Stan swallowed, then spoke softly. “I’ll be glad to help you read, Todd. But we’ll have to talk about the TV.”
“The deal is I learn to read, I get the TV.” Todd turned to Morgan. “I can have it while I’m learning, right?”
This was not going the way he’d expected. What was Stan’s problem? “Why don’t you leave it on the table for now.” Morgan jerked his head toward the doorway. “Let us talk.”
Todd did not want to let loose of the set, but Morgan sent him a confidential look that penetrated his resistance. Todd put the TV down and stalked out the door, swearing under his breath.
Morgan turned to Stan. “He told me a while ago he couldn’t read very well. I thought this was an opportunity to correct that.”
Stan’s gaze was more direct than he expected, and there was a flicker of anger. “I don’t believe in bribing kids.”
“It’s not a bribe. It’s a reward. Something to strive for.” Hadn’t Stan ever heard of incentives? What thriving company didn’t offer a bonus program for achievement? What teacher didn’t stick stars on a chart?
“And what if he needs to raise a math grade? Do I get him an Xbox? Or a go-cart if he gets to class all week?”
Morgan glanced at Rick, typically silent but listening and observing it all. “The kid’s going crazy with no TV. What does it hurt to let him watch an hour or two?”
“It’s the precedent.” Stan bore down on him doggedly. “I can’t keep up with you, and I don’t want to.”
Morgan dropped his chin. So the TV was a big deal. He’d wanted a big deal to get through to Todd. He hadn’t expected Stan to get worked up. It wasn’t about keeping up or impressing Todd. It was to motivate, encourage him. But Stan did have a point about future expectations.
Morgan rested against the doorframe. “It’s your call.”
Stan stood up, still holding the reading program. “I appreciate your concern and your letting me know there’s a problem. I just wish you’d’ve come to me first.” He didn’t add that Todd was his responsibility, but that was implicit.
Morgan nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s my style to find a solution and act on it.”
“Sometimes there isn’t a quick fix. Putting a Band-Aid on a rotten limb won’t keep gangrene from spreading. I could buy Todd’s trust. But I’d rather earn it.”
An admirable sentiment, which Stan was not accomplishing. But Morgan had overstepped. “What do you want to do?”
Stan shrugged. “I’ll think about it, and pray about it.”
And in the meantime Todd might combust. Morgan stepped out of his way. Stan left with the reading program under his arm. If he tried to make Todd learn and refused the TV, Morgan did not want to witness the result. He turned to Rick. “Hope he makes the right choice.”
“You put him on the spot.” Rick’s voice was low as always, softly controlled yet annoyingly firm.
Morgan pulled out a chair and sat down. “It’s called incentive. Everyone works better when there’s something in it for them.”
“Morgan …”
“I know. I made Stan look bad. But he didn’t have to. He could have seen it—”
“Your way?”
Morgan leaned the chair back on two legs. “What’s he so uptight about?”
“Come on, Morgan. You drive in here with a hot new convertible, take Todd off for all kinds of fun—”
“Nothing Stan couldn’t do himself. He thinks a thirteen-year-old kid wants to sight-see and scoop horse manure.”
“It’s his kid. At least his responsibility. What are you trying to prove?”
Morgan’s throat tightened. “I’m not proving anything. I just want Todd to have what he needs.”
“Why?”
Morgan looked hard at Rick. What kind of inane question was that? “You think a kid should go through life dropping out or misbehaving because he’s lacking a skill that could turn it around?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“What, then?”
“Why does it matter to you? You drop in here on a lark three, four times a year, but you think this kid’s trouble is yours to solve?”
Morgan rocked on the back chair legs, Rick’s words penetrating.
“Stan has the kid every day of the year. He’s volunteered to raise him, to deal with his language, his attitude, his physical, spiritual, and emotional needs. And you come in like Santa Claus buying the kid gifts and making promises and undermining everything Stan’s trying to do.”
