Saving Meghan(43)

“Are you implying that I’m feeding your wife ideas like she’s some stray cat?”

“No,” Carl said, removing his arm from the back of Becky’s chair, his hard jaw set even tighter than usual. “I’m not implying it; I’m telling you that’s what you’re doing. You and all your little cohorts here on social media are nothing but a never-ending spin cycle of nonsense. But you don’t think about the repercussions or the consequences. You don’t think about how your actions affect real lives, do you? Do you!” Carl’s face contorted with raw rage.

“I think you’ve had a long, traumatic day, and maybe a little too much to drink,” Veronica said calmly enough, though Becky could see the strain on her friend’s face.

“And I think you’ve put ideas into my wife’s head. I think you’re feeding off her worry and anxiety like some kind of vampire. Just because you screwed it up with your kid, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you screw it up with mine.” Carl picked up the laptop from Becky’s desk, the magnetic power adapter coming free of its port. He held the laptop at eye level, peering angrily at Veronica.

Becky watched him warily. “What are you doing?” Becky said with some bite. “Leave us alone, Carl. You’re being an asshole. Go somewhere else, please!”

Carl stepped away from Becky, but kept the computer’s camera held up to his face so that Veronica could still see him. “The hospital is convinced that my wife is intentionally making my daughter sick. Did she tell you that?”

“I was getting the full story when you interrupted us,” Veronica said.

Becky rose from her chair. She stormed over to Carl, trying desperately to pry the computer from his grasp, only to have him turn his back to her. “Give it to me,” she said, jaw clenched, pounding away on Carl’s back with her fists.

Undeterred, Carl took a few steps toward the window. He cradled the laptop in his hands while Becky landed blow after blow against his back. “I’ll tell you what I think,” Carl said, his voice flat. “I think you’re poison. I think you’ve filled my wife’s head with so much crap, she doesn’t know what to think.”

“I’m a big enough girl to think for myself, Carl!” Becky shouted. “Now, give me back my computer!” She pulled on his shirt but managed only to free the fabric from the waistband of his jeans.

Carl whirled.

Becky took a step back, afraid for a second he might smash the computer on her head. In all their time together, she’d never once feared him. He was strong, but never violent.

“You want to keep chatting with your virtual pal, is that it, Becky?”

Becky reached for the computer, but Carl pulled it away as her fingers brushed the outer casing.

“Or maybe you want to call your mother. Get some pointers on how to fool the system. You’re obviously nowhere near her level of mastery.”

Becky looked away, unable to stand the sight of his face.

Veronica cried out: “Carl, stop it! Stop it right now!”

“I told you,” Carl said, narrowing his eyes at Becky. “I told you what was going to happen if you kept up your search, kept pushing for more tests, more treatments.”

“Your daughter is sick, Carl,” Veronica said, trying to keep an even tone.

“You took my daughter from me!” Carl shouted at the computer, at Veronica. “You did this! You!”

Becky rushed at Carl, reaching for him, but did not see the chair in her way. Before she knew it, she was on the floor, landing hard on her knees. On her way down, Becky’s arm clipped the wineglass on the desk, shattering it to pieces on impact. A pool of red liquid seeped into the rug like a gruesome stain.

Carl moved toward the window. “No more feeding my wife your cracked-up ideas about our daughter,” he told Veronica. “Leave us alone. You’re not welcome here. Not now. Not ever.”

Carl opened the window. He used the computer to push out the screen as Becky yelled for him to stop.

“It’s for your own good,” Carl said impassively. “And mine.”

Without another word, Carl opened his hands and let the computer fall from his grasp. Becky heard Veronica scream as though she were the one he’d tossed out the open window.





CHAPTER 21





ZACH


When Zach heard the news, he knew he’d be cutting his Cleveland trip short.

He’d already given his speech about childhood mitochondrial disease to a packed room of doctors, researchers, and parents, all of whom had a stake, some bigger than others, in finding a cure for the incurable.

Zach’s presentation had gone over quite well. As expected, he had fielded a number of questions about the Elamvia clinical trial he was helping to coordinate. He’d also facilitated a lively Q&A focused on the mito cocktail, which some believed had little scientific data to support its effectiveness.

There was also considerable discussion around coenzyme Q10, a substance similar to a vitamin, which segued into a somewhat contentious dosing debate that Zach knew was coming and would have preferred to avoid. There were no clear answers with this disease. Every potential solution had drawbacks, including high dosing of coenzyme Q10, which offered evidence of improvement in muscle fatigue for some but also led to muscle breakdown in 10 to 20 percent of patients. With mitochondrial disease, it always seemed to be one step forward and five steps in reverse.