Then, in a methodical fashion, the police took all the relevant information about the incident. Unfortunately, neither Marissa nor Tad could give much of a description of the man, save for his stiff arm. When asked if anything was missing, Marissa had to say that she had not yet checked. When she told them about Taffy, she began to cry again.
The police asked her if she’d like to go to the hospital, but she declined. Then, after saying they’d be in touch, the police left. Mr. Judson also departed, telling Marissa to call if she needed anything and not to concern herself about Taffy’s remains. He also said he’d see about getting her window repaired tomorrow.
Suddenly Marissa and Tad found themselves alone, sitting at the kitchen table with the groceries still in their bags.
“I’m sorry about all this,” said Marissa, rubbing her sore head.
“Don’t be silly,” protested Tad. “Why don’t we just go out for dinner?”
“I really am not up to a restaurant. But I don’t want to stay here either. Would you mind if I fixed the meal at your place?”
“Absolutely not. Let’s go!”
“Just give me a moment to change,” said Marissa.
r
10
May 20
IT WAS MONDAY MORNING, and Marissa was filled with a sense of dread. It had not been a good weekend. Friday had been the worst day of her life, starting with the episode with Dubchek, then being attacked and losing Taffy. Right after the assault, she’d minimized the emotional impact, only to pay for it later. She’d made dinner for Tad and had stayed at his house, but it had been a turbulent evening filled with tears and rage at the intruder who’d killed her dog.
Saturday had found her equally upset, despite first Tad’s and then the Judsons’ attempts to cheer her up. Saturday night she’d seen Ralph as planned, and he’d suggested she ask for some time off. He even offered to take her to the Caribbean for a few days. He felt that a short vacation might let things at the CDC cool down. When Marissa insisted that she go back to work, he suggested she concentrate on something other than Ebola, but Marissa shook her head to that, too. “Well at least don’t make more waves,” Ralph counseled. In his opinion, Dubchek was basically a good man who was still recovering from the loss of the wife he’d adored. Marissa should give him another chance. On this point at least, Marissa agreed.
Dreading another confrontation with Dubchek, but resolved to try her best to make amends, Marissa went to her office only to find another memorandum already waiting for her on her desk. She assumed it was from Dubchek, but when she picked up the envelope, she noticed it was from Dr. Carbonara, the administrator of the EIS program and hence Marissa’s real boss. With her heart pounding, she opened the envelope and read the note which said that she should come to see him immediately. That didn’t sound good.
Dr. Carbonara’s office was on the second floor, and Marissa used the stairs to get there, wondering if she were about to be fired. The office was large and comfortable, with one wall dominated by a huge map of the world with little red pins indicating where EIS officers were currently assigned. Dr. Carbonara was a fatherly, soft-spoken man with a shock of unruly gray hair. He motioned for Marissa to sit while he finished a phone call. When he hung up, he smiled warmly. The smile made Marissa relax a little. He didn’t act as though he were about to terminate her employment. Then he surprised her by commiserating with her about the assault and the death of her dog. Except for Tad, Ralph and the Judsons, she didn’t think anyone knew.
“I’m prepared to offer you some vacation time,” continued Dr. Carbonara. “After such a harrowing experience a change of scene might do you some good.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” said Marissa. “But to tell you the truth, I’d rather keep working. It will keep my mind occupied, and I’m convinced the outbreaks are not over.”
Dr. Carbonara took up a pipe and went through the ritual of lighting it. When it was burning to his satisfaction he said, “Unfortunately, there are some difficulties relating to the Ebola situation. As of today we are transferring you from the Department of Virology to the Department of Bacteriology. You can keep your same office. Actually it’s closer to your new assignment than it was to your old one. I’m certain you will find this new position equally as challenging as your last.” He puffed vigorously on his pipe, sending up clouds of swirling gray smoke.
Marissa was devastated. In her mind the transfer was tantamount to being fired.
“I suppose I could tell you all sorts of fibs,” said Dr. Carbonara, “but the truth of the matter is that the head of the CDC, Dr. Morrison, personally asked that you be moved out of virology and away from the Ebola problem.”
“I don’t buy that,” snapped Marissa. “It was Dr. Dubchek!”
“No, it wasn’t Dr. Dubchek,” said Dr. Carbonara with emphasis. Then he added: “… although he was not against the decision.”
Marissa laughed sarcastically.
“Marissa, I am aware that there has been an unfortunate clash of personalities between you and Dr. Dubchek, but-“
“Sexual harassment is more accurate,” interjected Marissa. “The man has made it difficult for me ever since I stepped on his ego by resisting his advances.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that,” said Dr. Carbonara calmly. “Perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interests if I told you the whole story. You see, Dr. Morrison received a call from Congressman Calvin Markham, who is a senior member of the House Appropriations Subcommittee for the Department of Health and Human Services. As you know, that subcommittee handles the CDC’s annual appropriations. It was the congressman who insisted that you be put off the Ebola team, not Dr. Dubchek.”
Marissa was again speechless. The idea of a United States Congressman calling the head of the CDC to have her removed from the Ebola investigation seemed unbelievable. “Congressman Markham used my name specifically?” asked Marissa, when she found her voice.
“Yes,” said Dr. Carbonara. “Believe me, I questioned it, too.”
“But why?” asked Marissa.
“There was no explanation,” said Dr. Carbonara. “And it was more of an order than a request. For political reasons, we have no choice. I think you can understand.”
Marissa shook her head. “That’s just it, I don’t understand. But it does make me change my mind about that vacation offer. I think I need the time after all.”
“Splendid,” said Dr. Carbonara. “I’ll arrange it-effective immediately. After a rest you can make a fresh start. I want to reassure you that we have no quarrel with your work. In fact we have been impressed by your performance. Those Ebola outbreaks had us all terrified. You’ll be a significant addition to the staff working on enteric bacteria, and I’m sure you will enjoy the woman who heads the division, Dr. Harriet Samford.”
Marissa headed home, her mind in turmoil. She’d counted on work to distract her from Taffy’s brutal death; and while she’d thought there’d been a chance she’d be fired, she’d never considered she’d be given a vacation. Vaguely she wondered if she should ask Ralph if he was serious about that Caribbean trip. Yet such an idea was not without disadvantages. While she liked him as a friend, she wasn’t sure if she were ready for anything more.
Her empty house was quiet without Taffy’s exuberant greeting. Marissa had an overwhelming urge to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head, but she knew that would mean yielding to the
depression she was determined to fight off. She hadn’t really accepted Dr. Carbonara’s story as an excuse for shuffling her off the Ebola case. A casual recommendation from a congressman usually didn’t produce such fast results. She was sure if she checked she would discover Markham was a friend of Dubchek’s. Eyeing her bed with its tempting ruffled pillows, she resolved not to give in to her usual pattern of withdrawal. The last reactive depression, after Roger left, was too fresh in her mind. Instead of just giving in and accepting the situation, which was what she’d done then, she told herself that she had to do something. The question was what.