Holding On

by Lisa Mills

  Janna retrieved her purse and fished out a cell phone. She sat at the dining room table while Danielle returned to her desk to make calls.

  Thirty minutes later, “discouraged” didn’t begin to describe the way Danielle felt. Rental rates had skyrocketed in the five years she’d been enjoying a fixed rent payment.

  Though she didn’t find much in the way of prospects, the calls had lessoned the sting of her eviction and her resentment toward the Mannings. They’d had every right to raise her rent after her one-year contract was up, but an increase had never been mentioned in the five years she’d rented from them. She didn’t realize what a steal her low rent had been.

  Frustrated with the lack of progress, she pushed away from her desk and returned to the dining room. Janna was just hanging up from a call.

  “You find anything worth looking at?”

  Janna shook her head. “All I can say is I’m glad that Mack and I bought a house way back during our first year of marriage. Property values seemed high then, but now?”

  Danielle flopped into a chair and rested her cheek on her fist. “Can you blame the landlords? Why lock yourself into a contract with a local when you can rent to the tourists by the week and get four times the income? I understand it, but I don’t like it.”

  Janna glanced at the digital clock on her phone. “I have to run and get Cory. Sorry.” She looked sheepish, as if she’d expected to solve Danielle’s dilemma.

  “You were a big help. I still have a few weeks to figure out where I’m going.”

  “Something is bound to turn up.” Janna gathered her stuff and stood. She stopped to pat Danielle’s shoulder on her way to the front door. “Hang in there. Mack and I will keep our ears open about an apartment, and I’ll keep the classifieds coming. Call if you need anything, ‘kay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Janna sounded so upbeat. Danielle wanted to embrace that kind of hope, to surf the optimistic wave that her friend seemed to ride through life. But she was caught in the undertow and pretty close to drowning.

  ~ ~ ~

  Something was wrong. Danielle had been bringing Trevor into the cancer treatment center twice a week for more than two months, and not once had she been asked to step into a consultation room. Normally, one of the doctors stopped by the exam room and said something like, “All clear. See you guys next week.” They always had smiles and reassurance that he was recovering well. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.

  But today the smiles were strangely absent and the reassurances missing. Acid churned in her stomach, working up a rousing case of indigestion that would make her next meal unpleasant, if she could choke down any food at all.

  The doorknob rattled and the doctor entered. Dr. Shanglin’s dark hair contrasted with her white lab coat. Wire-rimmed glasses framed her kind blue-gray eyes. She took a seat at the table. “Thank you for waiting to meet with me.”

  Unable to find her voice, Danielle nodded.

  The doctor removed her glasses and rubbed her thumb and forefinger across her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I had good news to tell you, but I don’t.”

  Danielle’s heart stopped beating and lay heavy in her chest. “What is it?”

  “It’s back. We found blasts—the immature blood cells that signify leukemia—when we ran his blood tests this week. And the marrow biopsy confirmed the same. He’s relapsed.”

  Danielle buried her face in her hands and struggled to breathe as iron bands of fear clamped around her lungs. Please, no! Tears fell into her palms and dripped between her fingers.

  The doctor moved to the chair beside hers and stuffed some tissues into her hands. “I know this is hard. It’s not the outcome we were hoping for. It means his leukemia is more aggressive than we thought.”

  Danielle lifted her head and blinked back tears until the doctor came into focus. “But there are treatment options, right? Is there a stronger chemotherapy or something?”

  Dr. Shanglin looked grave. “We need to admit him for reinduction chemotherapy. He’ll be here at least two weeks, maybe more, until he’s in remission again.” She paused for a breath. “But chemotherapy alone will not be enough to turn things around now. At this point we have to consider more radical treatment options. Many patients have had success with a cord blood transplant from a healthy donor. Are you familiar with this procedure?”

  Danielle tried to swallow back her fear and focus on what the doctor was saying. Now was not the time to give rise to the growing hysteria she felt. “No.”

  “Have you heard of a bone marrow transplant?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, we used to do bone marrow transplants in situations like Trevor’s, but medical advances in the last few years allow us to get the same results by harvesting certain cells from a donor with a machine that filters them from the blood. We then cultivate them in a lab, and transplant them into the patient via their PICC line. It’s just as effective and less invasive to the donor since we avoid surgery.”

  “Can I donate the cells he needs?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Do you remember the blood samples we took from you at one of his early visits?”

  Danielle nodded.

  “We ran preliminary tests to see if you were eligible. You’re not.”

  “But wouldn’t I automatically be a match? I’m his closest relative.”

  “Parents are only a match in about five percent of cases. In the same way that genetics can cause a child to have a different blood type or eye color than a parent, they can also have different marrow typing than one or both of their parents.”

  Dismay carved out a hollow in her gut. “If I’m not a match, then where will we find a donor?”

  “We’d like to test Trevor’s father to see if he might be a match. Do you know how to contact him?”

  The question dug deep into the scars on her heart. “I lost contact with him before Trevor was born.”

  The doctor pursed her lips. “If there’s any chance you could find him, you should do so. It could mean the difference between life and death for Trevor.”

