One Hour to Midnight

by Shirley Wine

  Veronica glanced at Jordan's photo. "I'll think about it, okay?"

  He gave an eloquent shrug. "You've shunned all contact for ten years. A few more hours won't make any odds."

  "That's not fair."

  "When is life ever fair? When Jordan got sick? When Julia died so young?" He leaned so close she had no option but to meet his eyes. "So you had to make a tough choice. Were you forced into bed with Yannis? Forced to relinquish the child born of that liaison?"

  "Of course not." She was shaken by his vehemence.

  "Here's your chance to make amends. To see your child and get to know him."

  His words battered against a bruise that had never quite healed. "You've never changed."

  "Meaning?"

  "The world still revolves around you, Leon, and your demands. First you want my baby and me out of your lives." She snapped her fingers. "Now, when circumstances have changed, you expect me to meekly comply with your new rules."

  "Tell me, Veronica, why did you agree to come here, and be tested?"

  Heat rushed up into her face. "Who could refuse? And you had to know I'd agree, before you approached me."

  Leon nodded his expression grim. "I gambled on you caring enough to help, although after seeing you in that night club, I had my doubts."'

  Anger mingled with embarrassment. Little did he know how out of character that night was for her. "I see. It's perfectly okay for a Karvasis to prey on an infatuated teenager, but heaven forbid that a grown woman can enjoy a night out and a few drinks with friends."

  Colour seeped up under his tan. "When have I ever said I approved of my brother's actions?"

  Long supressed anger slipped its leash. It was more than time this man learned she wasn't the same teenage girl, easily intimidated. "You didn't need to, Leon. Kathleen always told me that actions speak far louder than words."

  The anger that flared in his eyes made her nervous. "Meaning?"

  "Why Leon," she mocked, her voice soft and exceedingly bitter. "Could it be because you ended up with my child? The same child Yannis used as barter to pay off his debts?"

  The accusation ricocheted in the plush, hospital room bouncing off the tastefully decorated walls as if they wanted no part of such an awful accusation.

  Leon's harshly expelled breath was loud. He stood, his hand clenching and unclenching into a tight fist. A red tide of colour ran up into his face and then receded, leaving him deathly pale.

  "If you were a man, I'd knock you senseless for that remark," he said through clenched teeth.

  He walked out the door, shutting it with a genteel thud as he left.

  Veronica inhaled a shaken breath.

  Did I just weather a storm force hurricane?

  ~***~

  "It's all good news, Ms Langdon." Professor Carey beamed as he came through the door. "You and Jordan match on all ten points."

  "Thank God." Giddy with relief, she brushed away tears.

  "There's no reason to cry." He patted her shoulder. "You should be cheering."

  "It's relief."

  "So I was told when Karvasis reacted the same way."

  "Leon was crying?" She looked at him, incredulous.

  "Hey, don't be too hard on him, Ms Langdon. He's human and has been carrying this load alone for a long while."

  His words stirred mixed emotions. Thankful she could give Jordan a good chance of going into remission, but her joy was tinged with sorrow. Would she lose even this tenuous thread of belonging?

  Professor Carey was brisk. "It'll be a week before Jordan's ready for the transplant. Use those days to rest and soak up sunshine. It will give Jordan a boost. Okay?"

  She nodded, fighting trepidation. "What happens now?"

  "He will have several sessions of radiation and chemotherapy. This takes a week then we'll transfuse him with your healthy marrow. After that—" he spread his hands expressively, "—we wait. It will be three weeks or more before we know if your bone marrow has grafted. In the mean time we keep him as free from the risk of infection as humanly possible."

  "These treatments," Veronica asked in a whisper. "Will it hurt?"

  "There is always some discomfort." He met her eyes steadily.

  "Leon asked me to go and see him."

  "It would take courage."

  That dry observation was impossible to answer.

  She glanced up at the professor and encountered the shrewd gaze of a man who'd seen far too much human wretchedness to be surprised by anything.