What really stung was how the truth sunk in. He had done that for years professionally. He could go in and blaze, then move on to the next project with little thought for the dimmed leaders in his wake. But Todd was not a project, a consultation; he was a person with a whole life ahead of him, a life that Morgan would not be a part of.
When had simply befriending Todd become a mission to right every wrong in his life? When he learned about Kelsey and felt the overwhelming helplessness? He’d been on a crash course to save the world since he entered Wharton, graduated with honors, and accepted the kind of positions men would kill for. A few years of that and he knew he wanted to be out on his own. His mind was tailor-made for turn-around management, but that didn’t always apply to personal life.
He set the chair legs down and rested his elbows on the table, head dropped, hands clasped behind his neck. “You’re right. I was way out of line.”
“Your heart was in the right place.”
“Doesn’t make it easier for Stan.” Morgan blew a slow breath through puckered lips. “Good thing I’m leaving.”
“You just got here.”
“A stopover on the way to Beauview.”
Rick raised his eyebrows. “Going home?”
Funny how he and Rick both still called it home when it hadn’t been home for either of them for years. But Morgan shook his head. “No. I want to see Kelsey before the transplant. I want her to know …”
“What?”
“That I had nothing to do with sloughing her off.”
Rick dropped his gaze. “Morgan.” Disagreement, obvious in his tone, but he didn’t argue. They both knew his mind was made up.
Rick finally looked up. “Are you leaving in the morning?”
“Right now.”
“Driving through the night?”
Morgan shrugged. “It’ll be easier than sleeping. I will, however, make my apology to Stan. He deserves that much. And say good-bye to Todd.”
Rick nodded, then stretched. “Thanks for fetching Marta. That’ll help a lot. I know it cost you.”
Morgan smiled. “And you’re dying to know how much.”
“I’ll get it out of Marta. Or Noelle will.”
Morgan shook his head. “We made a pact. If you break her, it’ll be an international incident.”
Rick laughed softly. “Have it your way. I’m just glad she’s here.”
CHAPTER
15
Jill sat with Shelly and Brett around the table in her kitchen nook, determined not to give the suffocating depression a fresh foothold.
She thought again about her tutoring session with Joey that morning.
It helped to focus on the kids. Her primary purpose through the extended school year was to keep them interacting and maintain their base-level skills. She didn’t introduce anything new, just played with what they’d learned through the regular school year. She did, however, encourage development in personal areas like correct conversational responses and self-control.
Joey’s mother desperately wanted him to get potty trained and insisted that at nine, he could learn it if he wanted to. Jill had explained again that his brain didn’t receive that signal as something he could process and act on, that it was common with autism. He might never connect a sensation to that behavior. But she understood the frustration, and at some level, so did he. He’d been particularly disruptive and agitated that morning.
She sighed and started picking up the cards Brett had dealt her. He was out of his uniform, wearing a Be
auview PD T-shirt and sweats. He tossed a handful of M&Ms into his mouth. Hearts was Shelly’s favorite game, so they sat now and arranged their final read-’em-and-weep hand. Jill held enough stinkers to consider shooting the moon.
They’d invited Dan, but he had plans, so they played three handed, which meant more cards and a kitty to the taker of the first dirty trick. Jill wondered what Dan’s plans were, or if he meant to avoid their foursomes altogether after the last encounter. At this point so would she.
The phone rang, and the machine took it immediately, since she’d been disinclined to answer most of her calls.
“Hello, Jill. This is Cinda.”
Jill rushed up and grabbed it, leaving her cards and her friends waiting. “Hi, Cinda.” She leaned on the counter and forced herself to calm. Cinda had promised to keep her informed, but if it was more bad news …
“Jill, Morgan’s cross match was negative, no reaction between donor and recipient. They’re compatible.”
Jill dropped her head back, eyes closed. Oh, thank you, Lord.
“I’m calling from New Haven. They’ve admitted Kelsey for the pretransplant conditioning.”
