Kilburn exhaled slowly. “But, Michelle, you know it’s more complicated than that.”

“I don’t want to hear about that ancient summer again!” Michelle shook her head wildly. A frown line cut deeply between her hazel eyes. “You didn’t wreck her life, Graham. Kyra has managed that on her own.”

“I was supposed to have protected her,” Kilburn said distantly.

“How can you protect her from herself?” Her voice rose to nearly a shout.

He shrugged, defeated. “And Matt and Shayna?”

Michelle’s expression softened. “Of course, those poor kids … .” She sighed with genuine affection. “They’ll need to come stay with us again.”

Kilburn nodded. They stared at one another for a short while. “I’m sorry, Michelle.”

After a moment, Michelle smiled weakly. Then she climbed back into bed and turned off the light. She rolled toward him. Her hand reached for his arm in the darkness and squeezed it tenderly. “I know you’re only trying to do what’s right for Kyra. And I know you didn’t ask for any of this.” Her voice cracked. She was close enough that he picked up a whiff of her mint-flavored toothpaste. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “Graham, Kyra takes so much out of you emotionally, I’m not sure there’s enough left over for us.”

As Kilburn pulled into the St. Michael’s parking lot, he forced the memory from his mind, and refocused on the medical crisis at hand. He climbed out of his car and headed for the front door. Approaching the entrance, he stopped to read one of the many large warning posters plastered on the walls and doors. It spoke nebulously of an infectious outbreak in the hospital and warned visitors and staff to avoid the hospital unless “absolutely necessary.”

A sound drew Kilburn’s attention. A block down from the entrance, a reporter was facing the cameraman in front of her and talking into a handheld microphone. Here we go, Kilburn thought. The phone calls to his office from the media would soon follow.

Stepping through the front entrance, he almost bumped into a tall thin woman scurrying past. It was Barbara Moyes, St. Michael’s infection-control nurse. She stopped short, her worried gray eyes giving way to recognition. “Graham! Are you coming to the task force meeting?” she asked.

“No, Barb, sorry,” he shook his head. “I have to see a patient urgently.”

In her early fifties, Moyes had a narrow, fretting face. She nodded knowingly. “Parminder Singh, right?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Moyes shook her head solemnly.

“Barb, are there any new cases today?”

“Not so far.” She bit her lip. “Well, not at St. Michael’s, anyway.”

His pulse quickened. “At another hospital?”

“There’s a bad pneumonia at Vancouver Central Hospital. Nothing is confirmed.”

Kilburn rubbed his temples with one hand. “But if it is resistant G.A.S., there is no point contaminating two hospitals.”

“They’re considering transferring her over here.”