by Tom Grace
“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Sean said, his mouth suddenly dry.
The protocol rituals were observed to the letter, with the pope accepting the credentials of the new ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the United States to the Holy See and an exchange of formal remarks and gifts. The library was then cleared of all but the Holy Father and the ambassador for a private meeting.
As the room emptied, the pope sat down behind his desk and indicated Sean should sit across from him. The pope then waited until the last gentiluomini departed, closing the library door behind him.
“Mister Ambassador, do you know why you are here?”
“Your Holiness, honored as I am to represent my country to the leader of my faith, I honestly have no idea how I was selected for this posting.”
“It is as if you are dreaming and wondering if you will awake to discover none of this is real?”
“Yes,” Sean admitted.
“I understand. My previous circumstances were very different from this, and in my still moments I wonder if this is all an illusion. But dream or not, the cause of why you and I are here is the same—your son, Nolan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My predecessor entrusted a great secret with your son,” Pope Gousheng said. “I will now place similar trust in you. Nothing of what I tell you can be revealed. This knowledge is for you alone because it is right that you know the truth.”
“Before I left for Rome, I had a private meeting with the president,” Sean said. “He said my first meeting with you would be illuminating.”
The pope nodded. “Your president knows what I wish to reveal to you. Will you keep my trust?”
“I will, Your Holiness.”
“So, what do you think they’re talking about in there?” Nolan asked.
He was standing with Cardinal Donoher and Roxanne beside a marble column in the corner of the throne room. His siblings were taking in the grandeur of the room and enjoying the elegant charm of the papal gentlemen while the embassy staff milled about waiting for the pope and the new ambassador to rejoin their company.
“As ambassador, your father represents the president of the United States,” Donoher explained, “so I expect it’s a thoughtful exchange on issues that have moral and ethical implications.”
“Do you think the pope will tell him?” Roxanne asked.
“About how the two of you spirited His Holiness out of China? I’d bet on it,” Donoher replied.
Barely a half-hour had passed before the doors to the throne room swung open and Pope Gousheng and Sean Kilkenny emerged from their tête-à-tête. The Holy Father radiated a serene warmth as he greeted Nolan’s siblings and their spouses. The papal photographer skillfully worked the room, snapping candid shots of the scene as it unfolded naturally.
Having spent a great deal of time with the new pope over the past few months, Nolan and Roxanne held their distance and allowed the rest of the Kilkenny family to enjoy the moment. Donoher remained with them. Sean caught sight of the trio and slowly worked his way toward them. As he approached, Nolan found the expression on his father’s face uncharacteristically difficult to read.
“Did you have an interesting chat with His Holiness?” Donoher asked.
“Interesting is not the word I would choose,” Sean replied. “You and I need to talk.”
“I know, my friend, I know. I have a bottle of the single malt waiting.”
Sean placed his hands on Nolan’s shoulders and looked his son in the eye.
“I don’t think I have ever been prouder of you,” Sean said softly, his voice choked with emotion.
Sean embraced his son, grateful he had survived the clandestine effort that won the pope his freedom. He released Nolan and turned his attention to Tao. His eyes were moist with tears.
“And I wondered what caused you to cut your beautiful hair,” Sean said.
“Well someone had to keep an eye on your son.”
“My dear, I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude and my relief that you both made it back alive. I love you like one of my own.”
Sean embraced Roxanne and gently kissed her on the cheek.
Donoher noticed the photographer moving to capture the moment and shooed him away. The man nodded and resumed documenting the pope’s introductions to the rest of the Kilkenny family.
Pope Gousheng made each person’s encounter with him a memorable experience, and the time set aside for the informal audience passed quickly. The pope approached the new ambassador with a smile to exchange farewells.
The opening chords Jimi Hendrix’s Star Spangled Banner emanated from the coat pocket of the special assistant to Ambassador Kilkenny. Embarrassed that he had forgotten to silence his phone, he answered the call before Hendrix reached “by the dawn’s early light.” There was a ripple of nervous laughter, as all present save the pope had, at one time or another, committed the faux pas. He turned away to focus on the call and hide his reddened face.
“I’ll relay the message,” the special assistant said as he began walking toward the ambassador. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes,” Sean replied.
“I’ve just received a call from the embassy. I don’t have any details, just that there is a medical emergency in the United States requiring your immediate attention.”
TEN
At the conclusion of the papal audience, the new ambassador and his entourage withdrew from the Apostolic Palace the way they came. On the ride back, the special assistant rode in the lead car with Sean Kilkenny, Nolan, and Roxanne.
“Let’s not worry your siblings until we find out what’s happened,” Sean suggested as their car slipped out of the courtyard.
“Do you think it’s grandpa?” Nolan asked.
“At their age, it could be either of your grandparents. Or it could be one of the kids. Whatever it is, we’ll know soon enough.”
The limousines took them directly to the ambassador’s residence. The spacious villa stood on the grounds of the American Academy in Rome on Gianaculum Hill, just a short drive south of the Vatican. Nolan and his father barely waited for the car to stop before exiting and heading directly into the residence. Roxanne and the special assistant followed.
