The other man leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands between his knees. "Somehow I don't have the impression congratulations are in order."
Charlie had to give him credit. He didn't pull any punches. He had the feeling they were getting down to the lick-log now. "What are you really saying, Doc?"
"I'm saying the animosity between you two in that room was thick enough to spread on toast."
"And?"
"And..:" Charlie sensed the man taking his measure. "Let me tell you a little bit about my job." He sat up straighter and drew a long breath. "If you're a match, we're going to take marrow from your hipbone, put it in an IV bag and transfuse it into Tobie through that tube on his chest you didn't want to look at."
Charlie blinked. The man didn't miss much.
"By some miracle—and yes, it is a miracle. We don't understand how it happens—the marrow finds its way from his vein to where it's needed. That's the easy part. Tobie will be in the hospital for at least six weeks of daily blood tests and boring routine. That's where his state of mind becomes a factor."
Ahhh. Now he knew where this was headed. He listened, every sense alert.
"We can't measure how much a patient's will to live affects his recovery. But anyone who's worked in medicine as long as I have knows it's crucial. I don't want any conflict in his life at this point if it can be avoided."
"Meaning?"
The doctor eyed him levelly. "He loves his mother. If you can't get along with her, it would be better for him if you just donated your marrow and walked away." He rose and gathered up the specimen tubes. "I'll drop these off at the desk and finish my rounds. You can find your way back to Tobie's room?"
Charlie nodded absently and Morrissey left. He sat staring at nothing. He had the feeling he'd just been pretty soundly chewed out and he wasn't sure why. Of course, Morrissey didn't know the whole story, or even a big part of it. But the doctor wasn't concerned with that He was only interested in what affected Tobie, and he was right.
It wouldn't be enough for him to marry Molly and only tolerate her in some cold relationship. She'd grown up with that. She couldn't help but communicate her misery to the boy.
No, he'd have to convince Tobie that he loved her. Like he used to. God! What a mess.
Molly and Charlie spent the rest of the day with Tobie. They covered each other for meals in the hospital cafeteria, so he was never alone. The boy was a little reserved, guarded, with Charlie at first, but he warmed up considerably when the conversation turned to his father's hat and boots. The hat especially seemed to catch his interest, and Charlie explained the system of Xs used to grade a Stetson and the proper way to handle one. He borrowed a tape measure from the nurses' station to size Tobie, and promised he'd bring a hat for him on his next trip through.
That introduced a painful topic. Charlie pretty much earned his living on the road, and he'd have to get back to it. A lot of lives and families, from the other band members to his bus drivers, depended on his ability to perform. Summer was approaching, the height of the touring season. He'd see Tobie through the testing, however that worked out. He'd line up the other members of his family, if necessary. God willing, they'd find a match, there'd be a transplant, and he'd see Tobie stabilized. Then he'd have to go. Like it or not, he'd have to go.
They left when Tobie showed signs of tiring, promising to be back the next day. Charlie had seen enough sidelong glances cast his way to suspect what would be waiting for them at the hospital entrance, and he was right. Security personnel had kept them out of the hospital proper, but media types hovered on the grounds just outside the front door. Molly was startled, but Charlie seemed resigned to the situation.
He conferred for a few minutes with one of the guards, then came back to Molly.
"Here's the plan," he told her. "You get the car and bring it around the side entrance over by the lab. I'll wait inside until I see you and then make a dash for it."
It sounded good to her. They'd never expect Kick Cochrane to be making his escape in a bucket of rust like her old clunker.
"I'll make arrangements with the administration here to talk to the press tomorrow and maybe they'll leave us alone," he added.
Molly had no difficulty slipping through and retrieving the car, but a lookout spotted Charlie as soon as he stepped outside. He ran for the car, and Molly stretched over the console to push the door open for him. As soon as he was in, she hit the gas. They took the corner on two squealing wheels and headed down the street, more than a touch over the limit.
When she stopped for a light a couple blocks down, Molly hazarded a glance at Charlie. He was white, one hand stiff-armed against the dash and the other clinging to the door handle. "Who the hell taught you how to drive?" he yelled.
Maybe it was the strain of the past weeks and months. Maybe it was the hurt, knowing she'd been wronged and knowing she could do nothing about it. Maybe it was the simple pain and pleasure of seeing Charlie again. Whatever. Suddenly it all bubbled up inside her, demanding release. "You did," she said, and laughed.
God, he remembered so much, but he'd forgotten about her laugh. This was no delicate titter behind her hand, no high-pitched giggle. Molly's laugh was a throaty, full-bodied guffaw. He'd never been able to hear it without laughing himself. This time was no exception.
They laughed until they were limp and their sides hurt. The cars behind them were honking for them to go. Molly eased ahead at a more sedate pace.
"I never taught you that little maneuver back there," Charlie said, rubbing the moisture from his eyes.
"I've managed to learn a few things for myself," she replied with a sniff.
"Pull up here for a minute. I want to make a stop." Charlie indicated a strip mall they were approaching and Molly swung into a parking space. She frowned when Charlie reached over and grabbed the keys from the ignition, but she said nothing. He went into an automotive parts store and returned a few minutes later carrying a brown paper bag. Before Molly could get a glimpse of what was inside, he loaded it into the hatch. She was reaching to get the passenger door for him when she heard his knuckles rapping against the window on her side. She opened the door and he waved her over.
