A Fierce Radiance by Lauren Belfer Page A

his life. “My children are stopping by after school, Mrs. Shipley. My helluva strict doctor here told Patsy they could tour the laboratory. Special treat. Science lesson and all that. Nurse Brockett promised us a party afterward. Chocolate éclairs. Hope you can attend. Patsy said you wanted to take the kids’ picture.”
    “I’ll be here,” Claire said.
    “Wonderful.” Mr. Reese coughed. Suddenly he was wheezing, the sound raw and harsh, as he struggled to control his breathing.At last he succeeded. Weakened, he leaned back against the pillows. He breathed in short gasps, eyes closed, as if the slightest movement brought pain. Quietly he said, “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
    “I know,” Dr. Stanton said gently. “You should rest now. Build up your strength for your children’s visit this afternoon.”
    Reese nodded without opening his eyes, as if determined to contain himself.
    “All right, Mrs. Shipley,” Stanton said, “time to go.”
    She gathered her bags, and Stanton followed her into the hallway. Claire walked toward the nurses’ station. The hospital was busy, groups of doctors consulting outside patient rooms and orderlies pushing racks of lunch trays. When Claire felt certain they were out of Mr. Reese’s hearing, she said, “What happened? It’s like a miracle.”
    “No miracle. The medication worked. Fact, not miracle.” Stanton insisted on this. Doctors and scientists didn’t talk in terms of miracles, even though he felt he’d witnessed a miracle of gigantic proportions. A dozen bleak scenarios about Reese’s future filled his mind, but he wanted to pause now to recognize what had been accomplished. He planned to express his gratitude to the team when they met for rounds later.
    “A miraculous fact,” Claire said.
    “I’m sure the newspapers and magazines will call it a miracle. But we don’t have to debate it.” Miracles were the last thing he wanted to debate with her. He wished he could ask her to lunch, but he had other patients to attend to, an endless stream of paperwork, meetings to attend, other research projects to review. “Why don’t you go along when the kids tour the lab this afternoon?” He was in a mood to be generous.
    “That’s good of you.” She’d been girding herself for a fight about this. From Claire’s point of view, the presence of the kids in the lab would give the photos a more emotional and inviting perspective.
    “Well, you’ve proven yourself fairly harmless, no offense meant.”He imagined himself putting his hands on, or better yet under, her soft cashmere sweater.
    “None taken.” He was charming, she had to admit. Like Reese, he was well shaven this morning, his skin smooth, his hair soft, although instead of Palmolive soap, he gave off a fleeting scent of Old Spice aftershave, one of her favorites.
    A set of double doors opened ahead of them, and a white-coated doctor strode through. He was blond and lanky, stethoscope around his neck, clipboard in hand.
    “Ah, Stanton, I hear you’re having some good luck today.” He slowed his pace but didn’t stop. DR. CATALANO was embroidered on his coat, although he appeared more Scandinavian than Italian, except for his dark eyes. Blond hair and brown eyes, an arresting combination.
    “Yes, thank you. Exactly what I expected.”
    Catalano laughed. “Always good to fulfill your expectations.”
    “I agree. And you?”
    Claire pegged these two as friends.
    “The long slog, as usual.”
    “You’ll be having some good luck one of these days, too, I’m sure.”
    “No doubt.” Catalano disappeared into a nearby office. Dr. Stanton looked pleased with himself.
    “You seem happy,” Claire said.
    “I am happy.”
    “May I ask why?”
    “Nick’s a close friend, but we also have a friendly rivalry. He’s expressed the opinion more than once at staff meetings that antibacterials from mold don’t have a chance at success. He works in vaccine development, and that’s where he