  "Life's full of risks, Ms Langdon. Jordan is in room ten-o-eight on the eighth floor. Why don't you satisfy his curiosity and put yourself out of your misery. Haven't you pined for just this chance for years?"

  His astute observation put her fears into perspective. Her mouth firmed as she nodded.

  He shifted the file in his hand, watching her from beneath bushy brows. "It would help Jordan if you visited with him. We've told him you're here, and that you're a match, but that's not as reassuring as actually seeing you for himself. It will boost his will to live. And we never underestimate the value of that element in any recovery."

  The words added a subtle pressure, increasing her agitation. How could she refuse? "Okay, I'll go and see him."

  "Thank you, Ms Langdon. You won't regret it."

  As she watched him leave, she knew he didn't understand. I will regret it, in ways he will never understand.

  With a sickening rush of apprehension, she braced for the ordeal. After she'd packed, she visited the hospital gift shop. Flowers were not permitted, so she settled on novelty balloons. Her hands clammy and breathing ragged she approached the nurse's station and asked to see him.

  "Jordan's on restricted visiting. Can I have your name please?"

  "Veronica Langdon." Nerves had her gnawing on her maltreated lower lip, "His bone marrow donor."

  The nurse gave her an arrested look, and then smiled. "Jordan will be delighted to see you. Come with me."

  Following her, Veronica took a shaky breath as she fought for control. Dear God, she couldn't face this. She wasn't ready.

  Will I ever be ready?

  "You need to wear a gown and mask." The nurse broke into her self-absorption. "Give me the balloons and I'll put them through a disinfectant bath."

  She relinquished the balloons and slipped a gown over her clothes, tying it with trembling fingers. The nurse handed her a disposable mask and paper hat. It was cowardly, but Veronica was intensely grateful for the protective gear.

  ~***~

  Leon sat at Jordan's bedside, quietly reading to him. When the child's breathing deepened and eyelids fluttered closed, he marked their place with a bookmark.

  Will my son ever get to hear the end of the adventures of the boy wizard?

  Jordan's eyelids fluttered open. "Have you finished the chapter?"

  "Not quite but you're tired." He leaned across the bed and straightened the sheet, frowning as he saw the faint sheen of sweat on the boy's forehead. "I'll leave you to rest."

  Panic flared in the child's eyes. "Don't go, Dad. I hate being here alone."

  "I won't." The words caught at the lump of grief that had taken up permanent residence in Leon's chest. His grip on his son's hand firmed as if by this action alone he could prevent Jordan slipping further away.

  He was quiet so long Leon thought he'd gone to sleep.

  "How does it feel to die, Dad? Does it hurt?"

  Fear clutched at Leon's heart and he sucked in a shuddering breath. The question almost brought him to his knees. Dear God, I pray it doesn't happen.

  "No, it doesn't hurt," he said, his voice husky as he remembered how Julia had slipped into perpetual sleep. One moment she was there, the next she was not. "When it's time, an angel comes and sits on your shoulder and carries your spirit to heaven."

  "Will I be with Mum, then?"

  "Yes, you'll be with Mum. And you know how much she loved you. She'll take care of you." Somehow, Leon found the courage to give the child what reassuranc
e he could. "But you're not going to die, Jordan. Your other mother is a donor match and she's going to give you some healthy bone marrow."

  Leon cursed Veronica's intransigence. Surely she'd come and visit Jordan and help allay his fears. Doesn't she know how much he needs the reassurance of actually seeing her?

  "Why doesn't she come to see me? Doesn't she like me?"

  Jordan looked at him through eyes so like his birth-mother, and filled with wisdom far beyond his years. Leon hated that sickness had robbed his son of his vitality, made him think about things no ten year-old-boy should ever have to consider.

  Could it be because you ended up with the child Yannis used as barter to pay off his debts?

  Veronica's bitter words ate at him, as corrosive as acid. How could she think I'd be a party to something so…so heinous?

  "Of course she likes you, she's come all the way from New Zealand to help you, hasn't she?"

  Jordan lapsed into silence and then he looked up at Leon. "If I die will my other mother come and look after you?"

