Unforgettable (21 page)

Once Angel’s voice steadied and found a rhythm, Rett relaxed. She had been so afraid that she would not be able to see beyond the dispassionate scientist, but she did. But not so much that she wasn’t repeatedly awed by Angel’s ability to converse in the language of the universe.

“When my colleagues and I published our results on the genetic predisposition for ovarian cancer, we were largely misquoted. The vaunted New York Times, for example, said we had found a way to identify those women who would develop the disease. It isn’t true. That’s not what we did.”

Angel touched a switch on the lectern and the projection screen behind her lit up with what Rett recognized as the symbols for genetic code.

“What we found was that this sequence right here was present in over eighty-five percent of women who had developed ovarian cancer.” She used a laser pointer to highlight the sequence. “That means that fifteen percent of women who have ovarian cancer do not have this genetic sequence. Importantly, we found the sequence in older women who had no signs of ovarian cancer.”

Angel stopped to sip from her water glass. “The difference is not a matter of semantics. It means that while we can tell a woman she has a higher risk of developing the disease if she carries this genetic code, we can’t tell any woman whether she will in fact develop it or that she is immune because she does not have this code. That means that all women need to be aware of the risk factors for ovarian, cervical and uterine cancers, and all women must do their best to mitigate those factors if they wish to improve their personal odds of avoiding these diseases.”

Any nervousness Angel might have had was gone. Her voice crackled with authority. She covered the relevant statistical data with absolute conviction in her conclusions and rattled off eight-and nine-syllable scientific terms as easily as if they were children’s rhymes. If this was the nontechnical version, Rett couldn’t comprehend what the technical version might be. The story that Angel wove with her statistics and anecdotes was fascinating, though. She hadn’t thought of Angel as a genetic detective. It was obvious that mysteries fascinated Angel and she had the confidence to believe she could solve them.

Angel concluded the data presentation and momentarily switched off the slide projector. “What I want to avoid is giving any woman the impression that she can have a genetic sample taken and then be told whether or not she will develop a given disease. If genetics were all that mattered, then first-time cases of breast cancer would not be occurring in many family clusters today. It’s frustrating. I read in the media almost daily that Vitamin This or Herbal That hinders the development of one disease — only to read the next day that Vitamin This or Herbal That increases the risks of another. How is anyone to know what to eat and what not to eat? What to be tested for and whom to believe? That’s really the question I’ve come to answer tonight. What are the most important things a woman can do to reduce her risks of cancer and other diseases?”

Angel switched the slide projector back on. “First and foremost, educate yourself. Don’t be at the mercy of advertisements and anecdotes. One of the best ways to educate yourself is my second point. Talk to your doctor about what concerns you in your family’s history and your own lifestyle. Your doctor will help you identify your risks and discuss what you can do to lessen them. Your doctor can tell you what you should do in the way of regular health screenings, which is my third point. For God’s sakes, get an annual pap smear. If you’re over forty, get an annual mammo-gram. It will save your life.”

Rett realized guiltily that she had not visited a gynecologist for a couple of years. She was officially over forty, too. Angel made her want to make an appointment right away.

“Last but not least, I speak empowered with the voice of mothers everywhere. It’s a sad, sad message.” Angel’s smile was at odds with her words. She leaned into the microphone. “Eat your fruits and vegetables.”

The audience laughed and Angel took advantage of it to drink more water. Rett knew how her throat must feel.

“Leaving the specifics of my own research behind, what we know from numerous clinical research studies is that nutrition matters. But as I said before, what isn’t clear is what foods increase or decrease our risks of disease. In one study, red meats have a causal link with cancer; in another, red meat might reduce the risk of one specific type of cancer. Caffeine is linked to high blood pressure and, on the other hand, reduced incidence of gallstones. One study might suggest that a very high fiber diet reduces colon and rectal cancer while another might suggest that there’s no link at all. But one fact is consistent among all studies.”

