She couldn’t find the right words to express the layers of gratitude and love and nostalgia that had overcome her, so Norah took Chase’s face in her hands and kissed her sweetly.
“What was that for?” Chase said, after Norah had gently pulled back.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Just…thank you.”
Along with the debilitating grief came the anxiety of not knowing whether Jamie had succumbed to the virus itself, or to Norah’s selfish decisions. She waited for a full week without any word from the hospital. Timmons had promised he’d notify her when they finished their investigation, having no idea, of course, about Norah’s experimental treatment. He was sure Jamie had been lost to the virus, like so many of the others. But he toldNorah he’d let her know there was nothing else that could have been done.
Even lying next to Chase, the Sleepy Scientist in her ear, couldn’t soothe Norah to sleep on those nights. She lay wide awake, replaying the moment she pushed the syringe full of the poison that killed her friend. She stopped sleeping alone, lying next to Chase being the only hope for even the smallest amount of rest. Some nights, she dreamed of Jamie’s face, pale and serene at first and then morphing into a green monstrosity, the flesh falling off the bone until Norah was staring at a corpse. She’d wake up in a cold sweat, reaching for Chase and holding onto her tightly.
“This landed on my desk for you today,” John said, sitting down next to Norah at breakfast. Chase had insisted she come out at least long enough to drink some coffee and eat some Cheerios.
“What is it?”
“Look for yourself.” He slid a sheet of fax paper to her.
Jamie’s name and medical record number were on top. Below was a very condensed summary of what the hospital coroner believed killed her.
“She died of H7J1,” Norah whispered, still staring down at the words.
“Yes.” John offered her the most sympathetic smile she’d ever seen, one that asked Norah to forgive herself.
“They didn’t do a full autopsy,” she said, doubt creeping in around the cautious relief she’d allowed herself to feel.
“Don’t do that to yourself, Norah. You know they aren’t doing many posts on H7J1 patients. Because she was one of us, they did more than most.”
There it was, in plain medical English.
Cause of death: acute respiratory distress syndrome secondary to H7J1 virus
Norah reread the words repeatedly. That didn’t bring Jamie back. But Norah found peace in knowing she’d tried everything she could to help her friend. She’d done the right thing, even if it hadn’t worked.
Chase emerged a few minutes later, a plate of eggs, sausage, and home fries teetering on top of her second cup of coffee. God. Nothing killed this woman’s appetite.
“What are we looking at?” she said, shoveling a forkful into her mouth. Norah handed her the report. Chase swallowed and picked it up, reading it carefully.
She said nothing, just put her arm around Norah’s shoulder and pulled her in until she could wrap both her arms around her and kiss the top of her head.
That night, tucked in next to Chase, Norah fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Planning Jamie’s service was important to Chase because Jamie was her friend, but also because Norah deserved the chance not to have to. The single greatest regret of Chase’s life was not being there for Norah when Davey died. And for what? Because she was afraid she couldn’t be strong enough for her? Chase’s cowardice had ruined them. There was no way to make up that blunder to Norah. But she could at least do this for her.
That afternoon, she had four privates collecting wildflowers out by the swamp.
“Are these good, Doc?” they’d ask, proudly emerging with a fistful of swamp grass.
“Those are weeds, Private.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep looking, ma’am.”
Much to Chase’s utter shock and delight, by dinnertime they had a table full of spring cress, field thistle, and even some southern blue flag. Unfortunately, they were short on vases, soChase made do with some recycled Pepsi cans they’d cut the tops off with a pocketknife. Catering wasn’t happening these days due to the quarantine orders, but Chase had learned through the rumor mill that one of the epidemiologists had been a Michelin-star chef prior to becoming a full-time nerd. The next morning, while Norah was still sleeping, Chase drove to New Orleans, where she managed to use her CDC status to get into a restaurant-supply store and pick up all the necessary ingredients for appetizers that Jamie deserved.
John had been an Eagle Scout a million years earlier and had always bragged to Chase about his woodworking skills. She’d recruited him to engrave a wood plaque they could place out by the water after the service.
“What’s all this?” Norah said, emerging from her tent sometime after ten a.m. Chase knew she was awake and had been working on what she wanted to say that afternoon.
