― Hemingway
I finally succeeded in seeing Shannon Jameson, and not from a distance, but across a table in the Hart House Coffee Shop. I wouldn't call it a date, but it was conversation over coffee and she had sought me out―that was something.
I noticed mens' heads turning when they saw her and knew I was envied.
It was flattering, but it was only a beginning and of course I wanted more but also didn't want to come on too strong for fear of turning her off. That was my infirmity though―always self-reproving, constantly doubting myself.
We engaged in small talk mostly innocuous comments about colleagues and campus events but I had the feeling she was simply being polite and was waiting for an opportunity to discuss what was really on her mind, so I decided to take the lead and touch on a topic I knew concerned her.
"It must be exciting to work on the genome project," I said enthusiastically, "I envy you."
"You know how research projects are," she replied listlessly, "They start off in excitement and gradually devolve into a daily routine that's not exactly exciting―and, of course, there's always internal politics that leads to conflict."
I nodded, "At least your discoveries were ground-breaking, but I guess the process of analysis and assessment isn't as romantic."
"You have no idea," she sighed, "sometimes I wish I never signed up for this."
Her flat affect concerned me. It was as if a light went out inside her and I felt a need to protect her.
"You know you can talk to me anytime you feel overwhelmed―and don't worry about my pestering you for details―I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I guess I'm just saying, I'm here for you if you need moral support or just want to share a coffee with a colleague."
Despite the dead look in her eyes, she seemed really touched by my words and grasped my hand in a spontaneous gesture of warmth.
"I appreciate your saying that, Blake, but be warned," she smiled bleakly, "I may take you up on your offer."
"Please do," I reassured her, "I really enjoy talking with you."
A wan smile crossed her features and then she rose and walked briskly toward the exit.
I watched her through the leaded glass window as she headed in the direction of the labs and a felt a pang of regret I couldn't do more. It was a helpless feeling akin to grief but why I felt that particular emotion, I couldn't understand.
All I knew was that Shannon was hurting and couldn't disclose any details of her pain.
In that instant Barnes' image crossed my mind and I wanted so badly to do him harm. Even though I had no concrete evidence , I blamed him for her pain and pictured my clenched fist plowing into his smug face and he collapsing like an accordion as the air groaned out of him.
Crumpled, I hissed inwardly, as that bloody NDA, was rolled into a wad of pulp and tossed into the trash.
It felt good and I didn't regret the hatred one bit.