She paused for emphasis. “All studies. Low incidences of not only cancer, but diabetes and heart disease and many other diseases, is always accompanied by a diet rich in fruits and vegetables. That means that in clinically controlled research studies, people who ate lots of fruits and vegetables tended to have less incidence of all types of cancer and many other diseases. That doesn’t mean that they won’t necessarily develop those diseases because of other factors, like genetics, but it does mean that if you want to use your diet to bolster your resistance to disease, then fruits and vegetables — not supplements and pills — are the only sure thing. They will never let you down.”

She held up a hand to emphasize her words. “Fruits and vegetables, washed properly to be pesticide-free, will never let you down. For people like me who do not care for leafy greens and broccoli, it’s just about the saddest message I can give. I personally think that’s why we don’t hear this message often enough in the media today. No one wants to be the bearer of bad news. It’s also not really possible to make a fortune selling fruits and vegetables — not the same way it’s possible to make a fortune selling pills and supplements, which are rarely shown to have preventative value.”

Even from the back of the room Rett could see the blaze in Angel’s eyes. This was the passionate woman that Rett knew. “As a doctor, it frightens me that in this day and age people are afraid of a doctor’s message based on millions of dollars and years of research, but they’ll believe someone they’ve never met who has been paid to sell them a product. So women don’t get annual pap smears but will drink a soft drink that’s been laced with an unspecified amount of an herb that has never been clinically proven to reduce any cancer risk. It frightens me.”

Angel moved on to explain the difference between clinical, retrospective and prospective research studies and how to evaluate news reports about research, then took some questions from the students. Afterwards, Rett milled about with the rest of the crowd, but she kept an eye out for Angel’s family. She wanted them to know she had taken the effort to be there, that she knew Angel was more than just a beautiful body. She fought a blush — she’d known there was more to Angel than that, she just hadn’t seen it for real. Dr. Angelica Martinetta completely unnerved her and probably always would.

She quickly spotted the gathering clan. She would have been content just to agree with everyone that Angel was an amazing woman and a terrific scientist, but Mrs. Martinetta stopped her from a quick exit.

“Angel said you would be here. Wasn’t she wonderful?”

“Yes, she was. She’s hardly mentioned her work, though I’ve asked about it, but now I know more about what she’s interested in.” She felt as if she had to get to know Angel all over again.

“You would never know she had stage fright, would you?”

“She seemed only the tiniest bit nervous, and that was right at the beginning.”

Tony Junior leaned toward his mother. “Did she puke beforehand?”

“Oh hush,” his mother answered. “She gives so many presentations that I’m sure she’s no longer troubled that way.”

“If I was, it would only be because all of you were here.” Angel’s arrival elicited a round of hugs.

Angel smacked her brother on the arm. “I didn’t puke. How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to be the older brother who’s going to take everyone out for hot fudge sundaes at Zeb’s Creamery.” There was a collective ooh of approval. The St. Cloud creamery was legendary for its homemade ice cream. “I figure we all stuck our mates with the kids, so let’s party. I called ahead so they could put broccoli in yours, fry.”

“Shut up,” Angel said fondly.

“You’ll come with us, Rett?” If Rett had ever wondered where Angel got her evocative eyes, she would have only had to look at Angel’s father to know the source.

“I don’t want to intrude, really.” They would have none of it, so Rett found herself included. Angel ducked back into the hall to thank various people. Rett saw her pause a moment with Cinny, smile and then hug her.

All Rett could think was that life was strange.

As they left the creamery, she and Angel outdistanced the rest of the family. Angel said quickly, “My meeting in Rochester tomorrow was moved back a half an hour. I’ll be back in time for dinner. I don’t have to leave until eleven. Judy Longworth roped me into breakfast with one of her clubs, though. I don’t know what I was thinking when I said yes, but that should be over by nine-thirty at the latest.” She bit her lower lip.

Rett did some time computation. “So if I want to see you alone tomorrow, it’s between nine-thirty and eleven.” It was barely long enough for what Rett wanted to do.

“Give me fifteen minutes to shower.”

“Nine-thirty and ten forty-five.” It would have to suffice.

