The phone rang and rang, and he admitted being glad, since he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to bring someone to his kids’ games. In the two years since the divorce, his children had never seen him with another woman. There had been a few, very few…two, to be exact…and neither woman had stood a chance of having a real relationship with him under the circumstances. His ex, on the other hand, had already moved in with her neurosurgeon boyfriend, and Jared sensed it mixed up the kids, who were still dealing with the split-up of their parents. Why should he add to it?
Okay, bad idea. He didn’t need to confuse Chloe by bringing Kasey along, especially if they were only having a fling, and the chances were Chloe might never see her again.
When would it ever be a good time to bring someone else into his kids’ lives? He wasn’t sure, but Kasey had crept into his mind more and more lately, and he suspected she and his kids would get along just fine. And speaking of getting along just fine, last night he would have given anything to wrap his arms around her and snuggle down for sleep…after a long, thorough lovemaking session.
The admission startled him. Was he thinking of trading in unattached sex for an actual relationship? He rubbed his temple, cellphone against the other ear. Man, he must be going soft at thirty-nine. Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Kasey was just a woman he enjoyed being around, one who could shake him out of his overly serious moods, one who turned him on like wildfire in weeds. All good, but what would that add up to over the long haul?
The phone continued to ring. Not having to call was supposed to be the beauty of a nostrings affair. So why did he want to talk to Kasey this morning? Simply to hear her voice?
He stared out the second-story window onto the parking lot, not in the least bit sure what to do about Kasey.
Once he heard the voicemail beep on her cellphone he quickly thought about hanging up, but cleared his throat instead. “Hi, it’s Jared. I’m heading out for the kids’ soccer games and I wanted to touch base. I, uh, just want to wish you a good weekend. I know it’s a little tough for you these days, but hang in there, okay?” He hung up, shaking his head. How lame was that? He ought to be embarrassed for such a pitiful pep talk. Some smooth operator he’d turned out to be.
He walked to the elevator and to his car for the two-hour drive by himself, knowing his thoughts would be with Kasey part of the way. Maybe he’d try to call her later, see what she’d been up to all weekend. Could he do that with this nostrings thing? He shook his head and decided to concentrate on his kids instead.
He’d spend the night near the kids’ school and stick around for Patrick’s game on Sunday morning then head home. He needed a good night’s sleep so he could start the mentorship with the head of Pediatric Plastic Surgery for the next two weeks. After the cleft lip and palate surgery the other day, it was a specialty he found surprisingly intriguing, and one more thing he felt compelled to share with Kasey.
Maybe he would call her later.
*
Kasey rushed into the genetics lab with Vincent by her side. “I’m Kasey McGowan. You have some results for me?”
The receptionist wrote down her name and walked to a cabinet, fingers walking through the files. Soon he found and retrieved a white envelope, returned to the counter, and made a call. While the phone rang he asked, “Do you have a neurology appointment scheduled?”
“Yes,” she said, hands noticeably trembling, her mouth drying by the second.
“Hi,” the technician said into the phone. “I have Ms. McGowan here for her test results.” He hung up the phone. “Ms. Jamal, our genetic counselor, will be with you shortly.”
How hard could it be? She either had the genetic marker or she didn’t. She didn’t need to wait for a special counselor to tell her that.
Kasey wanted to reach for and tear open the envelope with flapping, unruly hands and fingers. She wanted to slide out the report, then open the tri-folded sheets and read the results right that instant. Why did she have to wait?
With her entire body sensing the wildly ragged rhythm from her heart, and her mouth as dry as sand, she did her best to stay calm and patient on the outside.
A tall doctor, with huge brown eyes and a long face and nose, appeared and quietly offered her hand. “I’m Naali Jamal, won’t you follow me?” She took the envelope from the technician and led the way to a sequestered corner office.
“I hear you are a medical professional, Ms. McGowan?”
“Yes,” Vincent answered for her. “She’s a nurse practitioner.”
The office was smartly decorated and tastefully furnished, but Kasey couldn’t take in details. With Vincent by her side, she sat. He took her hand and squeezed.
The young woman carefully opened the envelope and withdrew the contents. She unfolded the paper and studied the results. Her brows minutely drew together, giving Kasey another rush of adrenaline.
“Hmm,” the woman said, before looking up from the report. “Let me show you the results, and explain what they mean.”
Both Kasey and Vincent sat forward on their seats to see the report more closely, but she didn’t immediately share the test sheet.
“What we look for with this test is the number of CAG repeats. That’s cytosine-adenine-guanine. If the repeats are under twenty-eight, you do not have the marker. Between twenty-nine and thirty-four CAG repeats, you won’t develop Huntington’s disease, but the next generation is still at risk. Between thirty-five and thirty-nine, some individuals will develop HD, and the next generation is also at risk. Equal to or greater than forty, and the individual will definitely get HD. There’s just no telling when, and more tests are needed to tell if the symptoms have already begun. That’s why we send you to a neurologist.”
Lord, could she drag this out any longer? Kasey’s foot tapped the air faster than hummingbird wings.
“And what is Kasey’s result?”
Ms. Jamal cleared her throat. “Thirty-nine.”
Kasey’s body went slack in the chair. She’d been tense so long that the borderline result had caught her off guard. “Thirty-nine!” she blurted. “What percentage of people will get Huntington’s disease with a result of thirty-nine?”
“Again, it is hard to make this call. More testing will help identify if there is early evidence of the disease. Continued follow-up would be necessary.”
“For the rest of my life?”
“Perhaps.”
One CAG repeat away from certain disease left her dangling over life’s genetic craps shoot. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or looking over her shoulder every day for the dark, haunting shadow of Huntington’s disease sneaking up on her.
