Elementary, My Dear Watkins (16 page)

“Stroke recovery? But you’re so young!”

“I didn’t have the same kind of stroke
old
people have,” the girl said, gesturing toward Jo’s grandmother. “Mine was a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.”

Jo didn’t know what that meant, but her grandmother explained, apparently not offended by the “old people” remark.

“There’s more than one kind of stroke, Jo. What I had was an ischemic stroke, where a blood clot moved into my brain and caused a blockage. In Alexa’s case, a blood vessel burst in her brain, causing internal bleeding. Dr. Stebbins treats both kinds.”

“What caused it?” Jo asked Alexa.

The girl shrugged.

“Dr. Stebbins says I was probably born that way, with a little bulge in the artery wall that was bound to rupture sooner or later. I was just lucky they got me to the hospital so fast when it happened. They say every second counts in a situation like that. I was double-lucky that Dr. Stebbins helped treat me. He’s a really amazing doctor.”

Jo watched as the girl poured herself more coffee. She certainly seemed agile enough now. In fact, she seemed so normal that Jo was having trouble believing what she was hearing.

“So how did this houseguest arrangement happen?” Jo asked, looking from one to the other. “Did the two of you meet in the doctor’s office and just hit it off?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jo,” her grandmother said, pushing away her plate just as Consuela appeared from the kitchen with fresh coffee for Jo. She set the insulated pot on the table, cleared the dirty plates, and returned to the kitchen. Once she was gone, Eleanor continued. “Dr. Stebbins told me about his young patient and the particular…needs that she had. We both thought it would be a good idea for her to live here during her convalescence and recovery. I must say, I was a little reluctant at first, her being so young, but I think it has worked out swimmingly. Alexa’s a delight and simply no trouble at all.”

“How old are you?” Jo asked, studying the girl. She was sure there was more to the story than either of them was saying.

“I’m fourteen,” Alexa said shyly, glancing down at her plate. As she did, a few locks of hair fell across her forehead, and Jo could see that in and among the black strands were red and blue highlights.

“Fourteen? Wow, you must really miss your friends and family.”

“Yeah, I do,” she said. “I miss my friends a whole lot. My mom too. I don’t really have any other family.”

“Do you get to see your mother much?”

“Alexa knows she’s free to visit her mother at any time,” Eleanor answered for her. “And she knows Fernando can bring her to see her friends too, if she wants.”

Jo could just imagine that—this poor kid having to pull up to her modest little New Jersey school yard in a fancy limo. Yeah, that would go over well.

“What about schooling?”

The girl shrugged.

“I have tutors who come here,” she said, a hint of Jersey accent in her voice. “It’s not bad.”

“They teach her in the studio. At some point, Jo, you’ll have to go out and look at the changes we’ve made.”

“Oh?”

“As you know, after my stroke, we converted the carriage house to a workout center for my physical therapy. Since Alexa came, we’ve added even more equipment along with several small offices for the therapists and the doctor.”

“Impressive.”

“And the studio is delightful now. It almost looks like a classroom. There are desks and tables and an art area with a sink. We even put in a piano out there.”

“A black baby grand,” Alexa added wistfully. “It’s beautiful.”

A black baby grand? Tutors in the studio? This all seemed so strange. Later, when they were alone, Jo was going to ask her grandmother some pointed questions about the whole situation.

The kitchen door opened and Consuela emerged with Jo’s breakfast. She set the steaming plate in front of Jo and set down a tiny pitcher of fresh cream for the coffee before returning to the kitchen.

As Jo began eating, Eleanor excused herself from the table, reached for a nearby cane, and stood.

“Just so you know, Jo, Fernando and the limo are at your disposal all day if you want to go back to Pennsylvania to get your things. First, however, we have to talk to your father. Why don’t you join me in my office in half an hour?”

“Sure.”

“And as for you, Miss Alexa, don’t be late for your piano lesson.”

Alexa stood up awkwardly, for a moment looking very young and earnest. Despite the tough exterior, there was something endearing and almost innocent about her.

“No, ma’am. I won’t. I’ll go out there right now.”

Jo glanced up at her grandmother, who was looking at Alexa, and for a moment there was a flash of an emotion Jo had never, ever seen on the woman’s face before. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, Jo could have sworn that what she witnessed was a moment, albeit brief, of
tenderness
.

Go figure.

“I believe that is our hotel over there,” Luc said, gesturing toward a five-story building at the end of the block. “Too bad we do not have time to check in now.”

The men were squeezing in several quick errands between destinations, the most important of which was to drop Danny’s passport off at a travel expediter service, where they would do the footwork for him to secure a last-minute visa to the Congo. The only other requirement—a yellow fever vaccination and certificate—would be taken care of tomorrow afternoon by one of the doctors at GMM. After that, assuming the expediter had no problems getting the visa, Danny would have everything he’d need to go on to Africa.

The woman in the travel service office did not speak English, which was a bit disconcerting, considering that her job was to handle international issues. Except for taking Danny’s picture and showing him where to sign on the dotted line, she dealt exclusively with Luc, who assured Danny once they left that she seemed as though she knew what she was doing and that all should go well with his visa.

