Confucius Jane by Katie Lynch

didn’t realize you were in town.”
    â€œJust for the day.” The words carried a mild Southern drawl. When his gaze fell on Sutton, she plastered what she hoped was a pleasant smile onto her face. He extended his hand across the table.
    â€œMy daughter, Sutton,” Reginald said. “This is Henry Phillips.”
    Sutton recognized the name of the CEO of one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies in the nation. Everything about him was large—from his fleshy ears, to his protruding waistline, to the sausage-link fingers that gripped her own.
    â€œPleasure to meet you,” she said politely.
    â€œSutton and I were just discussing her upcoming residency.” The paternal pride saturating Reginald’s voice made the risotto curdle in her stomach.
    â€œExciting time—very exciting time.” Hank nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Once you’ve finished up, you should come and work for me.”
    â€œWell now, look at that.” Reginald clasped her shoulder. “A job offer already.”
    â€œI’ll certainly consider it,” Sutton said, even though she would do no such thing. “Thank you.”
    â€œGood, good.” For one fraught moment, it seemed he might kiss her hand in some misplaced approximation of chivalry. When he finally let go, she exhaled softly in relief. “Reg, I’ll let you both get back to your meal. Will I see you in Washington tomorrow?”
    â€œYou will, indeed. Shall we catch up over dinner?”
    Hank’s jowls quivered as he nodded. “My secretary will be in touch. You both take care, now.”
    As he lumbered away, Sutton sank back into her seat. “What’s in Washington tomorrow?”
    â€œHank and I—along with a few others—have been called to testify to members of the GOP about how best to counter the Democrats’ latest amendments to that ridiculous universal health care bill.”
    â€œI see.” Yet another conversation they couldn’t continue. Reginald held the notion of universal health care in contempt, while Sutton had championed the idea ever since writing a paper on the topic for a Medical Ethics course several years ago. At least their conversation hadn’t turned to stem cells. Yet.
    She tried a different tack. “How is Mom? She didn’t sound very well when I spoke with her yesterday.”
    Reginald looked up from his seafood platter. “Your mother has had a string of bad days, but that means she’s due for a break soon.”
    Sutton’s shoulders tightened. They both knew that wasn’t necessarily true. So far, her mother had exhibited a textbook case of relapse-remitting multiple sclerosis, in which “attacks” were followed by periods of remission when she was entirely symptom-free. At any point, however, her condition could worsen. Sutton didn’t appreciate him blowing smoke at her, especially since she wasn’t just his daughter anymore—she was also his colleague.
    For years, his “impeccable bedside manner” had been praised from sea to shining sea, and Sutton could still remember a time when she had believed everything he said. Now, all she heard in his words were platitudes and oversimplifications. Maybe that was what America wanted from their doctor, but did it really do them any good? Her mother’s condition was unstable. That was the truth, and to run away from it was cowardly. But if she said anything more to him right now, it would sound uncharitable, and it wouldn’t do to sound uncharitable here. The Pool Room was the birthplace—and the graveyard—of society gossip. Reginald had invited her here to put her on display and to maintain his public image as a doting father. Despite her annoyance, she had no desire to sabotage him. Since coming out, she had made a conscious effort to meet him halfway whenever possible. Maybe it wasn’t healthy to feel a lingering sense of guilt over