Angel nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll just stay in bed then.” She could tell that Angel wanted to kiss her, but her entire family, which included siblings who seemed to love to tease her, were bearing down on them. “I don’t suppose I can check your wisdom teeth with my tongue at this moment.”

Angel smiled coolly as her brothers came within earshot. “Thank you for sharing that idea. Say good night, Rett.”

“Good-night, Rett.”

“Just go, will you!” Angel’s eyes flashed with warning.

“Good-night, everyone,” she called. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner.”

“Angel is going to pick you up so you have no trouble finding the place,” Mrs. Martinetta pronounced.

“I have to come back from Rochester, Mama. I wouldn’t be able to pick Rett up much before six.”

“We won’t start until you and Rett arrive.”

“I guess I’m picking you up,” Angel muttered.

“See you then,” Rett said sweetly. Mrs. Martinetta was proving a valuable ally indeed. She sensed that Angel’s reluctance to encourage her mother’s pro-Rett stance was a mother-daughter thing, but that was no reason she shouldn’t take advantage of it for her own purely altruistic reasons. She only wanted what was best for Angel, just as her mother did. And they both seemed to agree that Rett was best for Angel. Between them they would get Angel to agree.

Rett was up early Thursday morning and wished for something more than morning television to pass the time until Angel arrived. There was such a thing as books, she thought. If Angel stayed this busy, she might have to find a bookstore.

Angel arrived in a whirlwind, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. She undressed while she kissed Rett and they rolled into bed with happy sighs that turned to kisses.

“You were terrific last night,” Rett said into Angel’s ear. She kissed the back of Angel’s neck right where her hair was tickling Rett’s nose and savored the heat of Angel’s back against her breasts.

“Thanks.”

“I felt like I didn’t know you.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t yet been introduced to Dr. Martinetta.”

Angel caught Rett’s teasing hand and placed it firmly on her breast. “I tried to leave her in Los Angeles. She’s very tedious and doesn’t like sex as much as I do.”

“Why do you do that?” Did Angel think she wasn’t smart enough to understand her work? The insecure icicles were dangling in her stomach again.

“What?”

“If I was a paranoid person, I might think you didn’t want to talk about your career with me. I blab your ear off about concerts and contracts and every little thing.”

“I didn’t realize I was doing that.” Angel had tensed.

“If you say so.” Rett rolled onto her back.

“I’m sorry.” Angel twisted around so she could look at Rett. “I wasn’t really sure you were interested.” 

Rett knew an evasion when she heard one. “Or maybe it’s that I don’t have the brain power to be interested.”

“What?”

Rett gazed at the ceiling. “I barely scraped through geometry.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I guess.” Tears abruptly clouded Rett’s vision.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, please. Don’t hold it back.”

Rett took a deep breath. She didn’t want to look at Angel. “I’m not — I’m not just eye candy, am I?”

“What?” Angel sat up. “Eye candy? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, I’ve asked about your work and you keep evading like you don’t think I’ll get it. Like you’re glad you don’t have to think heavy thoughts when you’re around me.” To her mortification her voice broke and she sniffed.

“That’s not why. Look at us.” She gestured at their naked bodies. “We’ve spent more time in bed than out of it. I thought I was being who you wanted me to be.”

“I want all of you. I may not understand your work in its entirety, but it doesn’t mean I’m not interested. It’s part of you.”

“I’m not explaining very well. It’s like we’re out of our own time, on vacation. I just wanted to show you the part of me that won’t ever change, that wants you. I wanted you to know the woman, not the scientist, before anything else. It doesn’t mean I think you’re too stupid to know the scientist, I — I just hate it when that’s all I am to people. To friends and lovers.”

Rett wanted to give in to the electric tingling that ran up and down her spine as Angel trailed her fingers down her stomach. She tried to lighten the atmosphere. “So you’re admitting there have been other lovers before me?”

Angel’s hand stilled. She said seriously, “Of course there have been.”

“I was teasing. But now that you mention it, we haven’t yet swapped ex-lover stories.” Rett remembered Angel’s oblique reference that first night at the bar to a painful breakup.