door finally opened, a young couple emerged. The husband looked stricken, ashamed almost, and Lake wondered if they’d just been told their infertility issue rested with him.
Sherman was in his early sixties, and he was blunt-spoken and humorless. He had yellowed gray hair, a bulbous nose, and pale, almost translucent skin. As he rambled on imperiously, Lake took notes, trying to concentrate, but her thoughts kept being tugged away. To the meeting with Hotchkiss. And then, against her will, to Keaton. Where was she headed with this thing? she wondered. Would she really go for a drink with him?
There were all kinds of reasons why she should turn and run the other way, not least of which was the warning from Hotchkiss. Well, she didn’t really have to think about locking herself up until the kids came home from camp, right? In the meantime, couldn’t she enjoy the dance? Even if Keaton was one of those love-’em-and-leave-’em types—as she had no doubt he was.
“The most viable embryos survive to the fifth day of incubation,” she heard Sherman say, and she made an attempt to refocus. “That’s what we call the blastocyst stage. A blastocyst transfer allows us to place only one or two of the most viable embryos into the uterus. That not only improves embryo selection but it reduces the chances of multiple births. No decent doctor wants to be responsible for an ‘octomom’ situation. Any questions?”
“Uh, I think I’m set for now,” Lake said. “I’m pretty familiar with all these procedures from the background materials you provided.”
Sherman seemed as happy to end the meeting as Lake was. It was clear they weren’t going to be the best of friends, but no matter—that wouldn’t get in the way of Lake doing her job.
On her way back to the conference room, Lake casually looked for Keaton but didn’t find him. The door to Harry Kline’s office was open, though, and she peered in to say hello. She’d enjoyed the few conversations she’d had with him—he had that shrink way of seeming intrigued by every word that came out of your mouth. But he wasn’t in his office.
“I heard he left early,” one of the older nurses, Emily, said quietly behind her. “Some sort of personal emergency.”
Lake returned to her articles in the conference room and after an hour more of reading and note taking was ready to call it quits. As she walked to the storage room to return the reading materials to the files, she kept an eye out for Keaton. There was still no sign of him. Retracing her steps, she spotted Steve in the doorway of the small conference room, obviously looking for her. It was amazing how much he resembled his sister, Sonia. They were half Belgian, half Pakistani, and both extremely attractive.
“There you are,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” she said. “I’m really enjoying the project, Steve.”
“I knew you were the perfect choice. By the way, we’re having a dinner tonight in honor of Mark Keaton. How about joining us?”
“Thanks, but I should make it an early night,” she said. It’d been a knee-jerk response, and part of her instantly regretted it.
“We hardly plan to push on till dawn,” he said. “Come on—it’ll be fun. Besides, Dr. Keaton wanted me to ask you.”
She shrugged, trying to seem indifferent to his comment.
“Okay, why not,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate the invitation.”
They were going to Balthazar, he said. In SoHo. Eight o’clock.
As she walked up Park Avenue ten minutes later, Lake couldn’t contain her excitement. In her mind she imagined sitting next to Keaton tonight, feeling those eyes trained on her again. After this miserable year, I deserve a night like this, she told herself. For a moment, Hotchkiss’s warning flashed in her mind. But wasn’t this exactly what the man had suggested? Socializing in groups? Plus, the kids were still away. No harm to be done.
Back home she fixed a late lunch, faxed the kids, and, because her part-time assistant was off on her honeymoon, took care of paperwork. At close to seven, she began rummaging for an outfit. She tried on and discarded black pants and a crisp white shirt; a flowy skirt and blouse; the same blouse with a denim pencil skirt.
Finally, her bed strewn with clothes, she chose a coral sundress, burnished gold sandals, and gold hoop earrings. The dress was striking with her long brown hair and showed off a little cleavage. She felt slightly wicked—like she was sixteen and had just