The Things That Keep Us Here Page 3
Shazia had come up to stand beside Peter. She was shaking her head at him. He held up a finger. Hold on.
“Call me on my cell when you know something,” Dan told him.
Peter disconnected. “What?”
“Professor Alfonso’s secretary stopped by to ask if you could fill in for him today. He’s stuck at the airport in Madrid.”
The undergraduate epidemiology class Peter had agreed to guest lecture the following week. He didn’t have anything prepared. Lord knew where his old slides were. Probably stuffed into one of the filing cabinets that lined the hall outside his office. Maybe still at the house.
“I could do it, if you want.” Shazia stood close, looking up at him.
It was a generous offer. It’d be good for her to gain the teaching experience, but was it fair to the undergraduates who really needed to master this material? Shazia verged on the shy side, and when she was anxious, her voice dipped to a whisper. Peter looked down at the test tubes nestled among the ice packs in his cooler. He glanced at the wall clock. One-ten. Classes started at one-thirty. By the time he got out of the lecture hall, it’d be going on three. But Alfonso had helped him out of a bind once before.
Oh, hell. “That’s all right. Why don’t you get started on these?” She nodded, clearly relieved.
It was a routine procedure, and she was a smart girl. She wouldn’t make any mistakes.
PETER LOOKED AROUND AT THE STUDENTS THAT FILLED THE HALL. A number of them looked back. “Good afternoon. My name is Peter Brooks. I’m a professor over in the School of Veterinary Medicine. Professor Alfonso couldn’t be here this afternoon. He asked me to come and talk to you about zoonotic disease.”
A few yawns. Some low-level chatter along the back rows.
He set his briefcase by the podium and loosened his tie. “Let me ask you guys something. How many of you have gotten your flu shot?”
Some kids straightened in their seats. A couple of hands went up.
“Let me guess. Your parents made you.” Laughter. More students were sitting up. “Not my mom,” one called out. “She says the flu shot doesn’t work.”
A common misperception. “Well, in a sense, she’s right. It only protects against the strains that scientists predict will be circulating in a given year. We’ll get to that in more detail shortly. Anyone want to take a stab at how many Americans die each year from influenza?”
Another straggle of waving hands. Peter pointed to a girl in the second row with blunt black hair and a gold hoop hooked through her eyebrow.
“Ten thousand?” she said.
“Try thirty to forty thousand.”
There was a murmur and a general shifting of position.
“That’s slightly more than one percent of the U.S. population. Not terribly significant … unless you happen to be one of those thirty to forty thousand.”
A few students scrawled notes. Good. That sort of statistic would definitely be on the final exam.
“So, you might say that influenza is nothing to sneeze at.” A few smiles.
“Anyone know how many influenza variants there are?”
“Two?”
“Close. There are three. Influenza C is a mild respiratory ailment, usually referred to as the common cold. Influenza B is the human variant and can lead to epidemics. That’s generally the one that the flu vaccine addresses. And then there’s A, the avian variant, also known as bird flu. It also happens to be the only one that can result in pandemics.”
Peter looked to a T-shirted boy with long sideburns sprawled in his chair. “You might want to jot that down.”
Hastily, the boy righted himself and flipped open his binder.
Peter slid a fresh sheet of acetate onto the projector and lifted his pen. After so many years of using PowerPoint, it was nice to return to the old-fashioned, hands-on way of teaching. “Pandemic.” He underlined the first syllable. “Pan, a prefix that means all. In 1918, a pandemic swept across the entire globe and killed fifty to one hundred million people.”
The smiles faded.
“Let’s look at how influenza A can develop into pandemic flu.” He drew a line parallel to the bottom of the screen. “Imagine that H3N1 is the current influenza A virus. It’s going along infecting people.” The line sloped up. “Those people who survive develop immunity. At the same time, we develop a vaccine, which we use to inoculate key players, such as day-care providers, emergency room doctors.” He turned and wiggled his eyebrows at the class. “University professors.”
Laughter.
He turned back to the board. “And so on.” The line flattened out.
“Now we’ve got two populations that can’t pass the virus on. We call this ‘community immunity.’ As a result, the virus now produces fewer and fewer human infections and may eventually have to move to wildlife. That specific virus is out of the picture, at least temporarily.”
The line dwindled to a series of dots.
“But wait. All of a sudden, it alters the form of its protein receptors so that our vaccines are no longer effective.”
Now the line rose up in a second gentle slope.
“Once again we have to build up a new sort of immunity. Which we eventually do.”
A second flattening out. The line resembled a series of rounded steps climbing across the board.
“This is antigenic drift.” He wrote the term in capital letters and underscored it. “This is what the World Health Organization is working hard to monitor and control. Anyone have any idea how?”
A flurry of raised hands. He pointed to a fair-haired boy in the back.
“By tracking the virus in poultry. And killing it when they find it.”
“Exactly. Now, antigenic drift is no small thing. But antigenic shift is Freddy Krueger, Dracula, and Hannibal Lecter rolled into one.”
Now every head was up. They should be. He wasn’t exaggerating.
