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wife. She’ll listen to you. Get her on board.”
    “You sure you want to work with her again?” Jim stared. “I thought that you and she—”
    “That’s history. Disregard it. I need her. She’s got some weird juju. She takes a walk in the park, comes back with a cure for something. She started by looking for a remedy for her JRA and now she has the largest library of plant-based meds in the world. I know about the work she did in Floresta Amazonica and the Borneo-Mekong. She even has friends in the Dzanga-Sangha Park in the Congo.”
    “For two people who haven’t spoken in years, you seem to be up on her career.”
    “She knows what plants have medicinal properties. I want that. If it takes public health to get Marta to grace us with her knowledge, then the masses will have their day.”
    Jim shrugged. “Eva, this might work. Where will you start? How will you fund the research and the trials?”
    Eva held up her hand again, another communications protocol gesture. This time Jim mimicked the gesture. Eva’s cue told Jim that she was about to transmit a file. Jim’s cue indicated willingness to receive. Eva subvocalized the commands to her sleeve. It emitted a focused electronic burst. Jim’s sleeve interrogated to confirm the nature, source, and safety of the transmission, then pinged acceptance.
    Eva studied Jim as he peered into a holographic heads-up display that projected from his dataslate. His eyes tracked back and forth as they scanned. Corneal implants, a bit like contact lenses of a prior generation, allowed him to read the holographic text. His eyes widened and narrowed as they pored over the file. His brows pulled down—first puzzled, then annoyed, and then angry.
    “Eva. What the hell is this? You call this public health?”
    “No, you idiot. It’s exactly what it looks like: a simple over-the-counter remedy to fix a medically unimportant problem that no one has addressed. We don’t need FDA trials for this. Labeling? Public process? Panel review? Yes. But clinical trials? No. The active ingredients are already approved. Just read a little further and you’ll see why I picked this to start.”
    Jim shook his head. “Eva, you know something? You can be a real pain in the ass.”
    She beamed. It was her habit to get the better of others lest they get the better of her. It wasn’t easy with Jim, but she counted coup.
    At first, Jim’s face betrayed no expression as he read on, then he grinned and started to laugh. Eva stiffened.
He thinks this is a joke
, she thought. She flushed and turned to leave. Now even the quiet Voices were raucous. Mama shrieked in derision.
    “No, Eva,” Jim managed to get the words out. “Stop.” He threw an arm around Eva’s shoulders and gave a fraternal squeeze. Eva stiffened for a moment, then softened and leaned into Jim’s half embrace.
    “Eva, you’re too much. This is great.” Jim was still chuckling. “I underestimated you. You’re two steps ahead of us, as usual. I’ll talk to Plant Lady tonight.”

     
    Marta Cruz was steeping herbs when Jim palmed open the front door of their Brookline apartment. The low-grade fever was back. Fatigue and pain pulled the muscles in her face tight. She rubbed young stinging nettle leaves on her skin to produce an irritation that brought blood to the surface and reduced the swelling. Then she sipped her tea: false garlic, cascarilla, and chinchona bark. She’d been taught the remedy by her grandmother, her
abuela.
The brew had little to recommend by way of taste, but it would ease the pain.
    “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Come kiss me.”
    Jim smiled and complied.
    “Te
quiero,”
they both murmured. I love you.
    “You look tired,” Jim said. “Hard day?”
    “The usual,” she said.
    Marta had been stricken with JRA—juvenile rheumatoid arthritis—when she was nine. The autoimmune disease provoked swellings, fevers, and rashes. It held a vise grip over her knees, elbows, and hands and