"I can wait to find out what other things you've managed to learn for yourself, if you don't mind."
She gave a hoot, but clambered over the console and gearshift to the passenger seat. They had driven a short way when Charlie asked, "What are the laws about getting married in Pennsylvania?"
"I don't know. I've never been married in Pennsylvania." She caught him looking at her. "But I'll find out."
"I'd like Cleeve to come up."
She nodded.
Charlie slid her another glance. "Is there anyone you'd especially like to have there?"
Molly thought for a minute. "My landlady."
"Would that be a little lady about four foot by four foot, who favors pink curlers and furry slippers?"
Molly smiled. "You've met."
"This morning, when I went out"
"She's a fan."
Charlie gave a low chuckle. "I know. She's pleased we're getting married."
Molly turned to him. "I'd like Tobie to be there. Maybe we could arrange to have the wedding in his room."
Charlie nodded. "That'd be nice."
They drove in silence for a while, lost in their thoughts. When they pulled in front of Molly's apartment, Charlie turned to her again, his face shadowed in the dusk. He seemed to weigh his words before speaking.
"Did you write me, Molly? Did it get lost somewhere, and you thought I didn't answer?"
She closed her eyes against the temptation to put the blame where it belonged. She couldn't do it. As bad as he believed her behavior was, the truth was worse. She shook her head, heavy with regret. "I never wrote," she said.
They settled into a fragile routine of sorts over the next few days. Considerate of each other and polite, if distant.
Molly sensed that Charlie was making a special effort to get a
long, even going so far as to hold her hand when they entered Tobie's room. She wondered at his motives, but didn't question what she saw as her good fortune.
She became accustomed to waking to the smell of coffee brewing. The morning after their first visit to Tobie, she showered and poured herself a cup, settling down with another donut before she realized Charlie wasn't in the apartment. He came in, after a bit, covered with grease and she remembered their stop at the auto-parts store. She had new plugs and an oil change, he informed her on his way to the bathroom. His work on the old crate didn't come with any guarantees, though. They were going out to look for something more reliable that very afternoon.
For the second day in a row, Molly lost her appetite after half a donut.
Something more reliable turned out to be a Mercury Villager, fully-equipped, AM-FM, cassette, cruise control, power windows, passenger-area stereo and climate controls, internal and external thermometers, and a heater that you didn't need pliers to turn on. When she suggested that he might like to keep the car with him, he replied that he couldn't imagine why. He had transportation in Wheeling and a driver on the road.
His grease-covered clothes and the ones he was wearing were the only things he'd brought with him. He decided to take some time, while she stayed with Tobie, to go outfit himself. He gave Molly cash, saying he trusted her to find something suitable for a wedding and, if it wasn't asking too much, would she please wear her hair loose?
When he returned to the hospital room, he brought with him a simple flat-top guitar. He didn't always sleep nights, he explained, and he used the time to pick and compose. Molly figured it probably wasn't much more expensive, at least as far as he was concerned, just to buy another guitar rather than have one shipped from wherever he kept however many he had. She felt a little more charitable about the idea when she saw the pleasure Tobie took in learning the chords from his father.
At some point they found the time to visit the county building and fill out the necessary papers. Molly arranged with her pastor to marry them in Tobie's room late the following week.
And the reality began to sink in. She was going to marry the only man she had ever loved, under circumstances that filled her with dread.
Tobie wore out early the third day and they decided it would be best to let him sleep. They returned to the apartment and Molly made a macaroni-and-cheese casserole, one of Charlie's favorites from their scrimping days. Charlie had a beer and she unbent enough to have one, too.
The kitchen cleaned up, he uncapped two more long-necks and led the way into the living room. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, a small lamp on the kitchen counter the only light in the room. Charlie watched her peel the label off the bottle with her chewed-up nails for a few minutes before he spoke.
"What happened to your piano?"
Her eyes went unerringly to the spot where he suspected it had been. She shrugged. "I didn't have much time to play anymore. It's hard in an apartment anyway, finding time when it won't bother the other residents."
He took a long pull on his beer. "If I remember correctly, your playing wouldn't have bothered anyone." He saw her sad smile. "Did you make some money on it?"
She shrugged again and nodded. "That, too." As if to avoid any further reason to talk, she took a ladylike sip of her beer and pursed her lips. When he made no effort to carry the conversation, she continued. "I gave lessons for a while, but between work and Tobie..." Her voice drifted off.
Charlie's hand tightened on his bottle. "Why, Molly? Even if you hated my guts, you were entitled—Tobie was entitled— to my support."
"I never hated you," she whispered.
He stared at her for some moments. "Was there another man?"
She looked up sharply and gave a short laugh. "I was working all the time and had a young child. Men weren't exactly beating down my door."
"A woman with a child doesn't scare a man off. I've kissed a few myself."
"How charming of you to say so." She took another drink and turned her gaze away.
