“Not at all. I can empathize. I might put in a word with Vanessa—you know, about the family therapy.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” Robin said, surprised by the offer. “But don’t put yourself in hot water on my account.”
“No, it’s for Amber and Jaden. You’re right. They need help.” A tremor or a shadow crossed Gloria’s face. “Children can be very difficult at times, can’t they?” Her voice caught.
Robin sensed her distress. “Do you have kids?”
Gloria’s eyes brimmed. “A son,” she whispered. “He’s very ill.” Her dark gaze fixed on Robin.
“I—I’m so sorry.” The airplane compartment felt tiny, claustrophobic, with Robin caught between the window and the woman’s unexpected heartbreak. “That must be very difficult for you and your husband.”
“His father is no longer with us.” Gloria’s expression hardened, suggesting that topic was off limits.
“Ah. Can I ask what your son’s illness is?”
Gloria pulled a tissue from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes. “Medulloblastoma. You know what that is.”
A rare, malignant brain tumor.
“I’m sorry,” Robin repeated. It was a tragic situation.
Gloria crumpled her tissue. “Alex is nine now. By the time they diagnosed him two years ago, the tumor had already spread to his spine.” Those disconcerting eyes held Robin’s gaze. “The surgeon removed as much as he could.”
Robin nodded slowly. “Then—chemo? Radiation?”
Gloria smoothed the remains of her crushed tissue. “Both.” She shuddered. “It made him so terribly sick. And now his tumor has metastasized.”
What a terrible prognosis. “New research comes out every day.” Robin knew it sounded lame.
Gloria watched Robin’s face. “Like the study you’re conducting.”
“Well, yes.” With a twinge of foreboding, Robin wondered if Gloria’s presence was really a coincidence. “We’re seeking genetic abnormalities—mutations—that can be treated with targeted existing drugs.” She braced for Gloria’s inevitable next question, knowing she would have to disappoint her.
Gloria’s fingers clutched Robin’s hand. “Could Alex be a subject?” She tightened her hold, making Robin wince. “Please, Robin, I’m begging you. It may be my boy’s only chance. Can’t you get him into the study?”
Robin extricated her hand from Gloria’s grasp. “I’m afraid the MATCH program—the National Cancer Institute study we’re part of—is only for adults right now.”
Gloria appeared stricken. “Why? That isn’t fair.”
“It’s still in the early stages.” Robin patted Gloria’s hand. “It will expand to include pediatric patients.”
“In time to save Alex?”
“I don’t know. It’s supposed to start next year.”
“When next year?”
Robin shook her head. Such programs often ran behind schedule. She wished she had a better answer. “Maybe I’ll learn more at the orientation I’m attending.”
Gloria’s eyes shimmered. “Bless you, Robin. He’s all I have.”
Robin squeezed her hand. Poor thing. Imagine if it were Sean. “How long will you be in DC?”
“Just overnight,” Gloria replied.
“Same here. I’m heading home tomorrow evening. Would you like to meet for coffee tomorrow morning? Or breakfast? I can give you an update after I make some inquiries at the briefing.”
Gloria beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll meet you anywhere you say.”
The pilot broadcast the landing announcement, instructing them to take their seats and fasten their seat belts.
“All right, then,” Robin said. “Let’s exchange cell phone numbers when we land, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Gloria agreed. “I promise you, Robin, I’ll never forget this flight, or you.”
FIVE
AMBER
“BUT, MOOOOM!” I KNOW she hates whining, but I don’t care. This is a primo opportunity with Miss Perfect away. Jaden and I could have him all to ourselves. “Why can’t we stay at Dad’s tonight? Please?”
She blows me off, staring in the mirror over her dresser, which is even messier than mine, all cluttered with perfume bottles, hair clips, and makeup. She’s fussing with her hair, which is way too short for the French braid she’s trying. She says a curse word as more blond curls escape.
Ha ha.
“Why can’t we?” I push my luck, but this is important. Robin’s always around these days. It’s not fair.
