Where Rivers Part (21 page)

Juliet tried to act cool, hoped her wide-eyed surprise was not clearly evident on her face. This sudden turn of events was more than she ever dreamed could happen. Especially on the tail of this foodborne outbreak.

She'd spent the last weeks feeling like she'd dropped the ball somehow, that everything she'd been trained to do had fallen short. A consumer product she'd been charged with keeping safe con
tained deadly O157:H7. People had fallen ill. Little children had died.

Now, she could embrace the knowledge that the situation had not been created by a lack of diligence on her part. Someone else's actions had instigated the outbreak. Her role had been to minimize the effect. She was the hero after all.

Better, even, her father would learn the truth at some point. He'd find her career had been accelerated.

President of the company.

She let that thought linger, savoring that all her hard work had finally paid off.

“So, are you in?”

“I'm flattered, Alexa.” Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand. “You can count on me.”

 31 

T
he Riverwalk in downtown San Antonio used to be one of Juliet's favorite spots, especially in the weeks leading up to the holidays, when teams of decorators fastened lights and greenery to the light poles and walking bridges. Merchants all along the tourist attraction started before Thanksgiving, transforming their establishments into festive venues.

In years past, she'd strolled the lush banks of the San Antonio River with her mother, guided by more than six thousand luminarias—warmly glowing candles in sand-filled bags lining the walkways to symbolically mark the “lighting of the way.”

That was before.

Now, painful visions of the fateful day she'd lost her mother marred the memories and the way she felt standing along the Riverwalk.

“Can I get y'all something to drink while you wait?”

Startled, Juliet looked up from her riverside table. “Uh, sure. Iced tea would be fine. Thank you.”

Despite a slight chill in the air, the waitress wore a short-sleeved blue T-shirt with printing on the front that read “The County Line—Legendary BBQ.” She had big hair, a bigger smile, and smelled slightly like the smoky meat she served all day. The woman
pointed at the activity up and down the sidewalks lining the river. “Can you believe it's almost Thanksgiving? Seems I was just fixin' to carve pumpkins.”

“Yes, the weeks certainly fly by,” she agreed with a sigh.

The waitress leaned her head to one side. “You know, you sure look familiar.” She shrugged. “Ah, but then I see a lot of people every day. Hold right here, I'll go get y'all's tea.”

Glad to have escaped the connection to recent media stories, she glanced at her watch. It wasn't like her mother's best friend to be late. Since the funeral, Sandy had been leaving messages that she was praying for her, offering to take her to lunch. Until today, there'd been no time to squeeze in anything social, even that. She'd barely had time to eat and sleep.

For example, after meeting with Alexa on Tuesday, she'd had another conference with Dr. Breslin, with Greer tagging along, of course. Thankfully, once Juliet fully answered his questions and Dr. Breslin reviewed her early findings, he'd gone along with her recommendations and concluded there was no need to further alert the public. In fact, recent admissions reports from the local hospitals indicated the outbreak had peaked. Given this, the team had reached the conclusion that they needed nothing further from Larimar Springs.

Everyone involved breathed a sigh of relief at the news.

Except Tavina.

Her little boy continued to worsen. MD's prognosis was growing dimmer by the day. Medical professionals said only a miracle had got him this far, but they warned a real possibility for further deterioration remained—he could easily lose the battle and succumb to the virulent pathogens compromising his critical internal systems.

The report left Juliet heartbroken and feeling helpless.

Many at Larimar Springs felt the same. Ladies in the office filled Tavina's freezer with meals and sent cards filled with Starbucks gift cards and well wishes. Not to be outdone, men passed an envelope
and made sure her utilities were paid for several months. Malcolm Stanford led this effort, a fact Juliet found endearing, if not a bit surprising given his aloof personality.

Alexa had directed HR to pay Tavina's salary in full and asked that all medical bills be sent to Larimar Springs, despite warnings from legal counsel that the act could be characterized as an admittance of liability. Alexa also rented a small condominium for the family and had a town car made available for transporting them to and from the hospital as necessary.

Ellen Shaffer dubbed the action a brilliant move from a public perception standpoint. “Everyone will connect these efforts to a company of compassion—minimizing the image of an entity that tried to maintain their bottom line at the expense of public safety. Larimar Springs will be seen as a group of benevolent people who care about not only one of their own but every person who fell victim to this common yet virulent pathogen.” Her eyes had nearly gleamed as she pounded out a press release on her MacBook Air, hoping the information would grant her client clemency in the public's mind.

One person who often vilified Larimar Springs in the media was Juliet's own father, a subject that rarely came up when she was in the room. But she'd seen the same news reports, read the same interviews. For everything Ellen and her team were doing to raise the perception of Larimar Springs in the public's mind, her father was working diligently at just the opposite.

“Here ya go, honey.” The waitress placed her tea on the table before scurrying on to the next table. The movement startled two ducks from their quiet respite by the edge of the water, where they'd been tucked against the shoreline, nearly out of view for the lush and low-lying philodendrons. They quacked and dove into the river.

Juliet smiled, remembering how her mother would sneak food to them, despite posted signs and her father's warnings that feeding ducks bread was unhealthy and could lead to malnutrition, diseases, and behavior changes.

Amused, she watched the ducks paddle away when her phone alerted she had a text.

So sorry. Hate to do
this at the last minute, but I must pick up
my sick grandson from daycare. Rain check?

After replying not to worry, they'd get together another time, she clicked off Sandy's message, suddenly feeling immensely lonely. Only now did she realize how much she'd needed time with the woman who served as her only connection to her mother. Perhaps it was being on the Riverwalk, but sadness permeated her soul this afternoon.

