After the Fall (3 page)

“What? Your precious confidentiality is more important than me?” She turned her back on him, her thin shoulders hunched over. “I thought you loved me, Jake.”

I do love you, Addie. I am doing this all for you. So we can be together
.

Once the Immunone NDA—New Drug Application—was approved, Addie would return to her family and her Muslim culture.
Unless she was a married woman
. But first, he needed a divorce from Karolee. And that would be most unpleasant. So much better for Karolee to meet an untimely death. A death he'd been contemplating, a death now critical to his plan.

Jake had first met Adawia Abdul when she'd represented her pharmaceutical company, Replica, at an FDA meeting to discuss the approval of the drug Immunone. As a project manager at the FDA for twenty-five years, he'd heard hundreds of pharmaceutical pitches, but never one so stunningly brilliant, and never one delivered by a woman so overwhelmingly beautiful. As soon as the Replica entourage had left, he'd run her credentials. PhD in molecular biology, University of Michigan, Iraqi national, age thirty-four.

A project manager at the FDA is responsible for pulling together the components of a New Drug Application. You could do his admin-type job adequately with a bachelor's degree, but Jake was not adequate, he was damn good. Easy for him to make an excuse to contact Dr. Adawia Abdul to ask for data clarification and so forth. Initially, he suggested they meet for coffee so he could explain the FDA process. Of course, fraternizing with employees of the pharmaceutical industry was forbidden, he knew—an inherent conflict of interest. After that first coffee, listening to her scientific rationale for the drug's
mechanism of action—not understanding that much of the complex biotechnology—listening to her talk of her country, her Iraqi family, he fell under her spell—magically, immediately, passionately. This was the woman he'd dreamed of, needed, must have at all costs.

Jake stepped to Addie, gently turned her around, led her back toward the bed, sat her down, and blotted her tears with the hem of the sheet. “Okay,” he said, sitting next to her, taking her hand, “even though it's late. I will…”

Adawia Abdul had grown up in Baghdad, the daughter of a medical researcher with prominent political connections to the Iraqi regime. She had a younger sister Farrah, married now with two little boys. Despite Islam's restrictive position on women, Adawia had been sent to America to get a PhD with the key condition that she return to Iraq to work in a government laboratory. But after graduate school, Adawia had convinced her father she needed more experience, and she headed off to Bethesda as a scientist in a start-up pharmaceutical company, Replica. While there, she discovered the mechanism of action of Immunone and its chemical analogs. In appreciation of her contribution and to entice her to stay, the cash-poor start-up gave her 5 percent of the company. It wasn't worth much back then, but now that Keystone Pharma had acquired Immunone, the value of Replica stock had skyrocketed. The good news: when Adawia was able to cash out, she'd collect $7.5 million. The bad news: she'd return to Iraq.

Jake grabbed a pillow, stuck it behind his head, and pulled Addie over, curving his arm around her. “Addie, you know FDA Advisory Committees are just that, they advise. They don't approve. I can tell you the FDA still has a lot of questions. Mostly about safety. They're talking about more data. More clinical trials.” This was all a lie, but he had to quell the elation that predicted the 100 percent positive vote of the Advisory Committee would translate into a speedy approval. Certainly, the loss of Dr. Fred Minn would slow the company down as
they struggled to address the drug safety questions he would manufacture for them. Jake may not have the clout of a medical review officer, but he controlled the project data; it would be no big deal for him to misplace or even tamper with the files.

“No, we don't need more trials,” Addie stated, removing her hand from his. “Dr. Nelson presented all 500 patients receiving Immunone and another 500 on the placebo control. Double-blind. The patients treated with Immunone had a 70 percent reduction in rejection. Seventy percent. That's huge, Jake. You know that. And no side effects.”

“The FDA is always leery of results that look too good to be true, Addie.”

Jake felt her edge away from him.

“Maybe they think someone cheated? Or they just don't believe the data?”

“Look, it's late,” Jake said. “I'll find out more when I go in tomorrow. We have to get some sleep.” He reached for her, pulling her down next to him, pressing his body to hers, breathing in her exotic scent. “Everything will work out.”

