There’s a pounding sound. It’s footsteps, fast heavy footsteps making my heart leap. No one runs with bad news. Unless it’s a double bluff and Wendy, my loyal, competent deputy, is trying to break it to me as quickly as possible. Rip off the Band-Aid. This is why I can’t be there when they get the results. I’m losing my mind in this office.
I can tell it’s worked as soon Wendy bursts into my office in a whirlwind of tears and snot and out-of-breath flapping. “It’s worked, it’s worked. Lisa! One hundred percent survival, blood tests all clean.”
I walk backward slowly. It’s worked. I have invented a vaccine to cure the Plague. I’m going to save the world. I have saved the world.
Wendy hovers, clearly hoping for an emotional reunion. It’s not going to happen, Wendy. Now the hard work starts. Margot and I have talked about this endlessly since she told me to get my head out of the sand in the middle of the night all those months ago. The plan is clear. Someday soon I will read articles in which this vaccine will be referred to as a miracle. It isn’t a miracle. It’s the result of hard work, dedication and ingenuity. Miracles are easy; working is hard.
“Call the Public Health Department.”
I pace my office for a few minutes, the excitement so extreme I can’t contain myself. I don’t call Margot. Telling her what I’ve managed to do will be one of the greatest moments of my life and I want to savor it, uninterrupted.
Wendy rushes back in and thrusts her phone at me. Now is not the time for the Canadian Public Health Agency to put me on hold; they’ll have been praying I would call.
“Lisa,” the voice on the other end of the line says.
“Dr. Michael’s fine,” I reply. I’ve never spoken to this woman before; we’re not on first-name terms.
“Apologies, Dr. Michael. What can I do for you?”
My voice is bubbling with happiness. “You should sound more excited to hear from me. This is the phone call that’s going to change your life.”
There’s a stunned pause. I can just imagine this woman thinking no, no, surely not.
“Yes, I am in fact a God. I have a vaccine. One hundred percent success rate. Blood tests have come back clean. We’ve bypassed the missing chromosomes. I have cured the Plague.”
“Dr. Michael, I, don’t—”
“You don’t know what to say? Yes, I thought that might be the case. Before you get too excited, there’s going to be a difficult conversation between you, me and the Canadian government.”
The woman sounds flustered. I can imagine her wearing a blazer at her nice desk in her nice office in her nice comfy job.
“What are you talking about?” she asks.
“I’m going to sell Canada the vaccine.”
“Very funny, Dr. Michael.”
“I’m not kidding. If you want it, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“Lisa, Dr. Michael. You can’t sell the government a vaccine. It’s . . . you . . . you’re a doctor.”
“Yeah, a PhD doctor, not a doctor doctor. There’s a reason I didn’t go to medical school. Actually, there’s quite a few. Before you ask if I’m crazy, I’m not. I’ve known exactly what I was going to do for months. Set up a meeting and don’t even think about stealing the vaccine from my lab.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she replies hotly. She definitely would.
“Of course you would,” I say with a laugh. “Speak soon.”
CATHERINE
London, United Kingdom （England and Wales）