“What are you missing?”

I jumped and glanced over at Fitzgerald, whom I began to mentally only ever refer to as Fitz. We’d worked together with radio silence between us during the time I completed my notes, and he worked on his own processes and getting his work station set up to his liking.

“I just don’t understand what happened to her,” I said on a sigh. “I mean, do I just chock it up to genetics, or is there something else? Something I’m not seeing?”

“Go ask, then,” Fitz responded, turning his attention back to his desk.

Eventually he must have felt my stare because he turned and looked back at me, his dark brown eyes wide. I’m pretty sure he was sizing me up, or maybe he was challenging me.

“If you want to be a scientist, you need to ask questions. The more answers you’re able to collect, the better your chances will be of finding the correct one.”

“You think I should just call her family?”

His chin tilted as he surveyed me and his look turned into a taunt. “Unless you have a direct number for God…”

I wanted to roll my eyes, or glare at him, but he didn’t give me the opportunity. Instead, he returned his full attention to his lab and placed a set of earbuds in. An indignant huff blew through my nose, and I stood up to head to the commons to get some caffeine and a break.

When I returned, Fitz was gone. I felt relieved to be back in my space alone, even if it was only for a short while. I peered over the file again, glancing at the contact information. My fingers began dialing the number provided before I finished thinking about what I was about to do.

A woman answered on the third ring with a tone that said she was expecting a telemarketer.

“Hi, my name’s Harper Bosse. I’m an assistant at Mather’s Science and Technology and I was hoping to speak to the … the … someone that knew … Elaine Boggman.” My words were jumbled as my eyes frantically searched over the information for the point of contact’s name, only to come up with a W, making myself cringe at the fact I hadn’t thought to prepare that far in advance.

“This is Wendy,” she replied. “I’m her … was … her daughter.”

My eyes welled with tears and my skin prickled with goose bumps. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Wendy.” My words came out barely above a whisper as I attempted not to choke on them. I stared into the brightness of the bulb shinning from my desk lamp, not allowing my eyes to blink or pool with any more tears.

“Wendy, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your mom if that’s alright.” I paused, feeling my pulse racing in my fingertips that were tightly gripping a pen. “I understand if it’s too difficult.” The lump in my throat expanded with each word.

Certain things used to trigger a breakdown: the smell of whiskey, the scent of Max’s cologne, seeing a father and daughter together, pancakes, and many other everyday things used to make me dash to the nearest restroom where I’d hide until the sobbing subsided. Eventually, the sobbing became stray tears and now, most days, I can cross my arms tight across my chest, count down from five, and be okay … most days.

A month ago, I even began exposing myself to some of the memories after I woke up in a panic and couldn’t remember the sound of Max’s voice. I went to the liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey. The memories infiltrated my brain with just the scent and continued with each drink, filling me with tears of relief.

“How can I help?” Wendy’s voice sounded slightly timid.

“I … I’m studying heart disease and your mother looked like she was in good health. I was just calling to see if there was something that might be missing from her medical records.”

“She was in excellent shape, but the last few years were really hard on her. You see, my dad passed away about five years ago, and my mom … she couldn’t get over it.” Before I could stop the tears, they slid down my cheeks in thick streams, tickling my chin. “At first she wouldn’t get out of bed or get dressed. I think she felt guilty if she let herself be happy, so she worked to keep busy and shut herself away from the world. I think she died of a broken heart.”

I knew that she was wrong. Although there is a condition called broken heart syndrome, it’s very rare one dies from it. However, the lump in my throat had become a boulder, and the room was so blurry it took me several seconds to manage a reply.

“Thank you, Wendy,” I choked out, pinching the skin on my forearm, desperate to feel something else. “I really appreciate your time, and I’m so sorry for your loss.” I hung up before she could reply and slid into to a heap beside my desk as the sobs took over.

I’m not sure if Fitz had walked in at the beginning, middle, or very end of my phone call; I’d never noticed him, but I felt his hands on my shoulders that racked up and down.

When I was finally able to breathe without crying, I gathered my files and locked them in my drawer, grabbed my purse, and left.

I spent the rest of that week dutifully avoiding my lab and Fitz. The following week I was scheduled to officially begin working with him. Fitz entered, looking surprised to find me ready and waiting. He set down his things while staring at his desk and then looked back up at me.

“So what’s your deal? You don’t talk to people. You don’t seem to have any friends that I can tell. You don’t date anyone … are you Mormon?”

I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head.

“Are you a lesbian?”

Was that what people thought? I laughed. “No, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Then what’s your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal. I’m here going to school and needed a job. I wanted to work in a lab that wasn’t owned by a drug manufacturing company, so I came here.”

“Bullshit. There are labs like this closer to California than Delaware. What are you running from?”

That was my first taste of Fitz’s brutal honesty and lack of tact, and it was a bitter taste, delivered with an even more bitter aftertaste.

I didn’t know at the time how he knew I was from California, or what else he thought he knew about me, but I wasn’t in a sharing mood so I gave him a curt answer. “Nothing. I am running from nothing. My dad knew Ben, I asked for a favor, and Ben accepted me.”

“You asked for a favor? Wouldn’t your dad be the one that asked for a favor?”

Shit.

I took a deep breath and channeled the frustration I was feeling to distract me from the sadness that ensued at mentioning my father. “Because I’m perfectly capable,” I said, glaring at Fitz.

“How did he die?”

That was the bitter aftertaste.

There was nothing I wanted to do more than object to his question and tell him how absurd and rude he was for making such a bold assumption.

“Your voice changed when you made that call. Your dad … he died, didn’t he?”

“An aortic aneurism.” I stated the words factually, fighting off the emotions brewing in my chest. I moved my focus away from his so he couldn’t see how uncomfortable the conversation made me.

“When did it happen?”

“May. May 5.”

Fitz nodded. “Was his name Max?”

I cringed and shook my head. “No, my dad’s name is … was…” I swallowed and took a deep breath “…his name was David.” Fitz nodded again and then excused himself. I’m sure I had made things incredibly awkward, however, I hadn’t really had the time to think about it because I was focusing on trying to relax and stop the impending tears that I could feel burning the corners of my eyes.

Fitz returned shortly with two coffees and placed one in front of me. “My dad died when I was thirteen. It never gets easier, but you start remembering the good more than the loss and that helps a lot.”

The following day Fitz insisted that I go to lunch with him. I didn’t realize how many people I had been avoiding as I followed him out to the parking lot.