Aw, hell. The same old needling.Same old accusations. How were they ever going to get past this? "Don't get sideways. They weren't bound to anyone then, and neither was I."
She straightened and lifted her chin. He saw her swallow. "I've decided to give notice at work...to stay home."
Maybe she was coming around, after all. "I think that's a good idea."
She toyed with the little pile of shredded label in her lap. "Tobie won't be able to go to school for a year after the transplant. It will be so much easier if I can stay with him." She angled a hesitant glance at him. "I know you'll be gone a lot."
Was that wishful thinking? he wondered. No matter. Whether he liked it or not, it was true.
She took a deep breath and went on. "We could talk to one of the lawyers in my office. About a prenuptial agreement, I mean. They're very ethical. They wouldn't...just because I worked for..."
Son of a bitch. She had this down to an art. Learned it at her mother's knee, no doubt. "You afraid I'm gonna run off with all your money, Moll?"
She had the grace to blush, and damn if it didn't make him feel like a heel.
"I was thinking of you," she said.
He watched the sweat drip down her bottle and settle like tears on her fingers. "I never cared about money when I didn't have any," he told her. "I still don't." He shook his head, disgusted. "If we're gonna get along at all, I don't want to hear any more about this."
Seeing her square her shoulders and nod, he felt a reluctant admiration for her. Suddenly, he was sick of this whole conversation. He stretched his arm across the back of the couch and tangled a finger in a silky tendril that had worked free of her braid. She went still but didn't draw away. His finger strayed to the soft, warm skin of her nape, where tiny hairs grew.
"I don't want to talk at all, Molly," he said in a husky whisper. She didn't move, didn't even breathe. He opened his hand, so that his thumb just grazed her collarbone above the neckline of her shirt. He felt her sharp intake of breath and the gentle quivering of her flesh. "I can make it good for you." His thumb slid back and forth. "I've learned some."
He lost her in that instant, he knew it. Any softening he had detected was gone. He could feel her stiffening, her withdrawal, under his hand. He could have cursed his brainless allusion to other women, other times.
"I'm sure you have."
He pulled his hand away and settled it behind her on the sofa. "Are you gonna make me wait?"
"Oh, please, Charlie." She turned her beautiful brown eyes, wide with undisguised hurt, to him.
He drained the last of his beer and looked at her again. "Will you be unwilling when we marry?"
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No."
The ring of the phone broke into their painful impasse.
Charlie rose to answer, thinking as he did how completely, but superficially, he had moved into her life.
"That was Morrissey," he said when he hung up. Her eyes widened even more and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. "He has the results. He wants to see me in his office first thing in the morning."
Chapter 4
Neither of them had any appetite for coffee or donuts in the morning. Molly assured Charlie that Dr. Morrissey all but lived at the hospital and seven-thirty wouldn't be too early. Shift report had not yet been completed when they made their way to the doctor's cramped office on the unit. Charlie took her hand outside the door.
"I don't care what he says, I want you with me when he gives me the results."
She couldn't quite identify the undertone she heard in Charlie's voice, but once Morrissey opened his office door, it didn't matter. She knew. This doctor had become the second most important person in her life over the past months, and she'd learned to read every shade in his expression. To gauge every nuance. She knew.
He motioned them to chairs, but her tears started to flow even before she reached hers. They seated themselves and Charlie gripped her fingers so tight
ly they went numb. He looked from her streaming face to Morrissey and swallowed.
"I'm not a match, am I?" His voice sounded tight, strangled.
"No, Charlie," she whispered on a shuddering breath. "You are."
Charlie shot a glance at the doctor.
"Yes," the man confirmed. He seemed to have some trouble getting the word out himself.
Charlie closed his eyes and leaned his head back, exhaling a long breath. His own eyes stung. "This is very rare," he heard the man go on. "I've read of cases at other centers, but we've never had one here. You and Ms. Doyle share an HLA type."
Yes. Bad for each other they might be, but they were the best possible combination for their son. He and Molly shared a haplotype. She had given Tobie that one, and Charlie had given him the other. He and Tobie were a perfect match.
The rest of what the doctor had to say scarcely registered, but they were given written instructions to take with them. Molly was still weepy when they left the office. Charlie hauled her into his arms and hugged her close. For the moment, their anger, hurt and distrust were forgotten, submerged in their mutual joy.
Tobie was just getting his breakfast tray when they entered his room. He greeted their earth-shattering news with all the equanimity of a seven-year-old who had no real conception of what was going on. He didn't like orange juice with pulp. Could they please get him some apple?
Charlie sent Molly for something to eat while he kept Tobie company. They dug a deck of cards out of the over-bed table. Go Fish was no more scintillating than it had been when Charlie was seven, so he offered to teach Tobie Five Card Stud. He'd played with his brothers for cigarettes and matches, neither of which was an option here. He'd also played with Molly for various articles of apparel. Vivid memories of those games flashed through his mind. They'd been fun. Molly had never had much of a poker face and he'd never considered cheating beneath him.
He chanced a peek at his son's innocent face. Better not plant any of those ideas. They'd crop up soon enough on their own. They settled on pennies, and Charlie had to stake Tobie some.
Bad For Each Other Page 5