Page 63 of Forgotten Path
“Domoic acid.”
“Right. I know ASP occurs mainly in clams found well north of here and even so-called “safe” levels of domoic acid can cause memory problems. Toxic levels well … that’s a different ball of wax.”
“I remember the fatal outbreak in Canada years ago,” she told him.
“Exactly. Joel seemed to have a working theory that the illnesses he was seeing may have resulted from a combination of marine toxins. All of the studies I’ve seen have looked at acute toxicity. But, if there’s a toxic stew, as you so aptly put it, that’s present all the time at some level, then the people eating in this diner and living in this town are subject to low levels of toxins all the time—with spikes when there’s a red tide, heat wave, or other environmental disruption.”
“So, Joel’s patients are more like the manatees and fish who die from chronic exposure to marine toxins than the snowbirds and tourists who have a passing tickle in their throat when they go on the beach during a red tide,” she said, warming to the hypothesis.
“They could be. And the fact that they’re exposed, even at sub-chronic levels, might explain one anomaly,” he mused. “I’ve seen almost no evidence of gastrointestinal problems in Joel’s patient records. When thereisan outbreak, that’s usually one of the most common symptoms.”
“But if a person consumes small amounts of the toxins regularly, they might build up a tolerance. Until they reach a tipping point, and then vomiting would be the least of their problems.”
“It’s a thought.”
“It’s a good one. Terrifying, but good. One question: if this town is sick because they’re awash in marine toxins, that’s a public health tragedy, for sure. But who would kill Joel to keep that quiet? It’s not like the oysters rose up and tossed him off that loft. Or a clump of algae stole his phone and keys.”
He stood up. “You’re right. Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she pushed back her chair.
“Where all the humans in this town are.”
“The food bank?”
“The food bank.”
III
“As the bee collects nectar and flies away without damaging the flower or its color or its scent, so also, let the bhikku dwell and act in the village.”
The Dhammapada, Verse 49
“I bow my head before you as I look deeply and recognize that you are present in me and that I am a part of you.”
Thich Nhat Hanh,Ten Love Letters to the Earth
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
After she’d traded her ID badge for a cardboard box, Brianna scooped up her personal belongings and ran from the building before she started to cry right there in the office. She drove mindlessly, numbly, into the center of town and parked the car. On autopilot, she stumbled into the Juice Joint, slumped onto a seat at the nearest table, and buried her head in her arms.
Steffi came over to greet her, took one look at her, and sank into the chair across from her, her wide smile dying on her lips. “Girl, you look like hell. Did someone else die?”
“No, nothing like that,” she mumbled into the table before raising her head to meet Steffi’s gaze. “I got fired.”
“Are you being serious?”
“It would be a pretty awful joke, wouldn’t it?”
“True. What happened?”
Brianna scrubbed her hands over her face. “I confronted Chad about … something.”
His warning to keep her mouth shut hadn’t been an empty threat. She didn’t know what he’d do, but she knew he’d retaliate if he heard she was talking.
“Mmm. Something illegal, no doubt.”
She cocked her head. “Why do you say that?”