“Sir,” the special assistant said, catching up with the new ambassador, a phone pressed to his ear, “the call is being routed to the library.”
Sean and Nolan paused as they stepped through the ornate front door of the residence, realizing they didn’t know how to find the library.
“This way,” the special assistant said, leading them across the large foyer toward a pair of French doors.
They entered a rectangular room with an intricately detailed coffered ceiling and a polished marble floor. Bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes lined the walls from floor to ceiling and an imposing hand-carved desk with inlaid details dominated the far end of the room.
The special assistant went directly to the desk, grabbed the handset and dialed a string of digits.
“The call is coming through, sir. It’s Audrey Kilkenny.”
Sean took the handset, his face lined with concern.
“Sean?” a familiar voice sounded in his ear.
“I’m here, Mom. What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”
“Oh no, your father is fine. The children are all fine, too. Our children, that is.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Dear, I need to speak with Nolan. His phone is off, so I called you.”
Sean glanced up at his son, the worried look remained. “Well, he’s right here. I’ll put him on speaker phone.”
“Hi, Grandma,” Nolan said.
“Hello, dear. I know you’ve only just recovered from that terrible accident.”
“I’m fine. What’s the problem?”
“I received a call from a doctor at a hospital in Florida. There’s a young child who is very ill. It’s something to do with his liver.” Audrey Kilkenny’s voice cracked with emotion. “This lit
tle boy needs a new liver or he will die. They think you could be a match, that you might save this poor child’s life.”
“They want a part of my liver?”
“A small piece—a partial lobe, I believe—and the doctor said your liver would all grow back. It’s just that you’ve been through so much with the accident and all.”
“Grandma, really, I’m okay.”
“The doctor said you are this little boy’s only hope—the woman was almost frantic when we spoke. She said finding you in the donor registry was nothing short of a miracle.”
Nolan shared a glance with his father and Roxanne. He thought of his own unborn son, whom he had lost along with his wife Kelsey the previous summer.
“Where and when do they need me?”
“As soon as possible would be best,” Audrey replied. “The child is at the Shands Hospital at the University of Florida in Gainesville.”
“I’ll arrange your flight back to the States,” the special assistant said.
“Book two seats, please” Roxanne said. “We’ll also need a car and a hotel room close to the hospital.”
“On it,” the special assistant replied as he walked toward the door.
“You don’t need to go with me for this,” Nolan said.
“Organ donation is not outpatient surgery,” Roxanne countered. “Someone has to tend to you for a few days while you recover, and I’m the logical choice. Your siblings just arrived in Rome, and I can work from anywhere.”
“It’s good to be your own boss,” Nolan agreed. “Thanks.”
“It’s what friends do.”
ELEVEN
GAINESVILLE, FLORIDA
The final leg of Nolan and Roxanne’s journey back to the United States ended when their connecting flight from Miami touched down at the regional airport in Central Florida. He slept little on the long flight from Rome, his mind drifting between thoughts of his lost son and the boy he was crossing an ocean to help. The instincts of fatherhood had kicked in with his wife Kelsey’s first pregnancy, which ended in a miscarriage, and fully matured with the dangerous race of her second pregnancy against a cancer that took the lives of both mother and child. As a father, he had answered the plea to help this ailing child.
Moving through baggage claim to arrival pickup, they quickly spotted a driver holding a handmade sign with the name Kilkenny printed in bold block letters. Nolan pegged the man’s age in the late fifties and noticed a healthy distribution of salt and pepper in his receding, neatly cropped Afro.
“I’m Nolan Kilkenny,” he announced as he approached the driver.
“Then I’m your man. Grady’s the name. You two are traveling light for a couple just come in from Rome.”
Between them, Nolan and Roxanne had a garment bag, a rolling suitcase and two small carry-ons.
Nolan shrugged. “How much of a wardrobe do I need for a hospital stay?”
“Ya gotta a point there,” Grady conceded. “Let me give you a hand with your bags.”
Roxanne handed Grady her wheeled suitcase. “I understand we have reservations for a hotel room and a car.”
“I had the rental delivered to your hotel,” Grady replied as he led the way out of the terminal. “The GPS is preset with the best route to and from the hospital, and there is a hang tag for parking. I also have the card keys for your room, so you can bypass check-in.”
“You’re really rolling out the red carpet,” Nolan said.
“Just our way of saying thanks for coming half-way around the world for this little boy.” Grady turned to Roxanne. “I can drop you at the hotel, if you’d like, to rest or freshen up after your long trip. Your friend here, I’ll take to the hospital as is.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said.
“I’ll give you a call as soon as I know what the plan is,” Nolan said to Roxanne.
Grady led them to a gleaming Chrysler parked along the curb.
“Airport security let you leave your car here?”
“On a normal day, my car would be ticketed and on its way to the impound yard. The police on patrol today know why I’m here, and they’re offering you a little southern hospitality.”
