Where Rivers Part (16 page)

 24 

J
uliet stepped into the nearly empty parking lot at Larimar Springs so bone-tired, she believed her cells might never stop quivering. The last time she'd pulled an all-nighter, she'd prepared her dissertation while holding down a full-time job at a small laboratory in upstate New York—more than a few years back.

The sky wouldn't lighten for at least another hour, even though she could hear the buzz of traffic in the distance, signaling many had already started their day. People who lifted from their beds and showered, ate breakfast, and opened up the
San Antonio Express-News
to learn the bottled water they'd trusted was tainted with E. coli. Mothers who scurried to their refrigerators to check. Just to make sure their families were in no danger.

Juliet rubbed at her eyes, sighed, and trudged toward her car. She needed to get home, catch some shut-eye for an hour or two, then shower and get back. The last twelve hours had been hard, but in contrast, the coming hours would only get worse. If that was even possible.

She unlatched the door to her Jeep and slid into the leather seat, willing her gritty eyelids to remain open for the drive home.

As expected, in the past hours, Dr. Breslin and his team of health officials had swarmed the offices. She was provided copies of verified lab reports in a brief meeting, fulfilling the mandate to com
municate the methodology that formally tagged Larimar Springs as the source. State-of-the-art polymerase chain reaction (PCR) methods had been used. PCR is a molecular technique that targets sequences of nucleic acids, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind the testing had been entirely accurate.

Teams of epidemiologists and microbiologists scanned copies of sample test reports, distribution documentation, and evidence that the quality assurance process had met all Hazard Analysis and Critical Control Points (HACCP) regulations.

Pallets of bottled water in the warehouse were impounded.

And finally, a close order was formally issued.

The CDC issued an extensive press release. In a feeble attempt to diminish the hit to the company, Alexa immediately hired a public relations firm to develop a crisis management strategy and prepare a counter press release on behalf of Larimar Springs.

Media trucks swarmed the streets surrounding the Larimar Springs facilities.

In a few short hours, everything would start again.

Juliet dug for her keys and started the engine, realizing it didn't take a finance expert to understand that this equation added up to doom for Larimar Springs and its employees. Personally, she could kiss goodbye not only the promised promotion but the hope of rising to the top of any company as a food science expert. Her credibility was shot.

About two-thirds of the way home, she spotted an H-E-B sign off to the right. Suddenly, Juliet realized she hadn't eaten all day and pulled off.

Inside the grocery store, she squinted against the bright lights and grabbed a cart, pushing it in the direction of the bakery in hopes of snagging a muffin fresh out of the oven.

On the way, she passed a rack filled with copies of the
San Antonio Express-News
. Her mind lingered on lifting a newspaper from the stack to see just how bad the media had painted the story.

In the end, she passed on the idea. She didn't have to scan the headlines to know she'd appear incompetent. The reporters would quote statistics, give updated information on the victims, and inevitably mention the E. coli outbreak of the nineties that had educated them all.

Like Ken Dunkley, the QA director who was painted the villain in the Jack in the Box case, her name would be noted in the annals of food science lore for years to come. Her calamity might inspire some young person in school to focus their career on keeping the public safe. Some young woman like herself, who mistakenly believed that if she did everything right, her career would turn out and her work would make a difference.

Juliet snatched a box of cold pastries from the shelf and tossed it into her cart.

Worse, her father would end up being proved right. Corporations could not be trusted to put ethics above profits, safety above dividends. She'd personally handed him that win on a platter.

She jerked her cart in the direction of the coolers. She'd need milk and juice.

Two guys in the produce area unboxed apples and stacked them in a bin. One heaved a box off the cart. “Hey, did you hear?” he said to the other. “They found out where all that E. coli stuff came from.”

“Oh, really? Where?”

“Some bottled water company. You know, most of those places just use tap water and then turn around and charge a buck fifty to drink the same thing us taxpayers already paid for once.”

“That right?”

“Yup. I don't know why we get up at this awful hour every morning, when we could just get us some pretty bottles with bright-colored labels and fill 'em up at the sink. Make a mint.”

Both men shook their heads and laughed.

She supposed the situation was farcical to them. Many people didn't understand the extraction process and the care a company
like Larimar Springs took to ensure that the source water pulled from the springs was never exposed to the light of day, let alone any contaminants. Few understood that the water was transported in stainless steel piping that cost millions, and then a costly oxidation process was used to purify the water before it was added to triple-sterilized PET bottles labeled with USDA-compliant disclosures.

Only two of Larimar's water sources were above ground. Those carried slightly more risk for contamination, but testing was performed every hour, both at the extraction site before the water was pumped into sterile stainless steel containers mounted on semitrucks for transport, and again when the water arrived at the plant.

Those bozos she'd just overheard in produce had no idea the microbial counts recorded, the inorganic components measured, the analysis on residual by-products carefully noted. Did anyone understand that her department conducted nearly two thousand tests each and every week? Did they know that she personally reviewed the results through a carefully planned sampling protocol?

Juliet shoved her cart past the meat department until she reached aisle C. Across from shelves lined with cereal boxes, a grinder emitted the rich aroma of coffee. She was reaching for a package of French roast beans when a loud noise caught her attention, causing her to nearly jump out of her exhausted skin.

She quickly opted for a package of pre-ground and threw it in her cart, then wheeled back down the aisle toward the sound.

At the wall of glass doors lining the rear of the store, a team of men in protective coveralls labeled T
EXAS
H
EALTH
D
EPARTMENT
worked to remove cases of Larimar Springs bottles from the cooler. Even their hands were covered with disposable blue gloves.