M
ONDAY
, F
EBRUARY
17

The beep of Tim's alarm clock woke Laura at 5:30 a.m. She hadn't slept well, her mind doing flip-flops, one moment dwelling on Tim's proposal—how it would feel being married—did she want to be married—did she love Tim enough to spend the rest of her life with him? The next minute trying to imagine herself directing pharmaceutical research, walking away from the surgical career she loved—would it be possible to work for Keystone Pharma and still do surgery on the side? Her answer to that, a clear no. Surgery required total focus, at least the way she practiced it. There'd be no having it both ways. What would she tell Tim?

He had leaned over to turn off the alarm and, when he rolled back, he pulled her into the crook of his arm. “Get any sleep, babe?”

“Not much. Too much to think about.” But, she could have Tim
and
surgery. That is, if she moved to Philadelphia. Or, if he moved to Tampa.
Would he be willing to do that for her? Would she be willing to move for him? Maybe
. She'd lived in Tampa for twenty years, raised her children there, but they'd all moved. Her son Mike, a lawyer in Philadelphia, and her twin daughters, med students at the University of Pennsylvania. What was left for her in Tampa?

“What about you?”

“No. I think I've always known I would ask you to marry me.
I just never knew when. Should have done it years ago. But you know what? I'm glad I blurted it out last night.”

“Tim, I still can't wrap my mind around getting married. You took me by surprise. I mean…”

“You promised me you'd think about it, Laura. But right now, I've got to get you up and out of here or you'll miss your plane. Or can I convince you to stay?”

Laura snuggled closer to Tim's warm, inviting body, placed a light, playful kiss on the curly auburn hairs on his chest, and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Wish I could stay longer,” she said, glancing out the window. “Not looking forward to facing the elements out there. I believe you call that white stuff snow.”

“Looks like we got a good three inches during the night. Treacherous driving conditions on top of that ice. Just one more reason to delay your flight.” Tim was sitting now, and he grabbed both of her hands in his. “We have a lot to talk about, Laura. Could you delay going back until later in the day? Even better, tomorrow?”

Laura considered her day. She did not have a case on today's operating room schedule, but she did need to prepare for tomorrow's hospital staff meeting. As usual, she'd be presenting the surgical department's morbidity and mortality statistics. Maybe she could get a colleague to pull the report together for her.

Another look out the window told her: too risky. If this weather continued, she might not be able to get out of Philadelphia.

“I know that look of yours, Laura. I'll go make coffee. You take a shower and get dressed, but I'm coming to Tampa next weekend, and it won't be for the weather, it'll be for you.”

Laura had stepped out of Tim's shower, a very manly one, devoid of the myriad of hair products she kept stashed in hers, when she heard Tim's voice at the door.

“Come in,” she said, not bothering to pull the towel around
her naked body.
What a difference a marriage proposal makes
, she thought with a sly smile.

“Mike,” Tim said, holding out the phone. “Wants to know if you'd like him to pick you up, drive you to the airport. I told him I have a town car on its way, but if he wants to see you off…”

Laura took the phone. “Hi, Mike.” She listened as her son repeated his offer. He could swing by Tim's, pick her up, take her to the airport, all in time for him to arrive at his Center City law office.

“Too complicated, honey,” she said. “I'm exhausted just listening to the itinerary. Not that I don't want to see you. I have some interesting stuff to tell you.” Laura glanced up at Tim, winked at him. “Some personal; some professional. But it can wait.”

“Mom, what's going on? Now you have me curious.”

“Tell you next time. Okay, honey? And thanks for the offer to pick me up. I really appreciate it, especially in this crappy weather. Gotta go. Don't forget to check in with your sisters every few days.”

“Those girls are twenty-four years old, Mom. But you know I will. Love you.”

As Laura handed the phone back to Tim, he beamed. “You going to tell your kids about us getting married, or do you want me to ask their permission?”

That look worried Laura. It seemed too optimistic, too final. Final was nowhere near her reality yet.