Mom lets go of her stupid braid and gives me a dirty look. The hairs frizz around her head. “I told you,” she says. “This is not your father’s night. He’ll have you and Jaden next weekend.” She grabs a brush and tries to untangle her hair. “Anyway, you saw him yesterday.”
“Not overnight, though.” The one thing Mom manages to keep track of is Dad’s visitation time. She forgets to pack our school lunches. She missed my last parent-teacher conference. But she’s always on top of his time. I can tell she’s not going to budge. “Are we doing anything here, then?” I can guess the answer.
She starts on the braid again. This time she tries putting a rubber band on it to hold it while she twists the strands. Good luck with that. Mom isn’t much better with her own hair than she is with mine, but she spends more time on it. “Cali is coming over later,” she tells me. “We’ll be working on our jewelry.”
That could be fun. “Can Jaden and I make jewelry too?”
“No, Amber, you’ll make another mess. You did enough damage to the kitchen. You’re not to use the stove again unless I’m there. Besides, Cali and I aren’t playing, you know.”
Yeah right. Mom has this idea she’ll start a business selling the junky beaded things she and her girlfriend make. That’s a laugh. Not even those dorky girls at school would be caught dead wearing her stuff. But Calista convinced Mom they’ll be, like, the next Pandora, that store at the mall. I hate Calista. She’s the one who got Mom into witchcraft—Wicca, they call it. I thought she meant Cali made wicker, like the rocker in my bedroom. That would’ve been cool. But it’s the other kind, where they chant, make spells, and do creepy things. But they’re no better at that than they are at jewelry, so I’m not worried.
I miss Mom’s friend Gloria, the one at the cookout. She’s not around much these days, maybe because her kid’s sick. Mom never liked Gloria from the way she carries on with Calista. Gloria never spent the night. She’s a friend, but Calista’s a girlfriend. She gives me the creeps, way more than Robin. At least Robin is smart and knows how to do stuff. I wish she would teach me how to paint, but she won’t even let me in her studio anymore.
“Amber, did you walk Nina?”
“I’ll let her out in the yard,” I tell her.
“Be sure to scoop up her poop, then.”
What a waste of time. She’ll just poop again tomorrow. “Is Cali coming for dinner?” I hope not. When she does, Mom makes us eat vegan, which sucks. She doesn’t like me to say “sucks,” but vegan does.
“We’re ordering in,” Mom says, “Indian.” She finishes the braid and tilts her head from side to side, checking it out.
She looks like a plucked chicken. I wonder if Indian food is vegan. It’ll probably suck.
No jewelry, Mom said. You’ll make a mess. What are we supposed to do for fun? Then I have an idea. I’ll read Jaden the library book Mom took out for him. I’ve got a pack of neon gel markers in my room. We’ll draw pictures in the book while we read it and be artists, like Robin.
SIX
ROBIN
THE LIGHTS IN THE hotel conference room dimmed. An overhead bearing the NCI logo spelled out:
NCI-MATCH
Phase Two
Robin watched with anticipation as a distinguished man advanced toward the podium.
“On behalf of the National Cancer Institute, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to this orientation. I’m Dr. Evan Kimball, Director of the Community Oncology Research
Program.” With a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair and metallic-framed glasses, he might have been the quintessential professor. “As you may know, MATCH, or Molecular Analysis for Therapy Choice, launched its initial phase in 2015 then was suspended for interim analysis. Those encouraging results were presented last month, and now the program is reopening for expanded patient enrollment. In Phase Two, even more cancer victims who failed to respond to standard therapies will have access to this promising new treatment approach.”
MATCH, indeed. Robin knew the basics of the research design. It was a matter of finding the right key for a particular lock. They obtained a biopsy of the patient’s tumor and sent it to one of four genetic testing sites for DNA sequencing. If the lab found a potentially treatable mutation, the participating hospital began treatment with a targeted drug, right there in the patient’s community. It was state-of-the-art, personalized cancer care—a partnership of Big Science and local providers. It thrilled her to be a part of it.