The sight struck a tender nerve.

Juliet diverted her eyes and quickly pushed her cart toward the front of the store to the courtesy counter. “Uh, ma'am. Excuse me?”

An older woman with a unibrow strangely resembling a big
black caterpillar stopped placing a rubber band around a stack of papers. “Yes? What do you need?”

Juliet pointed. “A carton, please.”

“Brand?”

“Uh, doesn't really matter. Marlboro Lights, I guess.”

“A whole carton?”

Juliet nodded. “Yes. Oh, and a lighter. I'll need a lighter.”

She quickly got in the checkout lane and paid for the few items in her cart, crossed the parking lot, and loaded the purchases into the back of her Jeep except for one small sack.

The truth was, her dad was right. Somehow she'd become a food safety scientist in theory and not in practice.

She couldn't even figure out where her safety protocols had gone wrong.

After getting in her car, she turned and dumped the contents of the sack in the passenger seat, then inserted her key into the ignition and started the engine.

Without giving the matter a second thought, Dr. Juliet Ryan chain-smoked the entire way home.

 25 

J
uliet forgot how nicotine could act as a stimulant and interrupt sleep patterns. As badly as her body needed rest, she couldn't seem to quiet her mind and drowse off after giving in to her former habit. She tried drinking warm milk. She tried taking a hot bath. She closed the blinds to keep out the light. Eventually, she resorted to turning on the television, hoping the background noise would lull her mind into sleep.

Even so, as she drifted into slumber, Juliet's mind seemed caught on high-whirr mode and she slept fitfully.

She dreamed she was a little girl wearing a tiny white lab coat with her name embroidered across the upper front pocket. The room was—yes, it was her classroom, with her standing by Mrs. Myers's desk and the rest of the students sitting at their desks. Susie Beckler and Janice Kirkland were parked in the front row with their hands neatly folded on their desktops. The curly-headed girls were smiling at her. Stinky Sam sat in the back, clearly not happy that sour-faced Mrs. Myers stood near.

They all kept staring, not saying a word.

Suddenly, Juliet's father appeared next to her. “Okay, JuJu. Go ahead and add the food coloring,” he urged.

She was afraid.

At the back of the room, Mrs. Myers scowled and looked at the wall clock mounted above the classroom door.

Juliet felt her father's hand on her back. “Go ahead.”

She looked up at his face, gathering needed confidence before she tentatively removed the lid on the tiny bottle of coloring. She let her hand hover over the beaker. Her heart pounded as she carefully squeezed.

The red coloring dropped into the beaker. Immediately, the substance inside exploded into a foaming mass. But instead of turning red, the ingredients morphed into a nasty brown and emitted a horribly foul odor. A smell she'd encountered before.

All the kids covered their noses. “Oh, yuck. That stinks,” they said in unison.

At the back of the room, Stinky Sam laughed . . . louder and louder until she couldn't see anything but brown foam and hear anything but his laughter. She couldn't breathe—the smell overwhelming.

Frantic, Juliet's arms moved through the air, trying to locate her dad. She needed to climb into his arms, feel the security of his embrace.

In a full panic, her arms flailed at empty space next to her.

Nothing.

She heard his voice and called, “Dad? Dad, where are you?”

Suddenly, Juliet heard a loud ringing.

She startled awake. The brown foam receded. The laughter faded.

Her eyes snapped open.

Juliet sat up in bed, sweat beading her brow. She reached across the side table and slammed the top of her alarm clock, shutting down the loud noise, her head pounding as she peeked at the digital numbers displayed on the face.

Eleven o'clock.

Juliet rubbed her temples and tried to focus, fighting remnants of the weird dream, even her father's voice.

Suddenly, reality materialized out of the fog. The voice was her father's.

She reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television, where the esteemed Dr. Bennett Ryan stood before a bank of microphones.

“E. coli O157:H7 was first confirmed in the United States in 1982. People of all ages can be infected, but young children and the elderly are more likely to develop severe symptoms related to hemolytic uremic syndrome, commonly known as HUS.”

A reporter threw up his hand and interrupted. “Could you pronounce that syndrome name again, please? And give us a spelling?”

Her father nodded. “HEE-mo-li-tic you-REE-mic syndrome.” He spelled the name and then cleared his throat before continuing.

“The types of E. coli that can cause illness can be transmitted through contaminated water or food, or through contact with animals or people. As demonstrated in the Jack in the Box outbreak in January of 1993, failure to incorporate proper measures to identify and eliminate this deadly pathogen in food products can have a catastrophic result.

“To counter this, in 1998, the Hazard Analysis and Critical Control Points program was established to identify critical checkpoints in the food production plants to prevent pathogens from contaminating meat and other food products. Sadly, since then, we've seen over a dozen major outbreaks. This incident at Larimar Springs is yet another example that more needs to be done to protect public safety.”

Juliet had had enough. She clicked off the television.

For several seconds, she sat on the edge of the bed with her hands clutched and head bowed, her heart an empty chasm. She had no right to get angry. Not really. Everything he'd said was justified.

Despite her best efforts, his daughter had let down her company, her industry, and especially the public. Three children had died on her watch. Even now, her own assistant's little guy remained in a hospital bed, severely ill.

The only upside was that her mother had never witnessed her public humiliation. If she were here, all her mom would've had to do was look in her daughter's eyes, and she'd have seen the depth of her shame.

“Oh, Mom—what have I done?”

She slipped from the edge of the bed onto the carpeted floor, gripped her stomach with both arms, and rocked back and forth, letting the full force of the past twenty-four hours pound her spirit.

Then Juliet did something that was long overdue.

She broke down and wept.