  Hardly. She thinks I'm a lower life form than pond scum.

  "You're not going to die, Jordan. Veronica's bone marrow will make you well," Leon said firmly, trying to shift Jordan's thoughts from death and dying.

  There was a soft knock on the door and a nurse opened it. "You have a visitor, Jordan."

  As Veronica walked into the room, Jordan's drowsiness vanished and he struggled to sit up.

  Leon let out a low, relived breath. Thank God. She'd seen sense.

  "Easy, son," Leon said, leaning past Jordan and putting another pillow behind his back. "Hello Veronica, Jordan's so eager to meet you."

  Breathing deeply, Veronica struggled with appalled shock.

  Was this pale, listless child resting against blue pillows the same child in her photographs? His hair was dull, violet bruises of illness lay beneath eyes far too large for his gaunt face.

  Leon, protectively garbed, rose from his chair at the far side of the bed, his eyes wary.

  "Hello, Jordan." Ignoring Leon, she spoke softly to Jordan, hoping her anxiety or emotion was concealed as she came face to face with the evidence of Jordan's fragility. "Thank you for my mouse. It's so cute."

  "Dad really chose it." He looked at her, head on one side, obviously curious.

  "I already guessed that," she said with a soft laugh. "He knows I collect little silver animals."

  "Dad said you're my other mother." He struggled to sit up. "Are those for me?"

  "Yes." She handed him the balloons and even that small effort made his hand tremble.

  "They're neat." He grinned as he studied them. "How do they make them like this?"

  She watched as he danced the poodle across his counterpane and then the cat, her heart aching with grief.

  "It's all one long balloon, blown up with a small air compressor and twisted into shapes." Leon, ever watchful, put another supporting pillow behind his back.

  She glanced at Leon and then wished she hadn't when she saw his residual anger.

  Raw and vulnerable, she looked back at the child who, for a brief few hours, had been hers. Jordan looked up from the balloons and she saw the same keen expression in his eyes as the man sitting so protectively beside him.

  In that moment she faced the bleak truth. Kathleen was right. While Jordan may share her eye colour, he was more Leon's child than he'd ever been hers.

  "Dad said you weren't coming."

  "I changed my mind. I can only stay a little while. Professor Carey wants me to go to the seaside."

  "You'll come back?" There was a note of unmistakeable panic in Jordan's voice.

  "Of course, I will. I promise." She committed this moment to memory. This was hers for all time. No one could take these moments from her.

  "Are you scared?" Jordan glanced up, his eyes wary.

  "Yeah. But not scared enough to chicken out, how about you?"

  "Same. It's a bummer to have radiation and chemo but Dad says your bone-marrow will make me well." He fiddled with the balloons and then looked up at her. "If the transplant doesn't work, Dad said it doesn't hurt to die, an angel will come for me and take me to my Mum."

  Hearing Jordan speak so candidly about the possibility of dying made Veronica swallow hard, her gaze winged to Leon's. In his eyes she saw an answering agony and despair.

  And for a few brief moments, they shared the intimacy of parental care and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They would do whatever it took, make whatever sacrifices necessary, to help this child regain his health.

  Then act like Veronica. Leon's earlier words ghosted through her mind and she knew how to help this precious child.

  Jordan needed to shift his thoughts from dying to living.

  "Professor Carey is sure the transplant will be a huge success. You and I are a very good match on all ten critical points." She held up her hand, fingers splayed. "Just think Jordan, ten whole points. Soon, all this will only be a bad memory. Imagine all the fun things you will be able to do when you're well again, okay?"

  "I never thought of that."

  "Well you think about it now, you hear," she said sternly. "Think about winning this war."

  "What war?" Jordan asked, obviously intrigued.

  "Why, when all my bone marrow meets up with yours, there's gonna be an all-out war. Imagine it. Right inside your bones there's going to be a humongous battle as my marrow fights yours and wins. Wham! Pow! Bam!"

  "Okay." Jordan's grin lit up the room as he punched a fist at the air. "Wham! Pow! Bam! They'll fight inside my bones."

