Page 82 of Savage Beauty

Frustration seeps through his pores and his frown. It’s an expression I’m quite familiar with.

“I tell you what. I’ve got to go. They sent a plane here to get us. One of us needs to be on it. I’ll meet with the men in D.C. We’ll figure things out. But…just sit tight for the rest of the day. Can you do that for me? Arrow is setting up security for you. It sounds like they’ll have you stay in the villa. It’s more secure than your place.”

“That’s not–”

“Please Sloane? For me?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you when I land.”

“Oh. We should schedule a call.”

“What?”

“That’s what I do with Sage. We schedule a call on Sunday. We could schedule to talk before or after that call.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Once I get back in the lab, it’ll be manic. I have so much to catch up on.” He’s looking at me like he can’t comprehend what I am saying. And that’s fair. It’s difficult for people who are used to clocking in and out of their jobs to understand dedication. “I’ll speak to you on Sunday. That’s only three days away.”

“Wow.”

He’s wearing those hiking boots he likes so much, and they’re still dusty.

“That’s what you want?”

“I prefer scheduled calls. It’s disorienting to get a phone call when I’m working. I know not everyone is like that. It’s part of my differences.”

I shouldn’t have to defend myself.

“Is a Sunday phone call what you’re seeing for this week, or is that what you’re expecting from here on out?”

“I mean…” His tone sounds agitated. He doesn’t like what I proposed. “We can add a few more calls in. The time difference will only be two hours.”

It’s awkward. I can’t tell exactly why. But I have the same sensation I get when I break a rule, and I don’t like this sensation. He needs to get to his plane, and I need to go see Dr. Kallio. I want her to see my draft of the letter and agree that she’ll cancel interviewing my replacements. I’ll let Max make changes to it, or anyone on the Arrow team really. It’s a draft. We can make revisions to it.

“So, I guess this is it?” He stands at the door with his hands shoved in his pants pockets.

“You’re not happy, are you?”

“I think I just thought something more happened between us…” He draws out the sentence, letting it hang there in the silence.

“You know, that’s the thing about Sage’s books. They end when the couple gets together, and you’re supposed to imagine their lives being perfect. They don’t show the day to day. And…this is my life.” I don’t know how else to explain it. What I am working on could change the world. It could give life to so many who might otherwise die. My work requires time. And focus. And really, he distracts me.

“What were your parents like?”

That’s an odd question. One we don’t really have time for. “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“They were exemplary parents.”

“I get that. But what were they like as a couple?”

Memories of my parents surface. Mom at the hospital while Dad heated dinner in the oven. Mom driving through a drive-thru, only to be met at the hospital later with Dad after he’d had to work late. One of them would stay, one of them would drive Sam and me home. Shouting. Always behind closed doors. Tears. Over Sage. “They disagreed sometimes,” I say, thoughtfully. “They saw a couple’s therapist. But neither of them ever told us why. I always assumed it had to do with Sage being sick.”

“They told you they were seeing a therapist but didn’t tell you why?”

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