Dr. Kimball continued. “We’ve expanded our lab capacity to analyze four times as many tissue samples per week as we did in Phase One. Moreover, we have reduced the turnaround time for sequencing to less than two weeks.”
Approving murmurs greeted his words. Faster DNA analyses meant precious time saved in starting appropriate treatment for terminally ill people. She could imagine what that would mean to Gloria Reyes. If Sean’s life depended on receiving that kind of care, Robin would go to the ends of the earth to get it for him. A disconcerting notion occurred to her. Suppose Amber or Jaden had a terminal illness. She wondered if she would do everything in her power to save two kids who’d become the bane of her existence. Surely every sick child deserved a chance for a cure.
Suddenly she couldn’t sit still. Robin rose to her feet. “I have a question.”
Dr. Kimball frowned. All eyes turned to the rude person who’d interrupted him.
Kimball cleared his throat. “If you’ll hold your thoughts, we’ll have a question and answer period following the overview.”
But Robin’s thoughts were beyond holding. “But can you tell us when Pediatric MATCH will launch?”
For a long moment, he regarded her with a cold stare. “That is outside my purview. At present, it’s targeted for sometime next year.”
“But when next year?” Robin tried to tune out the angry comments buzzing around her.
“Madam, I repeat—sometime next year.”
Dr. Kimball’s icy glare, along with the waves of annoyance surrounding her, made Robin acutely aware she’d become a spectacle. She sank back into her chair.
Kimball looked around the conference room, as if daring anyone else to derail his presentation. “Now, if we may continue?”
Robin dropped her gaze to her lap, avoiding the frowns aimed at her. She resolved to keep quiet for the rest of the briefing, but a nagging worry took root as she wondered what she would say to Gloria Reyes.
THAT EVENING ROBIN WORKED the reception, mingling like a socialite, doing penance for her outburst at the briefing. Nursing a chardonnay, she drifted from one group to the next, hovering on the fringes, making her way into the conversation for a while, then moving on. She didn’t much care for chit-chat or networking—a fancier word for the same thing—but preferred it to an empty hotel room.
Her teal dress draped the curves of her petite figure. She’d gathered her hair into a loose chignon, letting a few rose-gold tendrils escape to frame her face. Circulating through the room, she noted the occasional admiring glance and nodded in response, trying to undo the wild-woman image she’d created that morning.
“Freshen that for you, Robin?” A smiling man pointed at her nearly empty glass.
“Will!” She grinned back at him and stood on her toes to plant a peck on his cheek. “It’s been ages. How are you?”
“Wine first. Catch-up second,” he replied. “Chardonnay or sauvignon?”
“Chardonnay.” She passed him her glass.
“I’ll be right back.” He headed for the bar.
Robin’s eyes followed him. Will Kenton. She hadn’t seen him in at least five years, not since Valley Memorial.
He returned moments later, a glass of white wine in one hand, red in the other. He passed her the white. “You look great, Robin.”
“You too.” He always had. The years had added a dusting of gray to Will’s temples and deepened the laugh lines around his eyes. Robin liked the effect. His eyes were bluer than she remembered.
“Where do you work now?” He sipped from his glass.
“New Jersey. Mountainview Hospital. You?”
“Johns Hopkins.”
Robin lifted her glass. “Impressive. Still in oncology?”
“Yup. Medicine and cancer research.”
Despite being an MD-PhD, Will never flaunted his credentials. Robin liked that about him. She recalled him being something of a workaholic. He’d once told her his wife had divorced him because she’d resented that he put his career ahead of their marriage.
Will raised his glass as well. “So, now you’ve joined the world of research.”
Robin sipped her wine. “Well, I’m starting out, anyway.”
He chuckled. “I’d say you made quite a first impression.”
“Oh.” Robin flushed. “That.”
“It’s not a put-down, Robin. I always appreciated your commitment to patient care. In fact, I’m a bit surprised you moved into research.” He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “I couldn’t help wondering. Were you referring to a particular pediatric cancer patient at the briefing?”
