Page 60 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

But normal wasn’t normal anymore.

Laura dried her hands on a paper towel. She put on fresh lipstick. She bared her white teeth to the mirror.

The cleaner was waiting outside the ladies room. He was smoking, leaning against a large trash can that had spray bottles looped around the sides.

Laura suppressed the urge to apologize. She checked the paper bag in her purse. She pulled closed the zipper. The dizziness returned, but she managed to shake it. There was nothing to do about the churning in her stomach. Her heart was a metronome at the base of her throat. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Her vision sharpened to the point of a tack.

“Dr. Maplecroft?” A flustered young woman in a floral dress approached from nowhere. “Follow me, please. Your panel will start soon.”

Laura tried to keep up with the girl’s brisk, almost panicked walk. They were halfway down the hall when Laura realized she was getting winded. She slowed down, letting her hand rest longer on the cane. She had to remain calm. What she was about to do could not be rushed.

“Madam,” the young girl pleaded, motioning for Laura to hurry.

“They won’t start without me,” Laura said, though she wasn’t certain, given Martin Queller’s reputation, that the man would wait. She found the pack of tissues in her purse. She wiped the sweat from her forehead.

A door flew open.

“Young lady.” Martin Queller was snapping his fingers as if to call a dog. “Where is Maplecroft?” He glanced at Laura. “Coffee, two sugars.”

The girl tried, “Doctor—”

“Coffee,” Martin repeated, visibly annoyed. “Are you deaf?”

“I’m Dr. Maplecroft.”

He did a double-take. Twice. “Alex Maplecroft?”

“Alexandra.” She offered her hand. “I’m glad for this opportunity to meet in person.”

A group of colleagues had congregated behind him. Martin had no choice but to shake her hand. His eyes, as was the case with so many before him, went to her hair. That’s what gave it away. Laura’s skin tone was closer to her white mother’s, but she had the distinctive, kinky hair of her black father.

Martin said, “I understand you now. You’ve let your anecdotal experiences color your research.”

Laura gazed down at the stark white hand she was holding. “Color is such an interesting choice of words, Martin.”

He corrected her, “It’s Dr. Queller.”

“Yes, I heard about you while I was at Harvard.” Laura turned toward the man on Martin’s right; the German, judging by the sharp gray suit and thin navy tie. “Dr. Richter?”

“Friedrich, please. It is my pleasure.” The man could hardly be bothered to hide his smile. He pulled over another man, gray-haired but wearing a fashionable, teal-colored jacket. “May I introduce you to our fellow panelist, Herr Dr. Maes?”

“So good to meet you.” Laura shook the Belgian’s hand, feeding off Martin’s obvious disdain. She turned to the young woman. “Are we ready to begin?”

“Certainly, madam.” The girl escorted them across the hall to the stage entrance.

The introductions had already begun. The lights were darkened in the wings. The girl used a flashlight to show the way. Laura could hear the rumble of male voices from the audience. Another man, the announcer, was speaking into a microphone. His French was too rapid for Laura to follow. She was grateful when he switched to English.

“And now, enough of my babbling, hey? Without further ado, we must welcome our four panelists.”

The applause shook the floor beneath Laura’s feet. Butterflies flipped inside her stomach. Eight hundred people. The house lights had gone up. Just past the curtain, she could see the right side of the auditorium. The audience, most all of them men, was standing, their hands clapping, waiting for the show to begin.

“Doctor?” Friedrich Richter murmured.

Her fellow panelists were waiting for Laura to lead the way. Even Martin Queller had the basic manners to not walk out ahead of a woman. This was the moment Laura had waited for. This was what had forced her out of her hospital bed, pushed her to complete the excruciating therapies, propelled her onto the four airplanes she’d taken to get here.

And yet, Laura felt herself frozen in place, momentarily lost in what she was about to do.

“For Godsakes.” Martin quickly grew impatient. He strode onto the stage.