Lost Immunity Daniel Kalla (reading women TXT) 📖

out to her car and drives home. Lisa finds Dominic in the kitchen, where he’s grilling salmon on the stove. There’s only one plate on the countertop beside a single wineglass.

“I just assumed I’d be eating alone again,” he says when she walks in.

“That’s OK, I’m not really hungry.”

He puts down the spatula and turns toward her. “We’re running out of things to do separately, Lees.”

“I’m under a bit of stress at work right now.”

“You’re not the only who’s under stress.”

“What are you saying?”

“We had our struggles before this outbreak, sure. But I thought with the counseling, we were making real progress. Then you have your little crisis at work—”

“My little crisis?”

“OK. Public-health emergency. Whatever you want to call it.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Suddenly our marriage is on the back burner. You stop communicating with me. I’m walking on eggshells all the time. And all the gains we made in counseling are wiped out.”

“This ‘little crisis’ is a lot a bigger than you or me. Kids are dying.”

He tilts his head. “All I know for sure is that your job is tearing us apart.”

My job? There’s so much she could say. About his petty resentments and lack of concern about her feelings that have done most of the damage. But all she says is, “I’m sorry you think so, Dom.”

“What do you think?”

Her gaze falls to the ground. She’s overcome by an emotion she doesn’t fully recognize. She can’t tell if it’s clarity or surrender. But she suddenly realizes what has to be done. “I think we need some time apart.”

“Don’t know how much more of that we could possibly find,” he mutters. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I should sleep in the spare room for a while.”

“No, you stay in our room,” she says. “I’ll move to the guest room. For now.”

“For now?”

“I’m going to start looking for another place.”

“Lees…”

“It’s for the best, Dom,” she says, turning away from him. “You know it is, too.”

Dominic doesn’t follow her as she heads into the bedroom and gathers a small bag with toiletries and a few changes of clothes. Part of her still wishes he would, but mostly she’s relieved and unsurprised he doesn’t.

They’ve fought before. And each of them has slept nights, sometimes a few in a row, in the guest bedroom. But as Lisa unpacks her toiletries in the en suite bathroom, she experiences an unfamiliar sense of finality. As sad as she feels, though, there are no tears.

She heads back into the guest bedroom and puts her bag on the bed. The old wooden clock on the far wall catches her eye. Although the design isn’t art deco, it still reminds her of the one on Fiona’s desk. Lisa remembers Walt’s romantic words that Fiona quoted from the anniversary card and the loving inscription carved on the bottom of the clock. She feels another pang of envy over the kind of relationship Fiona and her husband must have shared.

Lisa considers Walt’s tragic death again. She remembers Fiona’s description of how it happened. Then, somewhere in the recesses of her brain, a connection begins to form.

CHAPTER 60

Nathan checks his watch, which reads a few minutes after eight p.m. His stomach growls, and he realizes it’s after eleven in New York. Not that his internal time zone had time to reset during his thirty-hour round-trip home.

On his only day back in New York in over a week, Nathan took his sons to a Mets game. Baseball was a compromise. Ethan had begged Nathan to take him out to practice driving while Marcus lobbied for them to go to the latest Marvel movie. No one was fully satisfied with the ball game, especially after the Mets got shut out. While Nathan always appreciated being with his sons, he was too distracted by the Neissovax catastrophe to focus on them or the game. His mind never really left Seattle.

Ever since his flight touched back down at Sea-Tac, earlier in the afternoon, Nathan has been texting and calling Lisa in the hope of convincing her to meet. But she hasn’t responded at all. He’s just about to give up for the day and head down to the restaurant when a text from her appears on the screen. “Where are you?”

“Back at the hotel,” he replies.

“Be there in fifteen.”

Nathan stares at the screen. He didn’t expect that. He considers taking a shower but realizes there’s no point. If their last interaction is anything to go by, he will be lucky if he can keep the conversation civil. He wonders why Lisa wants to meet so urgently. A stone forms in the pit of his stomach. What else has she found out?

The wait is short. In less than a quarter of an hour, there’s a knock at the door. Nathan opens it to find Lisa standing there in gray sweatpants and a blue workout shirt. Her face is unsmiling, and there are fresh bags beneath her eyes. There are no hugs as she walks into his suite, and he doesn’t even consider offering her a drink.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Her eyes lock on to his. “Were you involved in the cover-up of Darius Washington’s death?”

He shakes his head.

She stares at him for a long time, neither accepting nor challenging his denial. “I need to ask you about Fiona,” she finally says.

“Fiona?”

“More specifically, her husband. Walt.”

“I never met him.”

“She told me Walt died of Guillain-Barré syndrome.”

“He did.”

“Do you know if he developed it after getting the flu or after the flu shot?”

He considers her question for a moment. “After the shot.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah, it came up once when we were discussing vaccine complications and Guillain-Barré syndrome. But she acknowledged he would’ve been even more likely to have gotten it from the flu itself.” He shrugs. “Why is that relevant?”

Lisa closes her eyes and exhales. “Delaware is one of the main suppliers of the flu vaccine in the US, isn’t it?”

“Generally speaking. But vaccine supply is regional. And it varies from