Roxanne slipped into the back seat as Nolan and Grady loaded the luggage into the truck. Nolan closed her door and noticed her head was already tilted back against the headrest. He sat in the front passenger seat and discovered an Allie Gator mascot bobblehead staring menacingly at him from the dashboard.
“Gator fan?”
“A proud citizen of the Gator Nation. I met my wife here back in the ‘70s, and both our children are here now. My daughter is a second year med student, and the boy is a junior in architecture. Where’d I go wrong there? How ‘bout you?”
“I’m a mixed breed, with degrees from Navy, MIT, and Michigan. As for football, I’ll always cheer for Navy. But since my roots are firmly planted in my family’s farm that’s west of Ann Arbor, I bleed Maize and Blue.”
Grady winced. “We’re still looking for a rematch from that last bowl game.”
“I’d be more than happy to see my Wolverines face off against your Gators in the next BCS Championship game.”
“Easier said than done—both schools have tough schedules this year. But my Gators are very hungry.”
“If both our teams make it to New Orleans next January,” Nolan said, “I’ll buy the gumbo.”
“I know just the place, and they got the best Oysters Rockefeller.”
They dropped Roxanne and the luggage at the hotel, then drove another few minutes into the sprawling University of Florida medical campus. Grady pulled the car into a staff space in the parking structure and led Kilkenny to the main desk for the Pediatric Liver Transplant Program.
“I have returned,” Grady announced to the matronly receptionist.
“Dr. Grady,” the woman said with a broad smile, “is this Mr. Kilkenny?”
“It is, and I entrust him to your more than capable hands.” Grady turned to Kilkenny as the receptionist disappeared into the clinic. “These folks will treat you very well, as they should since they work for me. Dr. Irwin will be handling the procedure, but I’ll look in from time to time to see how you’re doing. While you’re here, maybe we can do something about that blood condition of yours.”
“Blood condition?”
“Bleedin’ maize and blue just ain’t natural, son. Gator green is a much healthier color.”
“I have siblings who prefer a Spartan shade of green, but I like mine just the way it is. Thanks for the ride.”
“All part of being a full-service hospital,” Grady laughed. “See ya ‘round.”
The receptionist returned with a woman dressed in light blue hospital scrubs and a white lab coat. She stood a few inches shorter than Nolan’s six feet, and her oval face was haloed in a short coif of brunette waves. Her face was devoid of makeup, not that any was required, and she appeared to be in her late-forties.
“Mr. Kilkenny?” the woman asked expectantly.
“Yes, and please call me Nolan.”
“I’m Dr. Barbara Irwin, and are we ever happy to see you!”
“I’m happy to help. Tell me about your patient.”
“I’ll do better than that. Come with me.” Irwin led Nolan down the main corridor. “Zeke Oakley is a two-year-old boy with a shock of unruly black hair and a pair of green eyes that will melt any woman’s heart. By the time he was referred to me, it was clear something was seriously wrong, and what we found was an unusual genetic defect in his liver.”
“I remember reading about work being done with gene therapy for the liver.”
“Yes, but so far that’s only specific gene defects. The genetic damage we’ve discovered in Zeke has a much broader scope and a few snippets of DNA are not going to do much for him. He needs a complete transplant.”
“And no one in his family was a match?”
Irwin shook her head. “Zeke’s adopted, and his birth records are sealed, so the biological parent route was a dead
end. I was prepared to discharge Zeke so he could die at home with his family when we pulled you out of the registry. Blind matches for what we do are very rare.”
“My wife thought very highly of blood drives and donor registries—she was the reason you found me.”
“I will certainly have to thank her. You are the answer to this family’s prayers.”
“If that’s the case, then she already knows.”
Irwin studied Nolan curiously for a moment, then realized he spoke of his wife in the past tense. She led him through a maze of internal corridors and interconnecting bridges until at last they reached the pediatric intensive care unit. Through a glass wall, Nolan saw a couple in their mid-thirties tending to a small child. The mother sat in a rocking chair cradling her son while the father looked on. Nolan empathized with the man’s visible anguish, having so recently lived it. The father was built like an offensive lineman, yet his son’s affliction bore down on him like the weight of the world.
The boy and his parents were inside a protected cleanroom, a precaution due to his weakened immune system in preparation for the transplant surgery. Both parents wore sterile clothing and were gloved and masked. In the child’s present condition, a simple cold virus could prove fatal. Tubes ran from the boy to a collection of plastic bags suspended from IV poles. He was asleep, and against his mother’s pale gown, he was a sickly yellow.
The father looked up and saw them standing at the window. Irwin read the question on his face and nodded. The man bolted for the airlock.
“Craig, this is Nolan Kilkenny,” she said as the father stepped into the corridor.
“Man, am I glad to meet you,” the father said, rushing past Nolan’s offered hand and wrapping him in a bear hug.
“Glad to help,” Nolan gasped.
“I’ll take what Zeke needs surgically,” Irwin offered. “You don’t have to squeeze it out.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m a bit wired, you know.”
Nolan staggered for a second after the man released him, regaining his breath, and said very quietly, “All too well.”