A rush of painful joy seized her. It was happening! Morgan matched. Forgive my unbelief! “Cinda, that’s wonderful.”
“I’m so grateful to you.”
“Don’t even say that. What happens now?”
“Her protocol requires myeloablative therapy, total immune destruction, because her remission was so difficult to achieve and the cancer is tenacious. There’s a tremendous risk of infection and so many factors. But we’re hopeful.” Cinda sounded weary, as well.
“How’s Kelsey?”
“Excited. Very weak.”
Jill shook off the sudden dread. “I know this will work. Is Morgan—does Morgan know what to do?”
“The center is in communication with him. He gave the final consent and passed the physical exam that accompanied his counseling. Once Kelsey is ready, they’ll do the transplant.”
Oh, Morgan. She tried not to envy him.
“Keep praying.”
“Of course.” Only she hadn’t. She’d let a few innocent words drive her faith away. What right had she to question God’s wisdom? If He judged her unworthy, who was she to argue? Twice the Lord had found her unacceptable. Yet now He received Morgan? Stop it! He was God. He could choose as He liked. This wasn’t about her.
“Yes, I’ll pray, Cinda.”
“Add one or two for finances. I don’t know how we’ll pay for everything. We’ve already mortgaged the house and … well, just include that in your prayers. I couldn’t bear to refuse Kelsey a treatment simply because we couldn’t pay.”
Jill’s heart thumped. “No, of course not. That’s an important prayer.”
Cinda sighed. “It doesn’t sound right to worry about money. I know the Lord will provide.”
“It’s still important to ask.” Jill took a chance. “Give Kelsey my love.”
“She sends you hers.”
Jill gripped the receiver. Was that just a platitude, or had Kelsey actually said it? She pressed her free hand against the sob rising in her chest. The sweet balm of the possibility chased away the shadows. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” She rolled her lips in tightly as tears threatened. “And how things go.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.” She hung up and drew a deep breath, then turned to Shelly and Brett. “The transplant’s on. Morgan matched.”
They both congratulated her and asked more questions than she could answer. Morgan would have the answers. Doubtless he’d been given all the details he’d need in order to go forward, to help their daughter, to save her life. Jill played the last hand without thinking and ended up with all but two of the points, but she didn’t care.
Kelsey was going to be all right. After Shelly and Brett went home, she took out her Bible and read the Psalms. Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. Peace filled her. She felt closer to His love than she ever had. Sweet consolation. Had she ever known it so completely before?
She went to bed, knowing she would sleep better than she had been. She dropped off right away, but there was pain, tight wrenching pain that seized her belly from the sides and across her lower back, then funneled up the front in mounting intensity. Push. She had to push. Sweat ran into her eyes and her mouth was arid. Push! She cried out and someone told her not to. Direct the pain, make it work for you.
Her belly seized, a swollen mound, glistening with sweat. Push! Without her will, her belly pushed. The baby emerged, streaked and creamy, into hands that glowed with golden light. Too bright. The hands were too bright.
Those hands took the baby from her womb into their grasp, stilling the cries and jerking limbs. Jill reached, but both baby and hands were gone. She woke, gasping, and stared around her in the darkness as though she might find them there. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her racing heart. She’d dreamed of Kelsey’s birth before, but never like that.
She rubbed a hand over her eyes and settled back down, the image of those glowing hands still in her mind.
Kelsey lay in the bed at the Yale New Haven Treatment Center, her second night in that medical center. Dad had gone to grab them some cafeteria food and Mom to call Jill. Mom didn’t seem to mind talking to Jill. She was part of it all. She’d made it happen. No one else would have known to find Morgan. Morgan.
Kelsey touched the Hickman catheter in her chest, used to administer the chemotherapy that had achieved her remission and would receive the new doses to wipe out her immune system. After radiation and the killing drugs, it would be the channel to receive the bone marrow from her father, her biological father. Why did she keep thinking about him? What was he like; how did he look? Wasn’t it normal to wonder?