“Antigenic shift occurs when two viruses, one avian and one human, mix together within a single host.” He sketched two blobs with antennae. “The pig is ideally suited for this role, because it’s susceptible to both avian and human influenza viruses. So let’s say these two viruses meet and mingle within a pig. Out pops a new virus, one that carries avian code but has human protein receptors. Now we have humans getting infected with an avian virus.” An alien-looking thing with protruding nodules. “What’s the significance of this?” He scanned the class and nodded to a boy in a front seat.
“Um, we don’t have any immunity against it?”
“Worse than that. We don’t have any community immunity against it, and we have no quick way of attaining it. By the time science catches up, this little guy will have ripped through the entire human population”—another series of circles—“and utterly devastated it.” Peter slashed his pen through every circle.
A hushed silence, then someone said, “That’s what’s happening with H5N1.”
“That’s what we’re worried can happen with H5,” Peter corrected. “That’s why WHO has issued alerts, why our health departments are stockpiling latex gloves, and why I’m freezing my butt off beside Sparrow Lake at five in the morning.”
A ripple of laughter.
Someone called out, “Do you think we’re going to have a pandemic?”
Peter regarded the young faces turned toward him. He thought of all those mute bobbing birds, felled by the same sharp blow. “What does the science tell us?”
Silence. They were thinking about this.
“Put yourself in the virus’s place. If you had a good thing going, hooking up with everybody in town, would you move on?” Nervous laughter.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’d hang around as long as possible.”
“So that means yes?”
“That means …” Peter reached over and shut off the projector. He faced the room. Every head was lifted, every pen stilled. “It’s inevitable. Maybe not in my lifetime. Maybe not in yours or even your children’s lifetimes. But sometime.”
These were kids, after all. No need to terrify them.
“Doctors refuse to give the condition of the six people admitted to a Barcelona hospital this evening, but sources reveal they are two men and four women, all in their twenties and thirties, and all suffering from what seems to be avian influenza. One man had recently entered the country from South Korea. Anyone who has visited that country should be watchful for signs of disease. The onset is rapid, beginning with a severe headache or fever. Individuals experiencing these symptoms are advised to consult a physician immediately.”
CNN Headline News
FOUR
I HATE, HATE, HATE TENNIS.” KATE DUMPED HER RACKET into the footwell and reached for her seatbelt. Her hair looped over her shoulder in a shining ponytail, her green eyes carefully outlined in black. Tiny pink earrings twinkled in her earlobes. Ann thought she looked adorable. “I have the absolute worst backhand of everyone. I don’t know why you’re forcing me to play.”
So it was going to be one of those days. Ann pulled the minivan away from the curb and decided to go for a light approach. “You know, Kate, you never went through the terrible twos. Maybe you were saving it all up for the terrifying thirteens.”
Maddie giggled from the backseat.
Kate frowned. “I’m serious. You always make me do things I don’t want to.”
“Well, I’m not forcing you to play. Your father and I have talked to you about this.” Ann pulled to a stop at the red light and looked over at Kate. “You were the one who signed up for the team. It’s important to keep the commitments you make. We don’t want you to be a quitter.”
“Oh, you mean like you?”
Ann winced. This separation was hard on all of them. Kate lifted her chin and glared back at Ann. But beneath that arch defiance, Ann saw her unhappy little girl looking back, longing for reassurance. “Oh, honey.” She put her hand on her daughter’s forearm. “It’s not like that at all.”
The corners of Kate’s mouth turned down. She looked utterly bereft. Ann tightened her grip on her daughter’s arm. If only she could take this from her child.
Then Kate’s features smoothed out again. She wrenched her arm away and turned to the window. “Whatever.”
Maddie piped up from the backseat. “We had a fire at school today.”
“Yeah, right.” Kate lifted a hip to tug her cell phone from her jeans pocket.
“No, we really did. Ask Mommy. The firefighters came and everything.”
Kate glanced at her.
Ann nodded. “It’s true. We really did have a fire. Fortunately, it was just a small one.”
Kate looked over the seat at Maddie. “So the entire school building didn’t burn down?”
Ann glanced in the rearview mirror. Maddie had been bouncing a little in her seat, and now she stopped and looked apprehensive.
“No.”
“And you still have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Well … yeah.”
“Sucks for you.”
Maddie crossed both arms over her chest. “You used to like school.”
It was true, Ann thought sadly. Kate used to bring home perfect report cards. She never talked back to her teachers. Ann never got a phone call from the guidance counselor asking her to come in and discuss why Kate wasn’t handing in assignments. Is there something going on at home that’s upset Kate? the woman had asked.
“Listen, guys.” Ann braked to allow a couple of teenagers to dart across the street. “I’m thinking of pulling you out of school next Wednesday. I thought maybe we could head to Grandma and Grandpa’s a day early.”
Maddie squealed and clapped her hands. “Can we?”
“Don’t you have to work?” Kate said.
Said with some bite to it. Ann understood. Her going back to work was yet another thing that Kate had had no control over. “I’ve already talked to your homeroom teacher, and you don’t have any tests or projects due that day.” The teens reached the curb and Ann accelerated. “So I think we can do it.”