  Find Kevin? Where would she begin to look for him? Kevin hadn’t told her where he was going or given any indication he wanted to be found. “I don’t know where he is, but … I’ll try to locate him.”

  The doctor nodded. “Good. In the meantime, we’ll check the National Marrow Donor Program Registry and see if we can find a match there. Sometimes we get lucky.”

  Danielle grasped onto the tiny bit of hope. If they found a donor in the registry, they could handle the matter without involving anyone from her past. “What else is involved in the procedure? Will Trevor need more chemo?”

  The doctor reached for a file on the desk and pulled out a page of notes. “I printed out some information for you. Once the reinduction is done and he’s in remission again, we’ll put him back on maintenance chemo. When we have a donor and the transplant date is set, he’ll undergo a week of high-dose chemotherapy combined with full body irradiation. We’ll follow that immediately with the transplant. Then two or three months in an isolation ward of the hospital until his body begins to produce marrow on its own and his immunity returns.”

  The rising balance of Trevor’s medical expenses flickered through her mind and squashed her fledgling optimism. “How much will all of this cost?”

  The doctor clasped her hands and rested them on the file on her desk. “I don’t have exact figures, and every case varies, but it usually starts at a quarter of a million if the process goes smoothly. As with any medical procedure, complications can add time and expense.”

  Danielle gripped the arms of her chair and fought hard against a rising panic. A quarter of a million dollars? And that was just the marrow transplant. Reinduction chemo was going to add up fast. The balance she owed the hospital would skyrocket.

  Her appointment with the financial advisor had revealed that she wasn’t eligible for much assistance from the state because she and Trevor had insurance coverag
e. She’d applied for aid from several charitable organizations, but there were no guarantees. Without a doubt she’d take on the debt to save Trevor’s life, but what kind of life were they going to have, buried beneath a mountain of bills? Bile rose into her throat and she swallowed convulsively to keep from vomiting. Even with the insurance paying their portion, another hundred-fifty thousand could easily accumulate on her account. How was she going to come up with that kind of money?

  “We’ll need to find a donor soon, because the cells have to be harvested several weeks prior to the transplant procedure.”

  “Can I have a few minutes?” Danielle pressed her fingers to her lips and blinked back the waterfall of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

  When the doctor looked at Danielle, her businesslike demeanor softened. “Take all the time you need.” She laid the treatment schedule on the table, then moved toward the door. “We’ll talk soon.”

  By the time the door clicked shut, the pressure in Danielle’s chest was crushing her from the inside out. Anguish ripped through her middle, folding her in half. Sobs tore from her throat, and her lungs ached from the intensity.

  She couldn’t lose him. Trevor was her whole world. But she didn’t know how she was going to survive the crushing pressure.

  ~ ~ ~

  The ringing of the phone cut into Danielle’s thoughts and sent a jolt of anticipation down her back. Just out of the shower, she wrapped the towel around herself and hurried to her bedroom to answer it. She dripped a trail of water on the floor as she rounded the bed and reached for the cordless phone on the bedside table.

  “Danielle speaking,” she said, nerves making her sound breathless. Grabbing a corner of the towel, she swiped at the rivulets on her shoulders.

  “Danielle, this is Dr. Shanglin. I have some news for you.”

  Her hands stilled. Anticipation made her hold her breath. “Yes?”

  “The National Marrow Donor Program checked their registry, but they were unable to find a match for Trevor.”

  Her chest ached as if a thousand pound weight had been dropped on it. No match meant no transplant, and no hope for recovery.

  “So what now?” She forced the question through the thick emotions jamming her throat.

  “We’ll check the donor registry every few weeks to see if a suitable donor turns up, but it’s more likely that we’ll find a good match among family … blood relatives. Have you found a way to contact the father? He’d be our best bet.”

  “No.” The word was barely a whisper. “We lost touch eight years ago, before Trevor was even born.”

  Dr. Shanglin sighed. “Then we’ll hope that one of your family members are a good match. How soon can you contact them?”

  Her heart began to pound, beating so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She didn’t want to face them. She’d endured so much hurt and abuse at their hands. When they finally disowned her for the pregnancy, it was almost a relief to be free. She’d bought a bus ticket to Florida and swore she’d never go back. And nothing could make her change her mind.

  Nothing but Trevor.

  He’d saved her in a hundred different ways over the years. When loneliness set in, he was her companion. When sadness had her in its grip, his laughter bathed her soul in joy. When depression surrounded her like a dark cloud, his smile was the light that pierced through the fog and showed her the way out. His sweetness and innocence chased away her hurt and pain every day and reminded her how precious love could be.

  Without Trevor, her life had little meaning. So how could she consider holding anything back? What good would it do to protect herself from pain if it meant losing him forever? For Trevor, she would go back and grovel at the feet of her tormentors and beg for their help. She would face her deepest fears and bare her most vulnerable wounds. She would take whatever abuse they dealt her if it meant saving his life.

  Just a week ago she’d vowed to walk through hell for him if necessary. And so she would. Her own personal hell waited for her in a small town in Indiana.

  “Danielle? Are you still there?”

