Lost Immunity Daniel Kalla (reading women TXT) 📖

shaking her head. “I only just heard this morning. He was such a sweet boy.”

“That’s why I’ve come,” Lisa says, turning to the daughter. “So far, the only connection we can find back to Camp Green is through you, Nicola.”

“What does that mean?” Nicola asks in a voice that’s eerily similar to her mother’s.

“You were at a party with Mason, last Sunday? Your grandmother’s ninetieth?”

“Great-grandmother,” Nicola corrects. “Yes.”

“Did you spend any time with Mason?”

“A little, I guess. I felt bad for him. There were no kids his age at the party. So I pitched a few balls for him out back of the house. Not for too long, though. It was really hot.”

“Hot?” Lisa echoes, considering the implications. “You didn’t share a drink with him, did you?”

She shrugs. “He might’ve had a few sips from my water bottle.”

Lisa feels a chill run down her neck.

Heather’s forehead creases. “You don’t think that has anything to do with Mason’s illness?”

“Yeah,” Nicola says. “It’s not like I was sick or anything.”

Lisa shakes her head. “You don’t have to show symptoms to be contagious.”

“Contagious? Nicola?” Heather gasps. “How is that possible?”

Lisa ignores the question. “You were seen by one of the public-health nurses last week, right, Nicola?”

Nicola glances at her mom. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“Saturday, I think.”

“So the day before you saw Mason?”

Nicola nods.

“And our nurse gave all of you doses of prophylactic antibiotics?”

“Yes,” Heather interjects. “We took them right away.”

Nicola says nothing, but Lisa notices the guilty look that flits across her face. “Nicola? You did take the medicine?”

The teen looks helplessly over to her mom. “Remember when I was in seventh grade, and I took that penicillin for my tonsillitis? How you had to rush me to the ER when my throat closed over?”

“It was terrifying,” Heather says.

Lisa bites back her frustration. “The drugs we gave you weren’t related to penicillin, Nicola.”

“That’s what the nurse told us,” Nicola says in a sheepish voice. “But I almost died that time with the penicillin. And I was feeling fine. I was sure I didn’t have meningitis.”

Lisa rubs her forehead. “So you didn’t the take the antibiotics the nurse gave you?”

Nicola looks down at the table. “I was too scared.”

Everything suddenly makes sense. Nicola must be an asymptomatic carrier of meningococcus. She had to have spread the infection to Mason—and with him, all of Bellevue—through the shared water bottle. Maybe it was also a shared drink or two that spread meningitis through Camp Green originally.

Lisa knows she should be relieved. But as reaches for the bacterial swabs and extra kit of prophylactic ciprofloxacin she’s carrying inside her bag, she feels anything but. How many other people could Nicola have already infected? And even worse, how many other asymptomatic carriers might have felt too scared or too complacent to take the antibiotics they were given?

CHAPTER 26

The yellow cap flicks off easily enough. Some specks of adhesive adhere to the underside. But they’re only noticeable if one looks for them.

It seems so easy now, but it has taken ages to perfect the technique.

All innovators face roadblocks. And for months this one step threatened to be the most insurmountable, like the Hillary Step for summiting Mount Everest. The challenge was to secure the cap seamlessly in place. It took countless hours of experimentation to find the right medium. Numerous attempts with almost every imaginable adhesive failed to meet the standard. Then, about three months ago, one type of glue emerged as a genuine contender. It left hardly any residue. It took only two drops, and once hardened, it became impossible to distinguish a difference with the naked eye between the resealed and the unopened vials. The caps even pop back off with exact same click and feel.

The vials debuted brilliantly at the first vaccine clinic. No one seemed to notice.

CHAPTER 27

Perched high above the iconic Pike Place Market, Nathan and Fiona sit at a high-top table beside one of the windows encircling their hotel’s rooftop bar, where they’re treated to a panoramic view of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountain range beyond. Puget Sound in all its glory. There’s a door nearby that leads to an outdoor patio with overhead heat lamps, but Nathan prefers the view from inside.

I’m definitely coming back with Ethan and Marcus, he vows again. It will be the trip to follow Quebec. If we make it to Canada. The window for squeezing in a northern road trip before the start of the school year is closing rapidly. And the guilt gnaws. He’s determined not to become one of those divorced parents who are full of promises but weak on the follow-through.

Lisa suggested the three of them meet in her offices at Seattle Public Health, but this time Nathan was the one who wanted a more neutral venue. He has learned that business conflicts are best settled over food and wine. Not that there is much to settle. Surrender might be a better choice of term.

Nathan looks over to Fiona, who wears a simple blue dress with her hair tied back. There’s a serene quality to her as she sips her Chardonnay and studies the harbor below. He expected her stress levels to peak once the vaccination campaign launched, but paradoxically, the go-live seems to have had the opposite effect on her.

“You seem… satisfied?” Nathan ventures.

“It’s way too early for satisfaction,” Fiona says, before turning to look at him. “Sometimes, though, the anticipation is the worst part.”

He lifts his bottle of hazy IPA in a small toast. “Waiting sucks.”

She raises her own glass. “Plus, I’d rather not be stuck in Seattle for too long.”

“Your mom?” Nathan asks.

Fiona’s mother suffers from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis and lives, wheelchair-bound, in a private-care home in Connecticut. Fiona visits her several times a week, even though it’s a one-hour train ride each way from Manhattan.

“It stresses Mom when I’m away too long.” Fiona takes another sip of wine. “Your boys must be bummed about potentially having to miss this summer’s road trip, huh?”

“They’re OK,”