She had to be careful, though. Mom and Dad were touchy about it. Didn’t they know her wondering didn’t change her love for them. She just wanted to understand. Had he cared about Jill? About her?. Did he do this transplant out of guilt, or did he really want to help?.
Why would he want to see her? She was ugly, bald, pale, and bruised. Who would want to see her? Who would ever look at her and think she was anything but a cancer patient? Certainly no boy. No man would want to marry her someday. But her bio-dad? Would he look away, embarrassed by her?
Jill hadn’t, but that was different. Jill was … a mom. No, that presupposed that dads were less accepting, and she knew that wasn’t true. Kelsey shook her head. She wasn’t sure why she doubted Morgan. Maybe because he hadn’t married Jill, hadn’t taken care of her when she needed it. Jill said it was her parents’ fault, but Kelsey wasn’t sure she believed that. Anyway, she couldn’t risk it. Jill worked with kids who had problems. She was used to it. Morgan wouldn’t be. No, the one-year rule of no contact was a good idea. At this point he might take one look and decide to keep his marrow to himself.
If she was still alive in a year, maybe then. When she had hair. Waves of nausea rose inside from the first treatment she’d had that day. And it would only get worse. Was it even worth it? She closed her eyes and pictured her army of dispirited angels looking to her for their strength.
“I don’t have any,” she said to the darkness, then realized others were fighting for her, as well. The nurse who’d been so funny earlier, the oncologist and all the staff. Even her bio-dad, who was scheduled for the marrow harvest. She couldn’t give up now. Everyone expected her to fight, to stay positive, to be hopeful, the giver of hope on her Web page, the sharer of Jesus’ love. But it was so hard.
She thought for a minute, then turned on the tiny reading lamp beside her bed and opened her laptop. Instead of going to the Web page, she opened e-mail. She had some new messages from her friends, but she clicked “Write” instead. Maybe she shouldn’t do this, but there was one person who had promised to be
honest. Maybe she could be honest back, too.
Hi, Jill. I hope you don’t mind that I got your e-mail address off the card you gave Mom. It’s late here; I guess it is there, too. Maybe you won’t get this until tomorrow, but I wanted to talk, to tell you … Kelsey paused. No, this was her chance to say what she couldn’t say out loud, couldn’t tell Mom and Dad, who loved her too much. I wanted to tell you I’m scared. I know you’ll understand, cuz you must have been, too. When you had me. Did it hurt very much? Who was with you? Did you get to see me? She hadn’t intended to ask about that, but it took her mind off the rest. What was it like when I was inside you? Did you hate me very much? Were you sad I was there?
She almost erased that part, but no. This was her place to be honest, to write whatever she wanted. If Jill didn’t answer, she’d understand. It still helped to write it, just to get the thoughts out. I’m really sick right now. All I think about is throwing up. Were you sick with me? Then you know how I feel. Not like I have the flu and will get better in the morning. It goes on and on. I try not to show it because Mom and Dad get so sad. It hurts them when I hurt. They feel it, too. I was hoping I could just tell you about it sometimes.
I have this army inside me, fighting to make me well. But when I feel like this, it’s hard to believe that will ever happen. My roommate is scared because her cancer went into her brain. I don’t think I could stand that. I feel selfish for dreading the cells in my spinal cord. But soon they’ll be wiped out, and then Morgan’s marrow will start making me well. I wish you could tell me more about him. I keep wondering. Especially now since I might never turn eighteen. That’s when Mom said I could make a decision on finding him or not. I think I might die without seeing him.
Again Kelsey paused. I shouldn’t say that, I guess. It discourages the angels inside. I should explain that. I imagine the chemo and radiation and my own good cells are an angel army fighting the bad demon leukemia cells. When I get discouraged, my army falls back, the others start to win. Prayer helps. When I ask Jesus, He sends new troops. I should ask Jesus now because I really, really feel sick. Thanks for listening. Bye now. Kelsey
The Still of Night Page 18