The nose of my car eases through the crowd, and people step out of the way eventually. Security runs down the steps as I open my door. A guard with an earpiece appears in front of me, blocking the spit of words thrown my way.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I turn back to find my car being driven away by another suit. But what catches my eye is a face in the crowd. Someone who’s sat opposite me in my office and cried.
Lesley stands three rows back. Only last year, I told her there was nothing left to try. She’d heard about a new drug. Her husband didn’t qualify.
“Why?” she mouths, then I’m herded inside.
I don’t have an answer that would change anything.
Inside, I’m guided to Antonia’s office by her assistant, Clara. She’s as bubbly and bright as the first time I met her. Immediately asking about my family and buzzing over thepossibilities of the retreat. After the welcome at the front door, it’s a settling contrast.
The door sits half-cracked. I take a seat outside. Antonia wanders past the gap, silent. She’s not wearing her heels, and I get a glimpse of pink fluff on her feet. Surely, she’s not wearing slippers to the office?
Clara knocks at the door, then announces I’m here.
“Just a moment,” Antonia replies, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. Clara turns, smiles, nods, then returns to her desk. She knew I heard what was said.
I pick up an industry magazine sitting on the small table to the side. Flicking through, there is ad after ad of new drug programs, clinical trials, and miracle cures still waiting to be proven. I throw it back on the pile.
Wonder drugs. Breakthroughs. Promises typed in bold. I’ve learned how thin those promises can be. Sometimes, it’s better not to look. Just then, Antonia’s door opens.
“Good morning, Ben,” she says.
As she steps back to let me in, her high heels click deliciously off the floor. She straightens her pinstriped jacket.
“How are you feeling about the meeting?” she asks.
We walk over to her desk and sit opposite each other. Clara appears with two coffees; I never even heard the machine. She lifts a previous mug before placing down Antonia’s new one.
“Fine, until I met the welcoming committee,” I say. Antonia’s eyes flick up from whatever paperwork she’s reading. She attempts a smile. It fractures before reaching her eyes. Tiredness hints there instead.
“Another podcast dropped yesterday,” she explains, quietly. “A new wave of hate.”
She slides the paperwork over to me. Notes for today’s meeting: a basic overview of the retreat’s current phase. I turnit around, reading but not concentrating, more interested in the small break in her steel I’ve come to expect.
“That’s relentless,” I say, hoping I’ve picked my words carefully enough that she won’t take offense.
“Exhausting.” She taps her keyboard, then turns her screen so I can see it. A podcast video plays on silent, the subtitles crawling across the screen.
Opengate withheld my husband’s medication. They chose someone else.
“Every other day, someone blames us for losing their loved one,” she mutters. “All we try to do is ensure the accessibility is there. We can’t always make it happen.” Her gaze moves to me. “But we try.”
“I know you do,” I assure her.
Her shoulders relax. The corners of her lips flicking upwards. Or maybe I’m imagining my words hold any weight. I hope they provide some comfort.
After ten minutes of conversation circling the retreat and the possible questions the board may have, Clara knocks on the door. “The board is in place,” she says. “Julian’s, well, being Julian…”
Antonia chuckles, taking me by surprise. The women smile at one another.
“Julian can be dramatic,” Antonia whispers, pushing her chair back. We both rise. “Sorry, that was unprofessional.”
“But true,” Clara adds.
It’s my turn to laugh. I’ve met the board before, who are all men except Antonia. Julian is the one I have had the most dealings with. He’s confident, bordering on arrogant, which in business can help, no doubt. But not when you think only your opinion matters.
The three of us leave the office and make our way down the long corridor lined with abstract art to the boardroom. As Clarasaid, they’re all there, waiting for us. All sitting except Julian, who is circling the room but making some sort of speech.