The shuttle was boarding by the time Thomas Merchant got through the TSA PreCheck line. As he walked down the Jetway, he texted Julia that he’d meet her in front of Park Manor. Then he rang Pamela, who had called three times while he was with the Senate banking subcommittee.
Pamela didn’t bother with hello. “You could have told me yourself.”
Merchant glanced into the cockpit as he stepped onto the plane. “Julia’s better at breaking bad news.” He supposed he should say something else, something consoling, but he was too tired from the subcommittee grilling, and Pamela would see right through whatever he said anyway and tell him he was full of shit. He certainly had to respect Lucy’s sister professionally, but he’d never been a fan of hers. She was assertive and brassy—the polar opposite of his wife—and he had no interest in women who weren’t interested in men.
“What happened?” she asked, as if Lucy’s death were anything other than the simple calculus of inevitability.
“Her genes happened.” He didn’t even try to mask his sarcasm. “As I’ve said before, you really should get yourself tested, Pamela.”
“Why? So I can spend my life worrying every time I forget a name? No thanks. Besides, I’ve read the studies too. Just because you have one of the mutations doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”
“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, but it’s like economic indicators. You ignore them at your financial peril. I’m on the board of Sloan Kettering. I can make a call for you. I can get you an appointment like that.” He snapped his fingers even though she couldn’t hear.
“I’ve defended three Sloan Kettering board members and one from Mount Sinai, too. I could ask them myself. You’re an asshole, you know.”
“I’m a realist.” He smiled at an attractive blond in an aisle seat who was staring at him. He took the aisle seat right across from hers. “I say it’s better to know what’s coming.” He tucked his briefcase under the row in front of his. “That’s why I was so insistent with Julia.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out.”
“She’ll thank me some day.”
“When are you planning to have the funeral?”
“We’ll have a memorial service after the cremation. I don’t know when. It’ll be at Frank E. Campbell, of course.”
“I want to be kept informed,” Pamela asserted.
“Of course.” He laughed inwardly at her puffed up tone, as if Pamela had any authority at all over the plans he made.
He ended that call and made the call he wanted to make.
“I really can’t talk right now,” she whispered, and again he detected that something in her voice. A cooling off. A pulling away.
“Come see me tonight.”
“It’s been a long day. And the snow is already starting here. I—”
“It’s been a long day for me, too,” he cut her off. “And I’m looking forward to an even longer night with you. I’ll send Felipe for you at nine thirty.” He pressed End before she could protest.
A flight attendant was demonstrating the safety features of the plane. The blond woman across the aisle was staring at him again. He met her gaze and she asked, “You’re Thomas Merchant, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” He smiled and held out his hand.