keystone Pharma—seven point five million. And that's to be paid when it's approved. And I think that's getting close and—”

“You
think?”
Dru's deep voice interrupted. “I heard it was a done deal.”

“Me too,” Addie said, “but I get the feeling there may be some kind of issue.”

“I have been following the business news carefully. There's been no hint of a problem. Keystone's stock is skyrocketing. Since
they are a public company, they'd have to disclose a problem with a drug that big.”

“It's just a feeling,” Addie said. “Maybe just a premonition.” She should have kept her mouth shut. Now she'll be dragging Jake into this.

“Your boyfriend?” Dru demanded. “He said there's a problem?”

“Not exactly. He just—”

“When are you seeing him next?” Dru was on his feet now, pacing.

“I don't know. He may come tonight. Thought he'd be here by now.”