  "They will. And you know what, your bad cells won't stand a chance."

  "They'll be out-gunned," Leon added, giving her a grateful glance. "Veronica's bone marrow cells will chop your ones off at the knees."

  "Won't stand a chance, kiddo. Girl power wins every time. I'll go sit in the sun so my bone marrow is really strong. We'll work together and give your mean old bone marrow cells the go by, right?"

  "Right!" Jordan grinned, looking much more like a normal little boy. "You've got neat eyes."

  "So have you."

  Trust a child to hone in on the one obvious thing they shared. She fought the impulse to gather him close and protect him, keep him safe from a malign fate.

  The reaction was as powerful as it was unexpected.

  Veronica glanced at her watch, desperate to escape before the temptation overpowered her.

  "I have to go, Jordan. My taxi's waiting." She touched his hand again. His skin was warm beneath her fingers and she wanted so much more. "I'll be back on Monday, okay?"

  "Okay." Jordan twined his fingers through hers, holding tightly for a few moments. "Thanks for the balloons."

  "My pleasure, good luck for tomorrow." She unclasped her hand, sketched a wave at Leon and left.

  Outside, she tossed the gown in the linen bag and leaned against the wall, sucking in a ragged breath. It did nothing to ease the burning in her lungs.

  No one should have to endure such heartbreak twice in one lifetime.

  In the foyer, her vision hazed and the carpeted floor tilted at an alarming angle. A passing nurse caught her in a supporting grip. "You need to sit down."

  Veronica was pushed into a chair, her head shoved down into her lap.

  Dimly aware of a murmured conversation, she was surprised when Leon crouched in front of her, holding her hands.

  The ringing in her ears faded and the furniture stayed still.

  "Feeling better?" Leon's face mirrored concern.

  "I'm sorry," she mutteredd.

  "You're entitled." His grip on her hands tightened. "You've had a few very stressful days."

  "My taxi's waiting." She tugged her hands free and tried to stand up. It was a silly move, the dizziness returned. Leon gripped her shoulders and guided back down into the chair. "Stay put."

  "But my taxi..."

  "Forget it. I'm sending you to Claremont."

  Chapter Six

  Veronica's
horrified expression hit Leon where it hurt. Did she really see him as some sort of monster, out to steal her soul?

  Her panicked gaze skimmed across him a moment before those long lashes swept across those incredible sea-blue eyes, shielding them. The same coloured eyes she shared with his son.

  No, not my son, this woman's son, and the child she thinks I stole from her.

  The thought had him gripping her hands a little tighter than he intended. "You're in no fit condition to stay at a hotel. Cassie will love to spend a few days cosseting you."

  "Claremont is your home." She darted him an anxious under-her-lashes glance.

  What the hell does she think I'll do to her? God knows, there's room enough, and more, for us to live at Claremont and never set eyes on each other unless we actually want to.

  "Don't let that worry you. I'll be here, at my son's side."

  The way she flinched and the rush of colour that flooded her pale face made him regret his stinging words.

  "I've made reservations."

  He was forced to lean closer to hear her and caught a hint of the light, floral perfume and a warm womanly musk, as understated as the clothing she wore. The practical shirt a far cry from the tight stretchy number she'd worn that night in the bar. It was almost puritanical and his fingers itched to peel it away, and reveal those lush curves he couldn't get out of his mind.

  "Reservations can be cancelled," he said, impatient with his thoughts and the rapid rush of blood travelling south. "I'll deal with it. Where are you staying?"

  Succumbing to the need to touch her, he lifted a hand and held it against her face.

  "The Berkley."

  Why was she fighting him? Was she afraid to revisit Claremont?

  He caught her hands in his, frowning when he felt their betraying tremble. "Were you so very unhappy at Claremont?"

  "Unhappy? I have nightmares about that place." She shook her head and gave him a look so full of pity. "Besides, it never pays to revisit the scene of a crime."

  "Is that meant to be funny?"

  "Whatever gave you the idea the thought of visiting anywhere you live is remotely funny." This was delivered with such withering scorn, he was left scorched.