Lost Immunity Daniel Kalla (reading women TXT) 📖

he says, downplaying his sense of shame. “Spoke to Annie this morning. They’ve moved on for now. Apparently, their older cousins are taking them ATV-ing this weekend, and now they’re like ‘Quebec who?’ ”

She laughs. “It’s good you and Annie can still be friends. Especially for the boys.”

Fiona has always shown a deep interest in Ethan and Marcus. She doesn’t have kids of her own. And while Nathan never met her husband, he knows Walt was fifteen years older than her, and she was only in her midthirties when he died. What Nathan doesn’t know is whether they chose not to have kids, were still planning to, or simply couldn’t. With most friends, he would feel comfortable asking. Not Fiona. It would be too much of an invasion of her well-guarded privacy. So instead he asks, “Did you and Walt travel much?”

“When we could,” she says. “Walt was so busy between his teaching and his research. Most of our vacations had to be built around his academic conferences. And sadly, math profs don’t tend to meet in the most exotic locales.”

“How did you end up with a math prof?”

“In the most clichéd way imaginable.” Her cheeks flush. “I had to take a master’s-level statistics course as part of my doctor-of-pharmacy program. Walt was my prof. You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I found him so arrogant at first. He used to wear bow ties or, sometimes, even scarves. Those goofy ascots. I couldn’t stand him.”

“Couldn’t stand whom?” Lisa asks as she appears beside the table.

“Walt,” Fiona says, reddening further. “My husband.”

Lisa sits down beside her. “Isn’t that normal? To not be able to stand your spouse sometimes?”

“The only time for me, ever, was before I got to know him.”

“You’re a lot more tolerant than I am, then. How long have you been married?”

Fiona takes a sip of her wine. “Walt died a while ago.”

Lisa touches the back of the other woman’s wrist. “Oh, Fiona.”

“It was a long time ago, to be honest.” Fiona moves her hand away to grab the bar menu and pass it to Lisa. “Will you have a drink?”

“Sure, why not?” Lisa says.

But Nathan sees through Fiona’s feigned dismissiveness. The grief is as fresh in her eyes as it was the first time they discussed her husband, almost five years earlier.

The server, a muscular young man who doubles as the bartender, sidles up to the table. Lisa orders a glass of Merlot, while Nathan opts for a different IPA, and Fiona a refill of her Chardonnay.

“How about you, Lisa?” Fiona asks. “Are you married?”

“Yeah. Twelve years. No kids, though.”

Nathan throws Lisa a conspiratorial look. “They’re dinks.”

“Oh,” Fiona says.

“An inside joke,” Lisa says with an amused glance at him. “And not a particularly good one, either.”

Nathan appreciates her sardonic smile. Despite her senior position, Lisa doesn’t come across as the kind of physician—of which he has met several—who takes herself too seriously. It only makes her more appealing.

The server returns and distributes a drink to each of them.

“How do you think it’s going so far, Lisa?” Nathan asks as soon as the bartender is gone.

“Depends what you mean. The outbreak or the vaccination clinic?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“On the outbreak front, we tracked down the source of the Bellevue cases. But it’s not very reassuring.” Lisa goes on to explain about Nicola, the asymptomatic carrier who was too frightened to take her post-exposure antibiotics. “There could be several others like her out there, noncompliant with the treatment.”

Nathan groans. “Carrying that bug around like a time bomb, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lisa says. “As far as Neissovax, I think the campaign has gone as well as can be expected. With today’s clinics, we’ve vaccinated almost fifteen hundred people.”

Fiona tilts her head. “But twenty-four adverse events have already been reported on your website. That’s substantial.”

“Nothing we didn’t expect. I’ve gone through them all. Most are just pain and swelling at the injection sites. A couple of them seem like kooks, frankly. Only one genuine allergic reaction, and it was minor.”

Nathan takes a long swig of beer, which tastes particularly satisfying. He’s aware that his fear of the reporting site has begun to verge on paranoid; he spent hours in bed last night with his laptop, carefully reviewing each reported reaction, looking for any hint of possible trouble. So, while they’re nowhere near out of the woods, the relief is profound.

“We just heard this afternoon about another infection in Bellevue.” Lisa’s expression darkens. “This girl is only six.”

“How’s she doing?” Fiona asks.

Lisa just shakes her head.

With a quick glance to Fiona, Nathan says, “We’ve been discussing your request with the head office, Lisa.”

“And?” she asks.

“Delaware is prepared to lower the minimum age of eligibility to six years old.”

“That’s great news. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Nathan nods to Fiona. “This one convinced us.”

Earlier that afternoon, Nathan was shocked to hear Fiona suggest they go along with the proposal. He had expected her to be even more opposed to it than he was. Instead, she argued that aside from live virus vaccines, such as the one against measles and mumps, most other vaccines like Neissovax contain only partial proteins and are safe for children as young as infants. She reasoned that including younger kids would be unlikely to increase Delaware’s risk or exposure any more than where it already was.

Nathan didn’t require much persuading. He’d already come to realize how poor the optics of Delaware blocking access to its product while younger children were dying would look under growing media scrutiny.

Lisa turns to Fiona. “Thank you. I really appreciate your support on this.”

Fiona raises her glass in another toast. “In for penny, in for a pound. Right?”

“What’s in that Chardonnay?” Nathan motions to her glass with a chuckle. “I don’t even recognize you today, Fee.”

Fiona’s features harden. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think this launch—while maybe well intentioned—is premature. But that bridge is burning way behind us now. And statistically speaking, younger children are less likely to have adverse reactions, such as severe allergies, than older kids or adults.”

“Agreed,” Lisa says.

Fiona