  She shivered, whether from the chill of her damp skin or the dread in her heart, she didn’t know. “Dr. Shanglin,” she said, her voice void of emotion, “I’ll make the trip home and talk to my family this weekend.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The highway stretched out to the horizon, a black swath through green fields containing row upon row of corn or soybeans, the two crops favored by Indiana farmers. Fields were interrupted by the occasional farmhouse, with the standard red barn lurking behind it, and fenced pasture with cows grazing on long grasses or large, round bales of hay.

  Nostalgia crowded Danielle as she ventured into familiar territory. Farmlands receded, giving way to the RV factories that employed nearly everyone in the area. Then another turn and she was heading into the town, stately older homes with wide porches and small yards that exemplified Northwood architecture. She passed houses where friends had once lived, and maybe still did. She wondered what had happened to this person and that one after graduation.

  Her gut clenched as she drove past the house where Kevin’s grandmother had resided, where Kevin had stayed while his father served overseas with the military. The wood siding wore a new color of paint, the old tattered porch rails had been replaced, the landscaping overhauled. It looked like a new owner had moved in and updated the place. Maybe while she was in town Danielle would inquire about what had happened to old Mrs. Sutherland.

  Late afternoon shadows stretched across the road as she turned onto Main Street at the one stop light in the center of town. Century-old storefronts lined the street. Their architecture was as familiar to Danielle as the faces of old friends, but with a few more age spots and wrinkles than she remembered. They stood solemn and quiet as she passed, stalwart observers of her return. The downtown area, which filled one block from the light in every direction, was nearly deserted, except for a few people milling around Cook’s Pizza, the local eatery.

  Two blocks outside of town, she turned onto Oak Street and slowed to a crawl. A thrill of fear shot through her limbs when she caught her first glimpse of the home she’d grown up in. The brick walls climbed two stories, and the roofline blended with the towering maples that stood sentinel in the front yard. A porch supported by thick round posts and white rails softened the face of the old house. A wooden swing hung from rusting chains that would creak softly as they shifted back and forth on a hot summer evening. Her father’s old Cadillac sat in the driveway.

  Pain and fear pinched her heart as she parked along the curb across the street.

  Back in Florida hundreds of miles away, it was easy to be brave, to think she could approach her family and ask for their help to save Trevor. But the reality of walking up to the door and looking her parents in the face for the first time in eight years left her paralyzed.

  Only picturing Trevor’s trusting brown eyes gave her courage to open the car door and make her way up the walk. Hands clammy and forehead beading with sweat, Danielle climbed the stairs of the front porch. Hundred-year-old wooden planks groaned beneath her feet as she took a couple hesitant steps toward the entrance. The old door had been painted a brighter shade of red, but the brass knob was scarred from frequent use and tarnished so that it no longer looked like brass at all.

  She stared at the doorbell, courage faltering. Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she reached up and jabbed the button. Her whole body shook with each ferocious beat of her heart. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard footfalls on the other side of the door.

  Then the door swung open and her mother, Karen, was standing there, a little heavier and with a few more wrinkles, but looking much as she did years ago. Her blue eyes focused on Danielle and her smile faltered. A gasp shot from her mouth and her hands fluttered up to press against her lips.

  “Danielle?” she breathed, eyes brimming with tears.

  Danielle stood frozen like a statue, not certain
of her reception. But then her mother was out the door, throwing her arms around Danielle’s shoulders and pulling her into a crushing hug.

  “You’re alive! Thank God you’re alive. We didn’t know.”

  The embrace felt awkward and foreign, but Danielle forced herself to relax and let her mother have the moment. She raised her arms and gave her mother a loose hug born of obligation more than any feelings of warmth.

  Karen drew back, keeping one hand loosely wrapped around Danielle’s shoulders. The other she raised to her face and rested lightly against her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here, after all these years.” A tear trickled down her cheek and flooded the smile lines around her mouth.

  “Hello, Mom.” Her voice sounded flat and dispassionate.

  If her mother found the greeting lacking in any way, she didn’t show it. She stepped back, catching Danielle’s hand and tugging her through the door. “William, come quick!”

  Danielle’s stomach dropped away, leaving a gaping vacuum in her gut. Seeing her mother again was one thing, but facing her father—. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to handle that reunion today. She backed toward the door, but a firm grip on her hand kept her from getting very far.

  “What are you bellowing about, Karen?” His voice was gruff and impatient, just as Danielle remembered.

  He rounded the corner and jerked to a stop. Their eyes locked for a moment before Danielle transferred her gaze to the floor. She felt his heavy scrutiny in the long silence.

  “William! It’s Danielle. She’s come home. Our girl is home.”

  Danielle darted a look his direction. His face had turned stony, revealing nothing of what he was thinking, but certainly not exuding waves of warmth and welcome either. “Hi, Dad.”

  He cleared his throat with a noise that sounded much like a growl. “Danielle.” He grimaced, as if her name left a bad taste on his tongue.

  The older woman put on a wide smile, as if trying force brightness and cheer into the dour reunion. “We were just about ready to eat dinner. I’ll set out another plate.” She gave Danielle’s hand a squeeze, then bustled toward the dining room. Her father stood there awkwardly, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then snapped it shut and turned to follow in his wife’s wake.