“Neither,” she said before the chime of the bell interrupted.

Tim partially closed the bathroom door and went to answer the front door. “Came a bit early for your passenger, Dr. Robinson.” Laura could hear a man's voice. “Conditions are slippery out there. I'll wait in the car, just wanted you to know I was here.”

“Be down as soon as I can,” Laura called. “Can I have that coffee to go?”

Laura emerged from the bedroom dressed in a red-and-gray-patterned
wool dress cinched at the waist with a gray belt, and wearing three-inch red heels with the Ferragamo emblem. Her blond hair hung collar length, and she'd made no attempt to tame the waves. She chose to wear glasses; no time today to deal with her contacts.

Tim was waiting by the door, her red winter coat in one hand, coffee container in another. “Lady in red,” he said, glancing at her feet. “But not too practical for a day like today.”

“Before you say, ‘I told you so,' next time I come to Philly, I'm investing in some boots.”

“Babe, you should take off those heels. Change into your sneakers.”

“I just have to make it to the car. Once I get dropped off at the airport, the sidewalks will be shoveled. Right?” Laura looked down at her feet. “Should have packed flats. I have only myself to blame. Never was a Boy Scout—”

“I'm taking you shopping myself,” Tim said, “for some big, furry boots.”

Laura pulled on the coat, buttoned the top button, and ran her fingers over the stubble on Tim's unshaved cheek.

“Until next Saturday in Tampa,” Tim said, taking one of her hands in his. “I love you, Laura. I want to spend my life with you.”

Interrupted by the driver who'd come for her bags, Laura and Tim exchanged a kiss, then he placed the travel mug of coffee in her hands.

“Better get a move on,” the driver said. “Gonna be slow going on these roads.”

“I'm ready,” said Laura, following him out Tim's door, onto the elevator, and then out into the elements.

M
ONDAY
, F
EBRUARY
17

A sense of abandonment swept over Tim as the elevator door closed behind Laura. Like his life was walking away, leaving him an empty shell. He'd asked her to marry him. After all those years of thinking about it, agonizing whether it was the right time. And now he'd gone and done it. What would be her response? That favorite Corinthians 13 quote came to mind. About the only biblical quote he knew:
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”
For a time, he stood at the door to his apartment, until jarred back into the moment by the paper delivery man. A hefty man, who covered the prime addresses in Center City and probably made as much money as any academic surgeon.

That trivial economic speculation started him thinking about where he and Laura should live. He'd already decided he'd move to Tampa. All Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg would be happy to have him. But what would Laura want now that her kids were no longer in Tampa, but, rather, clustered about Philly? Mike permanently, the twins in med school. Kevin an architect in nearby Princeton, and Patrick in grad school at New York University, an hour's train ride away. If Laura joined the staff at the University of Pennsylvania as a thoracic surgeon, would she be okay not being chief?

“Paper, sir,” the carrier said. “Bad news. Hit and run right outside the Four Seasons.”

Tim wasn't in the mood for news, bad or otherwise, so he accepted the paper, murmured a “thanks,” and went back to his cup of coffee on the kitchen table. The snow was still falling, not enough yet to close the airport, so Laura's flight should get off okay.

He'd asked the hospital not to schedule any early cases, knowing Laura would spend the night, but now he found himself with extra time. He opened the
Philadelphia Inquirer
. On the front page he saw the headlines: “Keystone Pharma Vice President of Research Struck Dead Outside Four Seasons: Hit and Run. Dr. Fred Minn, sixty-seven years old…” The coffee in his mug slopped over the rim as his hand trembled. Minn was one of the men Laura had had dinner with last night. Tim checked the article for the time of the incident: 11:00 p.m. Frighteningly close to the time Laura had left the hotel. God, it could have been Laura. The Corinthians verse replayed in his mind.

Tim reached for the telephone on the kitchen counter. He needed to call Laura. To tell her what happened. Obviously, she'd had no idea. She had one of those clunky cell phones. Hated using it, but with her job and her kids, she needed to stay connected.