Grief's full impact had been held back while her attention was directed at maneuvering pathogens, coliforms, and microorganisms. Coordinating a response to an outbreak and focusing on Tavina, with frequent treks to the hospital to check on little MD, had in some ways prevented her from dealing with the loss.

But today, being so near where her mother had left this world, well . . . she'd simply underestimated the impact it would have on her emotions.

She took a drink of her tea and watched a man in a portable hoist attach large ornaments to the greenery on a wrought-iron balcony across the river. The holidays were just ahead. The first without her mom, a notion Juliet could barely consider.

“Dr. Ryan?”

She turned. Cyril Montavan stood at her table, almost unrecognizable in jeans and a sports coat in place of the tailored suits he normally wore.

She stood and extended her hand. “Cyril, what a surprise.”

He urged her to sit back down. “It's nice to run into you, Dr. Ryan. As you know, I'm staying nearby. Some issues with the European financial market required me to be on the phone with headquarters through most of the night, because of the time difference. Afraid I found it necessary to sleep in a bit.” He gave her a broad smile, revealing deep dimples and crinkles at his eyes.

Her hand motioned for him to sit. “Please, join me?”

“You had such a solemn look on your face,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “This outbreak mess has been difficult on you.”

She sighed. “Yes, I won't argue that. The whole thing has been a struggle on multiple levels.”

His finger brushed across the grain of the wooden table. “You've handled a difficult situation with grace. I told Alexa she was lucky to have you in this key position during such a trying time. Frankly, knowing you were at the helm of this incident gave me the confidence to follow this investment through instead of pulling back. Especially when it became necessary to put up additional funding so I was no longer subordinate to the primary lender.”

She looked across the table, feeling extraordinary gratitude and a bit surprised he'd chosen to share so openly regarding his financial relationship with Larimar Springs. “I appreciate your support, Cyril. Truly, I do.” She jingled the ice in her glass. “Frankly, there was more than one occasion over the past week where I was ready to hang it up. I thought my career was over. So much easier to look at the bigger picture on this end of the outbreak.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Oh, someone with your talent should never cease bringing your knowledge and expertise to bear. Obviously you are passionate about these issues, and in the end we all win because of that.”

His compliments were like soft blue ocean water to her still crusty and barnacled self-esteem. No one really understood what it was like to attain respect in her field, then have that regard ripped away, even temporarily, leaving her career adrift. Added to what Alexa had promised earlier in the week, his remarks helped her believe a day would come when she'd be able to fully lift her sails and catch wind again.

When she told him so, he awarded her with another of his generous smiles. “I've found things of this nature have a way of working out in the end.”

The big-haired waitress showed back up at the table then and
handed them both menus. The woman leaned in and cupped her mouth. “Take some advice, don't even bother trying to decide.” She lowered her voice as if someone at a nearby table might steal her secret. “The brisket is to
die for
today. Slow roasted over eighteen hours—can't find any better.”

Cyril grinned and handed back the menu. “Sold.”

Juliet followed suit. “You better tell my friend here to save room for your homemade bread pudding.”

Their waitress winked. “Well, that's a given, y'all.”

She waited for the waitress to move on from their table. “Bet you don't find a lot of smoked brisket in Italy.”

He shook his head. “No, at least none that smells quite like this.” He lifted his nose and sampled the smoky aroma wafting from inside the restaurant. “Italians often claim food is like a great perfume—best when it's an accord of bold notes and subtle bouquet.”

She grinned. “There's nothing subtle about the County Line's barbecue, aroma or otherwise.”

He discovered that for himself when the platter of sliced meat was placed before him. No matter how carefully Cyril wielded chunks of the brisket onto the tines of his fork and into his mouth, traces of the dry rub and tangy sauce clung to the corners of his lips with every bite.

Amused, Juliet handed him a clean napkin. “You left some,” she teased.

“What?”

When he frowned like he didn't understand, she reached over and wiped the sides of his mouth. As she did, he lifted his fingertips and lightly brushed the inside of her wrist, leaving her a bit unnerved.

Not for the first time, she admired his coffee-brown eyes, as inviting as her early morning cup of joe. With his classic looks and elegance, and the way the late afternoon sun highlighted the touch of silver at his temples, Cyril Montavan appeared to have stepped off a movie screen.

Unlike Greer Latham, who greedily consumed every room he entered, she found the man gazing across the table at her soft-spoken and incredibly intelligent. Even though he was quiet, Cyril Montavan saw everything. He understood things others couldn't, simply because he took the time to observe. She admired him for it. Yet in ways, she also feared the notion, worried he could see through her with a glance.

Which is why she quickly averted her eyes when he looked at her a bit too long.

“I hope you can find reason to return to San Antonio in April,” she said, trying to move past the intensity of the moment.

He neatly crossed his fork and knife across the empty platter. “In April?”

She nodded and pushed her plate back. “Every spring, downtown San Antonio becomes the site of a citywide celebration with over a hundred events, including a series of parades and a huge carnival. We call it Fiesta.”

A note of excitement crept into his voice. “Yeah? Tell me more.”

She warmed at the interest shown on his face. “My parents took me every year. I loved the river parade with all the pretty lights at night, but admittedly my favorite is the Battle of the Flowers parade. The Daughters of the Republic of Texas stage a procession to the Alamo as a memorial tribute to the Battle of the Alamo and Battle of San Jacinto heroes. As a little girl, I was fascinated with the multicultural and brightly festooned floats. I still am,” she admitted.