There was a sudden jangle of music. Kate flipped open her cell phone and began pressing buttons.
“Daddy’s not coming with us, is he?” Maddie wanted to know.
Ann sighed. “No, honey. Daddy isn’t coming.” It had been a year, long enough for any new routines to start feeling like old ones, but Maddie still kept asking things like that. Did she really not understand? Or was she simply hoping? “Kate, who are you texting?”
Kate’s thumbs flew over her phone’s tiny keypad. “Michele. We’re trying for the longest text-messaging record.”
“Well, stop it. We can’t afford that.”
“It’s okay.” Kate smirked. “Dad upped my limit.”
Was that true? He’d never said a word to her about it. “Since when?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know. Last month?”
This was one of those things she and Peter should have discussed. Letting Kate text even more than she already did might affect her schoolwork, and Ann would have said no. That was why Peter hadn’t said anything. He hated conflict.
“I forgot to tell you, Mom,” Maddie said. “Hannah can’t play today. She’s starting piano lessons.”
“Really? But Hannah’s mom and I talked about you two taking lessons together.”
“Then I guess we’re not.”
Ann heard the disappointment in her daughter’s voice. She felt it, too. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have let Rachel know we were still interested.”
Maddie’s voice was small. “It’s all right.”
“Maybe it’s not too late. I can call her as soon as we get home and—”
“It’s okay. Just forget it.”
“Well, we can at least see if Hannah can play tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow she’s got karate.”
Yet another thing she and Rachel had discussed the girls doing together. But maybe Rachel had forgotten. “I’ll figure something out.”
Ann turned the car into their neighborhood.
Mr. Finn was out walking his dog again. He’d stopped by the evening before, petition in hand, and Ann had shooed him away by telling him it was dinnertime. He’d promised to come by earlier tonight. Maybe this time she’d plead a migraine or something. She braked to let the white sedan in front of her turn in to a driveway. An elderly woman stood on the front porch, waving as Ann passed by. Sue’s mother, taking care of Jodi again, Ann thought, returning the wave.
“Kate?” Maddie said.
“What.”
“Would you rather step on a slug in your bare feet or—”
“Just say it.”
“—or play bingo with old people?” Maddie said, all in a rush. Kate considered as another trill of music burst into the car. She frowned at the phone display and thumbed a quick reply. “How old?”
“Grandma old.”
“Slug. Definitely.”
Ann steered the car into the garage and switched off the ignition. “All right, you two. Get started on your homework. No more texting, Kate.”
“Mom. Come on. We’re already up to ninety-seven messages. And that’s only since sixth period.”
“You were texting in class? And your teacher didn’t confiscate your phone?”
Kate shrugged. “We had a substitute.”
“Listen, honey. You really have to start pulling up your grades. When you get to high school—”
“Fine. Got it.” Kate pointedly held out her cell phone and pressed the Off button.
Ann walked out to the curb. The mailbox yawned open, its contents threatening to spill onto the sidewalk. It had been days since Ann had thought to bring it in. She worked the bulk of paper free and pressed the mailbox door closed.
Libby bore down on her, stroller bumping along the sidewalk in front of her. Jacob lay nestled inside, his head tipped to one side, his eyelids at half-mast, tiny blue-mittened hands curled over the satin trim of the yellow blanket tucked around him.
For one heart-stopping moment, there he was. Her own sweet William, with just the barest glint of golden hair on his bald little head, his lips pursed as though he were blowing bubbles, his cheeks rosy with sleep. She ached to scoop him up and press him to her shoulder, feel his butterfly breaths once more against her neck and the steady rise and fall of his sturdy back beneath the flat of her hand. But of course he wasn’t William. He was Jacob, her best friend’s son. Her own baby boy was long gone from her.
“Don’t you look at him like that. He’s no angel.” Libby swiped a sleeve across her forehead and stood there, jogging up and down. “He screamed all day at the sitter’s.”
“Still working on that tooth, huh?” A gust of cold air swept past and Ann tugged her sweater tight about her.
“It’s going to come in sometime, right? Tell me it’s going to come in.”
“It’s going to come in. Before he goes to college, for sure.”
“Funny.” Libby reached for the bottle of water from the cup holder strapped to the stroller handle. “Did you hear H5N1’s in Spain now?”
It wasn’t just the flu anymore. That term was too benign, summoning up all those years where the flu was just something most people didn’t think of unless they came down with it. Now it was H5N1. “It’s just a small outbreak.”
“Yeah, but it’s the third one this month.” Libby tilted back her head and drank.
“Well, at this time of year, we are going to see outbreaks from time to time.”
“And our being in Phase Four doesn’t freak you out?” Libby ran a hand below her mouth, catching a drip.
It had, at first. Ann had run out with everyone else and loaded up on the essentials. She’d taken the girls in for flu shots. But things had gradually quieted. Doctors overseas were containing the isolated cases that popped up. Scientists around the world were working on a vaccine. Little by little, other events started to take over the headlines. Terrorist activity in Japan. Two missing tourists. An E. coli outbreak. Life, such as it was, had returned to normal.