Robin caught her breath. Will remained as perceptive as ever. “Sort of.” She hesitated. “Not a patient of mine or family member. But yes, the son of—a friend.” She settled on the least complicated explanation.
“I’m sorry,” Will said. “What’s the tumor?”
“Medulloblastoma.” It was an ugly word. She remembered Gloria saying it, the pained expression on her face.
Will grimaced. “That’s bad. How old is the child?”
Robin took a moment to remember. “Nine.” He was so young. It was so unfair. “You’d think they’d move faster on Pediatric MATCH.”
“I’m sure they’re doing the best they can. If anything, children deserve our extra care and caution. The targeted drugs are hard enough on adults.”
Robin knew. She’d cared for enough patients suffering through chemo.
Will continued. “We should be certain of their efficacy before we play around with pediatric dosage levels.”
“And in the meantime, what do we tell the parents of a terminally ill kid?”
“To hang on a little longer.”
She shook her head. “If they can.”
He eyed her intently. “It’s hard to make the shift from the person to the population. Isn’t it, Robin?”
She frowned, not following.
“You’re a dedicated nurse. Each patient matters, every sick being who comes under your care.”
“Of course, Will. Don’t you feel that way?”
“Sure. But a national research initiative like MATCH requires we see things from a macro perspective as well. It’s a huge study, Robin. It will add new treatment arms and hundreds, eventually thousands of patients as we move forward. We can’t risk jumping the gun with so much at stake.”
Robin lowered her gaze. His words made sense. She felt naïve, a bit foolish, too new to research to keep the big picture in focus.
Apparently reading her embarrassment, Will clinked his glass against hers. “But don’t ever give up your passion, Robin Perry.”
She blushed, at a loss for words.
“Good luck with your fresh start. You got a bum rap, being named in that malpractice suit at Valley.” Will shook his head. “People screwed up, but you weren’t one of them.”
An all-too-familiar blanket of shame enfolded Robin. She swallowed. “I was the supervisor. It happened on my watch.” Someone had given a fragile patient the wrong medication. The result
was a near-fatal stroke with long-term deficits. The hospital had settled out of court with a nondisclosure agreement. Settled, an ironic word for an experience Robin doubted she would ever put behind her.
Robin’s iPhone sounded from her clutch—the ringtone that signaled a call from Sean.
“That’s my son. I’d better call him back.” The mention of Valley Memorial had put a damper on an otherwise pleasant conversation. She extended her hand. “Thanks for the dose of mentoring, Will.”
He took and held her hand. “Come back after you call him?”
Robin hesitated. She’d always found Will attractive, but she’d been married back then, safely off the playing field. Playing with fire might lead to combustion. She sensed the heat between them and wondered what that said about her relationship with Ben.
Robin shook her head, not ready to burn any bridges. “I’ve had a long day. I better call it a night.”
“All right then.” Reluctance edged his voice. “Say, how’s David?”
“He’s okay.” Damn. His question came right on cue. “We’re divorced.”
“Oh.” His eyes softened. “Sorry. I know how rough that can be.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay. Good to see you again, Will.” She decided to go before things progressed further.
He took hold of her shoulder. “Robin, stay in touch, huh? In case you need a cup of mentoring or moral support or whatever.”
It sounded like the best offer she’d had all day. “Will do.”
They both knew MATCH kept an updated online contact list available to participants. They had no need to exchange phone numbers or email addresses.
“Night,” she said. “Thanks for the wine.”
He winked. “Anytime.”
ROBIN RETREATED TO HER hotel room, trying to banish the image of Will Kenton winking at her. She called Sean.
“You okay?” she asked. They’d talked yesterday, and her motherly instincts murmured something was wrong.
“Yeah, Mom. You in DC?”
“I am.” She waited a few beats.
“I—ah—Mom, I got accepted for that summer internship I told you about.”
Suffer Little Children Page 3