Jane didn’t answer and Sam left a message asking her to give her a call back when she got up. Three houses down was a small bungalow with an American flag up over the porch, a carving up on the door of marines putting up the flag at Iwo Jima. Sam took out a key and unlocked the door before entering.
The house was decorated in a style that belonged to decades past; she had always guessed the sixties but had no evidence for that other than a black velvet painting of Elvis. She walked through the house and shouted, “Hello?” There was no reply.
Making her way to the north side of the house, she entered the master bedroom. An elderly woman lay in bed, staring at a television that had the sound turned down all the way. Sam pulled up a stool and sat down next to her.
“How are you, Ma?”
“Your uncle Johnny needs to get into the house. Don’t forget to leave your key above the door frame.”
Sam reached over and began to straighten her sheets. “Uncle Johnny’s been dead for over twenty years, Ma. Remember, we talked about this yesterday.”
“He needs the key so that he can get his albums. Oh, him and those albums. I swear he loves those things more than he loves me.”
Sam looked at her a moment; the innocence in her eyes penetrated her. “No, he loves you more than anything.” Sam cleared her throat, choking back the emotion that bubbled inside her. “Where’s your nurse, Ma?”
“Oh that one, that’s another one. The Mexican.”
“Rosa’s very nice. She really likes working here.”
Her mother shrugged. It was confusing for Sam at first: the moments of lucidness coupled with the immediate comment or question that revealed her mother did not know where she was or what time she was in. But Sam was used to it now, as much as someone could be, and she tried to ignore it as much as possible.
“Do you know where Rosa is?”
“She went out for some milk of magnesia. We’re all out. She’s a nice girl to get my milk of magnesia.”
Samantha saw a bowl of cereal on the side table. “Let’s finish the cereal,” she said, taking the bowl and spooning some cereal gently into her mother’s mouth.
She stayed with her mother, rubbing her head until she fell asleep. Rosa got home shortly after. Sam spoke a few minutes with her about the medication situation and told her she would be back tonight to take her mother on a walk in her wheelchair.
Sam stepped outside and had to lean against the door for a moment. She remembered when her mother stood at the oven, stirring delicious stews or baking cakes with generic ingredients bought in bulk because they could only afford to get groceries every other week. Though Sam could afford expensive restaurants now, somehow the cheap cupcakes and beef stroganoff her mother made were the best things she had ever eaten.
After her father’s death late in life, her mother seemed invincible raising four children on her own. To see her shrink away to nearly nothing and not even know who Sam was most of the time tore her guts out, but she couldn’t stop coming. Her mother had been there when she needed her and she was going to return the favor no matter what.
Sam called her sister again but again there was no answer. As she pulled the phone away from her ear, she saw that the voicemail icon had a one next to it. She clicked on it and listened to the message:
This is Gale with CDC dispatch. Please call Dr. Ralph Wilson immediately.
The time display on the message said she had received it at 3:17 a.m.
Sam called the CDC mainline as she leisurely strolled down the sidewalk. It was going to be hot today but for now the temperature was perfect in a cloudless sky. She could see the park no more than two blocks away and throngs of children were already there. Occasionally, she would sit on the benches and watch them for long periods of time.
“CDC dispatch, this is Monique.”
“Hi, Monique, this is Samantha.”
“Oh, hi, Dr. Bower. How are you?”
“Good. I got a message from Gale that Ralph needed to speak to me.”
“Yup. I’ll put you through.”
After a click, Dr. Ralph Wilson, one of the most influential men in public health, sneezed, swore under his breath, and said, “My wife doesn’t return my calls either,” by way of greeting.
“Sorry, I was up until one in the morning working on something for Nancy.”
“Yeah, she’ll do that to you. What was it for?”
“The report you wanted on the influenza outbreak in Khovd.”
“Shelve that. I got something I want you to look in to.”
“What is it?”
“Could be nothing, but could be something. I know it’s Saturday but you’re the agent on call right now I think.”
“I am. We alternate weeks.”
“It’s an emergency room physician in Honolulu. Gerald Amoy. Goes by Jerry. Do you have a pen?”
“No.”
“I’ll text you his information. Give him a call. He’s put in a request for help so I took the liberty of booking your flight for two this afternoon. You okay with that?”
“Sure, I didn’t have any plans for today,” she said calmly, hiding her excitement for a free trip to Hawaii.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind. I’ll send his information over now.”
Sam got to the park and sat on a bench in front of the swing set. A young girl was being pushed by her mother and Sam watched the young girl’s smile and the way she would squeal when she got pushed just a bit too high. Sam didn’t notice that her phone had vibrated with an incoming text and when she glanced down at it she saw that ten minutes had passed.
She clicked on the number displayed in the text.
“Queen’s Medical Center Emergency.”
“Hi, this is Dr. Samantha Bower with the Centers for Disease Control. I need to speak with a Dr. Gerald Amoy. I’m returning his call.”
“Let me page him.”
She was put on hold and heard a ukulele with a soft voice singing over it. The lyrics were in Hawaiian and it excited her even more. She hadn’t been on a real vacation…well, ever. She had worked her way through medical school at the University of Arizona and had no time off during her surgical residency.
Just thinking of the hours she put into her residency in a busy hospital in the suburbs of Chicago sent a chill up her back. As a matter of course she would be in the hospital over a hundred hours a week, leaving no more than six hours a day to eat, sleep, drive, shower, spend time exercising, reading, talking with her family, and anything else she might have had to do. Within the first two weeks, she knew she no longer wanted to be a surgeon.
Luckily, she had met the chief of infectious disease research at the University of Chicago’s Department of Biology at a CME course for physicians. He’d shown up half-drunk and hit on her and then, seemingly to impress her, indicated he was looking to replace one of the physicians on his staff that was leaving the program due to substance abuse issues. She jumped at the opportunity. She applied and got the position after just one interview. The fact that it paid half what the average medical school graduate could expect to earn didn’t hurt, as there were only seven other applicants.
The nine-to-five research schedule made her feel as if she had been freed from prison. She completed three years and was going to take a position with a prestigious clinic in her hometown of San Francisco when she discovered the world of epidemiology on the job, and, almost without any effort, received an offer from the CDC through her connections at the University of Chicago.
“This is Amoy.”
“This is Samantha Bower from the Centers for Disease Control. I’m just responding to a request we received.”
“Oh, I’m glad you called. Just a second.” There was some shuffling and she could hear him give instructions to somebody. “Sorry about that.”