“I got her phone number too,” he added with a grin. “But I am not sure I will use it. She was pretty, yes, but a bit, how do you say, bucktooth,
non?
”

“I didn’t notice,” Danny replied as they walked. “I was paying more attention to that cool, retro twin-lens camera. I wonder how old that thing was.”

“Ah, Danny,” Luc said, throwing an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “What am I going to do with you and your tunnel vision? Women are the spice of life!”

“I thought variety was the spice of life.”

“Variety in women,
oui!
”

Laughing, they made their way toward a delicatessen-like restaurant, called a
gaststätte
. When planning the shoot, Georgette had said that she wanted many of the Switzerland photos to include food to further show the contrast between the haves and the have-nots. Though several of the doctors were willing to cooperate, it was up to
Scene It
to provide the actual fare. Danny and Luc entered the deli, paid for their order, and carried various platters and containers back to the van.

Their next stop was the home of one of the GMM doctors, an infectious diseases specialist who lived in a fancy condo situated right along the river in Zurich. When they arrived at the condo, the doctor’s beautiful young wife used the food they brought with her own fancy serving pieces to set up an elaborate buffet on the balcony.

The spread was sumptuous: colorful fruit, Swiss meats on German breads, and hearty sides of pickles and potato salad. Once the scene was set, Mr. Bashiri began photographing the doctor and his wife pretending to dine al fresco with an incredible view of the city behind them. Danny helped with the lighting and Luc with the screens, and as they worked, it felt to Danny as though they were quickly becoming a creative and efficient team.

Finally, once they were finished, they all made a late lunch out of the food for real. To Danny, it was even more delicious than it looked, and he was glad that Mr. Bashiri had not needed to tamper with the food artificially to make it “pretty” for the camera, something many professional photographers did. This was, after all, a journalistic endeavor, not a hamburger billboard.

As they relaxed and ate, the doctor told them more about the refugee camp where they would be going in the Congo. He had just come back from there six months before, and he was already eager to return. His English was so difficult to understand that he ended up speaking in the local Swiss German dialect instead and getting translated by Luc; but just from the man’s voice and body language, Danny could see that despite the difficult conditions there, he seemed to have found an enormous amount of joy and purpose through his work in the sub-Sahara. As the doctor described his work among the refugees, he gestured broadly with his hands and he had a happy, excited gleam in his eye.

At one point, the doctor asked Danny a question, something about “
schutzimpfungen
,” and Danny looked to Luc for translation. Smiling ruefully, Luc told him that the good doctor was asking about vaccinations, suggesting that when Danny got his required yellow fever shot, he should also ask for vaccinations for hepatitis A and hepatitis B as well, which were not required for travel to the Congo but were highly recommended.

“
Ja
,” the doctor said, counting off on his fingers. “
Die shutzimpfung der gelbe fieber, die shutzimpfung der hepatitis A, und die shutzimpfung der hepatitis B
.”

The next doctor they went to photograph added even more shots to the list, telling Danny he would also want to get boosters of all of his childhood inoculations—tetanus, diphtheria, even polio. Danny didn’t like shots, but he was willing to do whatever it took to stay healthy on this trip.

This doctor lived in a beautiful villa a half hour outside of the city, toward the distant Alps, and with such a lovely home, Mr. Bashiri had much to work with. Danny unloaded the equipment from the van, and then they got busy shooting photos in several different places around the property. The only problem was Luc, who had to excuse himself several times to take calls on his cell phone. Danny couldn’t imagine what was so important that it was worth interrupting the photo shoot for, but apparently something was going on with Luc that simply couldn’t wait.

The weird thing was, every time a call came the Frenchman would quickly answer, tell the person to hold on, and then walk far away out of earshot before speaking. Danny supposed Luc was just being polite and trying not to disturb the creative process, but more than once, Danny had glanced up to see Luc looking directly at him as he talked.

Danny hated to seem paranoid, but if he didn’t know better, he could almost swear Luc was talking about him.

Once Jo’s grandmother and Alexa had both left the room, Jo felt a little strange eating by herself as the bodyguard stood nearby. A bit self-consciously, she tried to make conversation, even offering him breakfast, but his answers were short and monosyllabic. Finally he reminded her that she was supposed to ignore the fact that he was there and go on with her day.

She tried, finishing her meal quickly, thinking about her father and how this encounter was going to go. More than anything, she wanted to talk to Danny. Besides the simple fact that hearing his voice would help to calm and ground her, he needed to know what had happened, to help her figure out how to proceed. If she hurried, she would probably have time to call him before her father arrived.

Upstairs in her room with the bodyguard stationed just outside, Jo used her cell phone to dial Danny’s office. Instead of getting Danny, however, she was connected with Danny’s boss, who told her that Danny was currently out of the country.

“Out of the country?” Jo asked, for a moment daring to hope that he was on his way home. Maybe he found out about what had happened with Bradford and he was rushing to her side. Maybe he had even left last night and would be here soon.

“Yes,” the woman said. “He is on a photo shoot to Switzerland and Africa. One of our staff members had to cancel at the last moment and Dah-nee was able to take his place. Right now, they are in Zurich.”

Jo inhaled slowly, feeling more alone and adrift than she’d ever been in her life. Switzerland? Africa?