“It’s okay; I’m easily spooked. How’s the work going?”
“You’re all set. I tested all three. The configuration is virtually identical to your previous models, so you shouldn’t have any trouble operating them, but let me know if you do.”
Jackie smiles and wonders, not for the first time, if it weren’t for the eczema, whether Vince would have pursued a different career or aimed for a higher rung. She’s seen him at so many departmental lectures, sometimes she has to remind herself he’s not on the faculty. “You’re the best, Vince.” She checks her watch: 5:45. “And sorry to keep you late.”
“Not a problem. It’s more important to me that your experiments run smoothly.”
“Have we figured out a way to clone you yet?”
He blushes and pulls on his sleeves again. “Have a good evening, Jackie.”
“You too.”
Jackie listens to him collect his tools and exit the lab and returns to her work. She opens a new sheet in the Excel file and populates the cells with summary data copied from another sheet. She spent the last hour compiling the most recent data from a long-term study. The files are large, and she has to be careful to create backups as she works, leaving a trail of the data-crunching techniques she used. Anyone with a knowledge of behavioral analysis should be able to follow her process, but she’s learned from experience that what seems straightforward when she is immersed in the work can be stupefying later on. She creates a graph, showing how the frequency of a child sharing an emotion with a parent changes over time in two groups: children who were eventually diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder and those who were not. Jackie verifies that the confidence intervals are set correctly and saves the file. She is labeling the graph when the door to the hallway clicks open. No one bothers to lock the door unless they are the last to leave. It’s almost 7:00 p.m., but one of the graduate students might have forgotten something.
“Jackie?”
Harlan. Jackie pushes her chair back, straightens her shirt, fiddles with her hair. He rarely comes to her lab and never unannounced.
His footsteps echo on the tile floor, and a moment later he fills the doorway. He’s wearing a leather jacket and carrying his computer bag, obviously on his way out, except her lab is not on his route.
“Hi, Harlan.” She offers him a tentative smile. “What a surprise.”
“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time. I had to see Greg one floor up. I should’ve texted first, but I was here by the time I thought of it.”
“It’s fine.” It’s weird. She gestures to a chair. “Have a seat, and give me just one sec.” She saves her work and moves the laptop to one side.
“I really did interrupt.”
“I’m meeting Miles soon, so I was just finishing. What’s up?” A cloud of apprehension floats down on her. Maybe he’s seen her driving by his house and he’s come to tell her off for being nosy. Or maybe Nasira told him about the awkward Greenbrier conversation and he’s going to chastise Jackie for being unprofessional. That conversation was two weeks ago, though, and she’s turned over a new leaf since then, a saner one, so Jackie doubts that accounts for Harlan’s visit.
He crosses his legs and leans forward. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Thought I’d take a chance you were here and say hello.”
“Hello.” She smiles awkwardly, not believing him for a moment.
He returns her smile, gracious as always. “I guess I’ll see you Sunday at the game, anyway. But like I said”—he swirls his hand to indicate the floor above—“I was in the neighborhood. Greg was telling me the funniest story about his neighbor. Apparently he has a parrot who’s been using Alexa to order all sorts of things from Amazon.”
“I’m sorry. What game? Miles hasn’t mentioned it.”
Harlan frowns. “That’s odd. He’s known for a while, and I explicitly invited both of you. And Antonio if he’s interested.”
He invited Miles’s son, too? Must mean Nasira won’t be coming, since he only has four seats. Jackie opens the calendar on her phone to confirm what she already knows. “My Sunday appears to be game-free.”
“I’m sure I told Miles.” His tone is pointed, as if she is accusing him of lying.
“Then he must have forgotten to tell me.” At this, Harlan raises an eyebrow. Jackie is dumbfounded; why would he doubt that Miles simply forgot? “You know he’s always on the road. Everyone forgets things.”
Harlan nods, but his slight smirk indicates he’s humoring her.
Jackie moves on. “But thanks for including me. You know how much I love football.” She immediately regrets the comment; it’s too intimate. Before they started dating, Jackie didn’t know a first down from a touchdown—and she didn’t care to learn. But Harlan gently brought her up to speed, made it fun for her, for them, and before long Jackie was buying Redskins spirit wear and commenting on the likelihood of a sack. That was the past, however. She’s been to exactly three games during the five years since they broke up. Miles has an open invitation from Harlan and has attended every game he can squeeze in.
Harlan looks at his feet. “I do know that. Yes.”
She’s hit a nerve and keeps her voice neutral. “I’ll ask Miles about it.”
“Yes, do. They’re playing the Cowboys.” He pushes himself to standing. “Oh, one more thing. Some sort of plague is going through my lab. I’ve got two graduate students plus Marvin out sick and five MRIs scheduled in the next couple of days. Mind if I ask Nasira to lend a hand?”
Jackie stares at him. “Nasira?”
“Yes. Is it a problem?”
Nasira’s dissertation research involved using an MRI to study the progression of Parkinson’s disease. In Jackie’s lab Nasira’s goal is to spend a year getting up to speed on autism research and, at the same time, write a grant to fund her own MRI study with infants. Like Harlan’s research on deception, the infant study would examine brain activity using functional MRI. For Jackie, the chance to expand the scope of her lab into neurological imaging was the main attraction of Nasira’s application. Nasira works in Jackie’s lab, but because she has her doctorate, she is more of a collaborator. Jackie doesn’t own her, and Harlan knows it.
“Like most postdocs, Nasira manages her own time. I’m a little confused as to why you wouldn’t simply ask her yourself.”
He spreads his hands to indicate the answer is obvious. “I didn’t want to overstep.”
“I’m sorry?” Jackie is sure she misheard.
“I didn’t want to overstep.”
This is laughable, but Jackie isn’t close to laughing—more like she’s in the conversational equivalent of a fun-house mirror. Harlan knows damn well that his relationship with Nasira is no secret to Jackie, so why pretend otherwise? It’s one thing not to address it head-on and quite another to act as though Nasira is a stranger to him. Jackie studies Harlan’s face, his posture. Is he challenging her to say something, to admit to knowing more about his quasi-illicit fling than she ought?
Jackie glances at her watch, shuts and unplugs her laptop, and stands. It feels better to be on her feet, poised for action, rather than sit lamely and swipe at his ludicrous questions. She gives Harlan the most level gaze she can manage. “Please ask Nasira yourself. It’s no problem on my end, of course.”