Andrew and Kate sat at their table as oblivious to Norman Delmonico as he was to them. Delmonico was still confounded and nonplussed by the exceptional food and wine he had found at this unknown restaurant; similarly, Andrew and Kate were so caught up in their conversation it was as if they had managed to close out the rest of the world.
“I don’t understand,” Andrew persisted. “It seems to me, the more information that scientists share with one another, the sooner they can discover cures for things, and eradicate disease.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his champagne.
Kate shook her head. “Medicine is competitive because medicine is business, just like everything else” she said vehemently. “If you don’t get there first, you don’t get the jobs or the grants or the fame or whatever else you want. There’s a bottom line in medicine and for most people it is money. Lots of it. Do you know how much money is made each year in this country off diabetes? Or asthma—or even the common cold? The figures are immense.”
Andrew stared at her for a moment. “You’re not interested in money,” he said. “I can tell.” And that interested Andrew. He knew it was a rare trait to find in a modern human being—a lack of interest in material things—but Kate Calder plainly did not care about any of the tangible rewards of her profession.
Kate’s eyes flashed. “You’re right. I’m not.”
“So what is it you want then?”
“Immortality,” said Kate bluntly.
Andrew laughed lightly. “I have a couple of suggestions for that,” he said. “You might want to hear them sometime. I am something of an expert on immortality.”
Kate smiled wryly. “And let me guess; your suggestions probably have something to do with heaven, right?” She shook her head slowly. “Heaven . . . ,” she said.
“It has a lot to do with it, actually,” said Andrew. “But you knew that, right?”
“I’m not making fun of you,” said Kate, a note of apology creeping into her voice. “It’s just that heaven is not part of my vocabulary. I’m only interested in what I can prove. And if I can discover something no one else has and prove it, then I’ll make it into the history books. And that is important to me. It means a lot to me, and nothing will change that.”
“Why is that so important to you?” Andrew asked. “Why does that drive you?”
Kate shrugged. “That, in my opinion, is the only thing that will allow me to live forever.”
“But I still don’t understand why that is so important.” Andrew had never known someone so young to be so concerned about how she would be remembered after death. It was very peculiar. “I don’t get it, Kate. Why?”
Kate hesitated a moment. Hardly anyone knew her secret, yet something made her want to confide in Andrew. She said, “Because I’m dying.”
Andrew stared at her. “That can’t be true,” he said. And he knew that it couldn’t be true.
But Kate thought his denial was nothing more than the usual reflexive gainsaying, that it was mere rhetoric on his part.
“I’ve got cancer,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s a form of leukemia. It’s going to kill me some day, but right now I’m still here, still very much alive.” She flashed him a little smile. “And that’s thanks to science, by the way. I’m the subject of an experimental treatment program— so experimental that nobody can say how long I’ve got. So, you see, I understand the value of knowing what you’re going to die of.”
“How long?” Andrew asked. “How much time do your doctors say you might have left?”
There was another shrug from Kate. “Five, maybe even six years.” She laughed and shook her head. “That’s not a long time, but I’m hoping that it will be sufficient for me. I’ve got work to do and do not intend to be denied it. I only hope it will be time enough to finish my work.”
“I’m sure it will be, Kate,” said Andrew.
She laughed again, shaking her head ruefully. “I know you think I’m some pushy broad who just has to be first in line and win the auction and beat the other kids and keep all my secrets to myself.”
She leaned forward and gripped the table tightly. Suddenly it was very important to her that Andrew understand her point of view, that he realize that what appeared to be mere selfishness was in fact a type of self-preservation.
“But discovering a new gene, Andrew, that could change the world, doing that on my own, making a name for myself, that’s all I have to live for now. And it’s the only thing that’ll be left when I go, the difference that I made in this world.” She was looking deep into his eyes now, begging him to try to understand every word she had said.
And she did get through to him. Andrew found that he was deeply moved—for the very first time he had seen beyond Kate’s carefully constructed facade and had caught a glimpse of her as a real and very vulnerable person. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. She did not pull back, did not snatch her hand away. But before he could speak, Monica approached the table.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said softly but earnestly. “I believe you have a call at the front desk.”
Andrew and Kate had been caught up in the moment and Monica’s words cut into it. “Oh,” he said. He let go of Kate’s hand and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“A call? Really?” He looked very puzzled.
Then he looked past Kate and saw that Adam had arrived in the restaurant, and it was clear that they had to confer.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said to Kate apologetically. “I have to take this . . . excuse me.”
Andrew stood and followed Monica, joining Adam at the door of the restaurant. “How’s it going?” Adam asked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“Well,” said Andrew with a little shrug of his shoulders, “I’m finally getting a clue as to what we’re all doing here. She’s dying. And she knows it.”
Monica’s eyes grew wide. “What?” she gasped.
Andrew nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, she’s dying. But she doesn’t need me. Not yet.”
He glanced over his shoulder quickly. “This lady’s got to get her priorities straight. At least her doctor said she has some time left—five or six years. She’s completely obsessed with making a significant medical breakthrough, a discovery— something that she can leave behind after she dies. She has no conception of an afterlife— or a here and now, for that matter. She runs roughshod over her colleagues and her life is completely consumed by her research work. She pays no attention at all to her spiritual life.” Andrew sighed heavily. “That’s got to change. She needs someone like you, Monica.”
“Me?” said Monica. “But you said she’s dying.”
“She has a few years,” Andrew replied. “And she’s got to be taught to use those next few years very wisely. If she’s got five years, then she has time, I’d say. A lot can happen in five years.”
“That’s time enough,” Monica agreed.
But something was plainly bothering Adam. “Five years?” he said. “She’s not going to die in five years.”
“Well, maybe not exactly five years, but she has a good bit of time to get her house in order.”
“No, no,” Adam insisted. “Understand that we aren’t talking years here, Andrew.”
“We’re not?” Andrew said.
“No,” Adam replied. “That woman over there is going to die tonight.”
Andrew and Monica stared at Adam, shock plain on their faces. Then they looked back at Kate, who sat unaware, her champagne glass light in her hand. She was staring out the window at the glittering lights of the office towers and the great yellow moon and the cold stars that seemed to hang in the night sky. She was happier in that moment than she could remember being in a long time and she was, for a change, at peace.