That George knew from painful experience.

Without going into specific details, Sheila encouraged George to “keep trying” with Pia because it was her opinion he would be “good” for her. Sheila concluded by giving him her office number to have in addition to her cell phone number in case he ever wanted to call back. George never did, and despite Sheila’s disclaimers, he questioned the professionalism of the conversation. At the same time he appreciated the information. He never brought up the issue directly with Pia by saying that he knew she’d been through foster care but rather tried to get her to open up about her childhood in general. Unfortunately she always responded that it was something she did not want to discuss. It was a no-go zone. That was okay with George; he set it aside and didn’t think about it. He was giving her as much time as she needed.

George let out the lungful of air with pursed lips. The slight delay gave him a chance to collect himself and not blurt out something he’d regret later. He even tried to mask the fact that he was upset.

“Well, I hope your day goes as well as can be expected,” he said finally. “I know you can handle yourself, Pia. But I still don’t know how you can stand to work with him.”

“I don’t need to get along with him, George. It’s not kindergarten. If he tolerates me and I learn from him and he can help my career, that’s all I ask. We’re grown-ups—we don’t have to be friends.”

She’d used that line before, and George had to wonder, was she talking about Rothman or about him? George’s worry that Pia was going to abandon him resurfaced.

“Okay!” George said simply, while holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry to even mention it.”

“Stop apologizing!” Pia said sharply, looking at her watch. “You sound nerdy when you apologize. Now I really am going to be late.”

Pia hurried away. George asked himself what time Pia might have gotten up had he not gone to her room to wake her. He couldn’t help but notice that she’d not bothered to thank him, much less make a commitment to have lunch. Unfortunately it all was irritatingly pro forma.

Pia showed her ID to the security guard with all the other students who were mostly first- and second-year heading off to their eight o’clock lecture. Instead of following them she took the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the Black Research Building and headed for Rothman’s sizable laboratory. He commanded the most space of any researcher in the entire center. As soon as she went through the anonymous-looking metal door and entered the suite, she could sense that the lab’s day was already in full swing. The three research technicians, Panjit Singh, Nina Brockhurst, and Mariana Herrera, were loitering around the lab’s communal coffeepot having already calibrated all the instrumentation that needed to be done on a daily basis. Rothman, fastidious about what he ate and drank, kept a Nespresso machine in his office that only he and Dr. Junichi Yamamoto, his senior associate, were allowed to use.