Renatta Brickell was half-asleep when she glanced over at the digital clock on her nightstand. She had always been an early riser, but five thirty was a little extreme even for her. She pushed herself up against the leather headboard and then looked over at her husband who slept soundly. It had become an unshakable tradition for them to sleep late on Christmas morning. Once they were up, they shared a breakfast of strawberry pancakes heaped high with whipped cream and then opened their gifts. Over the years, the day had become one they both looked forward to with great anticipation. But this year, with the GNS crisis looming over the country like a stubborn ocean fog, it seemed like just another day to Renatta. Although they hadn’t discussed it specifically, she suspected her husband felt the same way.
She was considering getting out of bed when her phone rang. Her staff knew she didn’t mind being called early, but she doubted even they would call her at such an hour on Christmas morning. She reached for her cell phone and checked the caller ID. A little surprised, she took the call.
“Good morning, Helen,” she said, bracing herself for bad news regarding Tess Ryan or one of the other GNS patients at Southeastern State.
“I apologize for disturbing you so early.”
“Actually, I was awake. Under the circumstances, it just doesn’t seem like Christmas morning.”
“My information’s still rather preliminary,” Helen began in a cautious voice, “but I have reason to believe we’ve made a major breakthrough.” Renatta threw back her comforter and shifted her legs over the side of the bed. “A few hours ago, Tess Ryan began showing signs of improvement. It began with her opening her eyes and displaying purposeful movement. Since then, she’s become even more alert. I’m here at the hospital now. In the last hour, she’s uttered a few words and has been responding to simple commands.”
“How can we be sure this is all related to the streptococcus therapy?” Renatta asked. “Perhaps we’re just seeing the beginning of spontaneous recovery.”
“I don’t think so. None of our other patients are showing any signs of improvement. We’ve also been calling as many of the other hospitals as we can. None of them have seen even the slightest hint of recovery in any of their patients.”
“It’s only been a few hours,” Renatta said. “It would be nice to keep things quiet for a while to see if she continues to improve. This is wonderful news but it may be a little premature to declare GNS has been cured and begin a national celebration.”
“I understand.”
Shaking the last bit of sleep from her mind, she stood up, “Is there any possibility this has already leaked out to the media?”
“I’ve no way of knowing for sure, but our staff has been advised in no uncertain terms that family and patient confidentiality is of paramount importance, and that they would be putting their jobs at risk if they spoke to anybody.”
“I appreciate you calling. Could you phone me again in a few hours to let me know what’s happening?”
“Of course.”
Brickell glanced out of her window. It wasn’t very often she turned to divine intervention but on this occasion, she made an exception and said a short prayer. She slipped on her robe, crept out of the bedroom and then climbed the circular staircase to her third-floor library. She knew the intelligent thing to do before calling President Kellar would be to wait for Helen Morales’s next call. That way it would be a little later in the morning and she’d have more information to share with him. For the moment, she was a tad short on answers—a situation she knew from personal experience the president found irritating. The more she thought about the strategy, the more convinced she became that a short period of watchful waiting was the prudent way to go before phoning Kellar.
Sitting at her desk, she had a sudden craving for her morning coffee. With her mind still racing, she turned off the highly polished brass desk lamp and left the library. She was halfway down the spiral stairway when she stopped. She’d never been one to rely heavily on intuition, but just this once she was going to make an exception. She could feel it in every cell of her being—the enigma that was GNS had been solved and one of the worst outbreaks in modern history was about to come to an end.
Renatta reached the bottom of the staircase where her eye was caught by the phone sitting on her hall table. A few seconds passed and a slight smile crept to her face.
“The hell with good sense and optimal timing,” she muttered. And then, without an instant’s hesitation, she walked over to the table, picked up the phone and tapped in the number to the White House.