Good heavens. Not knowing if she’d be one of the people in the thirty-five to thirty-nine results range to develop the disease turned out to be worse than knowing for sure that with time she’d succumb to the disorder. The never knowing for sure would drive her crazy, if she let it.
Kasey’s hand flew to her mouth. She tried not to whimper, but couldn’t stop the sound leaving her throat. “How is a person supposed to live like this?”
“We can make an appointment with a therapist for you.”
“A therapist?” She shook her head. “I’m supposed to sit around and talk about my feelings about how horrendous life is and why did I get stuck with this non-diagnosis? No, thanks. That’s not for me.” Angry about her results, she’d lashed out and immediately regretted it, but she wasn’t about to spend the rest of her life worrying. What was the point?
“It’s for support, Kasey,” Vincent said. “At least think about it.”
She sighed, sorry she’d chastised the genetic counselor and her best friend. “I know, you’re right, it couldn’t hurt to have all the support I can get. If you give me the card, Ms. Jamal, I’ll check my schedule and make an appointment as soon as possible.”
The woman nodded her approval as she proffered the business card.
“Can we move her neurology appointment up?” Vincent spoke up.
&nbs
p; “I’ll see what I can do,” Ms. Jamal said, glancing over the computer screen. “I’ll send the neurologist an e-mail, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
With her hands cupping her cheeks, Kasey stared at her now perfectly still feet. How could she be so unlucky? They couldn’t even tell her for sure if she’d get the disease symptoms. And she sure as hell would never have kids to pass down the curse. She’d never thought that much about having children of her own, but knowing she didn’t have an option hurt, like a knife to her chest. She shook her head, knocking over warm tears onto her cheeks from her brimming lids. She’d thought life had sucked yesterday. Today she’d entered a whole new realm of suckiness.
*
“I’d like another beer,” Kasey said to the server at the harbor-side café. “You know what?” she said to Vincent. “Let’s take one of those amphibious tours. I’ve lived near Boston my whole life and have never taken a tour of the city. What do you say?”
“Sure. I left today completely open for you.”
She squeezed his forearm, already feeling the warm fuzzy feeling from the first drink. “I love you, guy.”
“Don’t go all sappy on me or I’ll cut you off the beer.”
Kasey dug into her seafood salad, quietly vowing to grab the gusto in life since she didn’t have a choice about her health status. A stinking diagnosis with an iffy future was not going to keep her from enjoying the here and now. All things considered, she felt fine today, physically. No aches. No pains. She’d gotten out of bed that morning with everything working fine. She squinted into the sun at Vincent’s silhouette, so glad he was there with her.
Riffling through her purse for a tissue, she glanced at her phone—she’d had it turned off all morning, knowing she’d be at the lab. There was a voice message, and she listened as Jared wished her a good weekend. His awkward and businesslike message made her heart clutch the tiniest bit; just knowing he’d thought about her today, well, somehow it mattered. Not good, she reminded herself. She wasn’t supposed to care.
“Who was that?” Vincent asked.
“Jared.”
Vincent’s brows shot up. “Your hot, hunky hero?”
“Knock it off, will you?”
He grinned at her and she took another bite of salad.
“Maybe later we can do the Boston history walk, too,” she said, since she had a captive for the day. “I haven’t done that since grade school.”
Vincent shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“Thanks.”
What she really wanted to do was call Jared back and invite him over for some mind-numbing sex, some help-me-forget-about-all-the-bad-luck-in-life lovemaking, but first she needed to figure things out. Should she tell him her results and risk gaining his pity, or keep her diagnosis to herself and take a chance that he’d resent her for it? He’d said himself not to expect results for up to six weeks, so she had time to think things through. He didn’t need to know how she’d spent her Saturday morning.
Her second ice-cold beer arrived and she took a sip. “What was the name of that guy you said gives great haircuts?”
“Arturo?”
“Yeah, can you get me an appointment with him? I need some new style or something.”
“Of course I can get you in. We’re like this.” Vincent crossed his fingers.
“Fantastic.” She stabbed a plump piece of shrimp from her salad, thinking it was the best-tasting lunch she’d ever had.
One thing was clear—she wasn’t going to hole up in her house and waste one second on feeling sorry for herself. From now on,it would be all about living each day as if it were her last. That’s what a CAG score of thirty-nine had taught her.
*
Jared slowed down his car on Sunday night and rolled toward Kasey’s house. He’d had the opportunity to go with Patrick’s team for a victory lunch after the soccer game and hadn’t passed it up. After lunch had come ice-cream treats and a chance to take Chloe along. When the school didn’t seem opposed to him being there, he took advantage of more time with his kids. He knew his ex wouldn’t mind as he was allowed every other weekend plus one weeknight for visitation per their standard California divorce settlement. Truth was, since Patrice was only able to fly out once a month to visit their kids, she was fine with Jared visiting as often as possible. The problem was, he couldn’t make time often enough with his work schedule and his plastic surgery training.
Soon it had been the dinner hour, and again he’d gotten the okay from the school to take the kids out for another meal. It had been a long but enjoyable two days, and he looked forward to doing it all over again next weekend. The thought of his kids not being around after the summer gave him a dull ache in his chest.
The lights at Kasey’s house were on, but the blinds were closed. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t that late, nine o’clock. His better judgment told him he should have called before he’d left and that showing up unannounced wouldn’t be acceptable no matter how easygoing Kasey was. But, boy, did he want to. She’d awakened a beast inside him, and nothing but her sexy kisses and soft body could tame it.
He sat in his running car, staring at her house. He could make out her silhouette on the blinds. It looked like she was standing and holding something—a guitar? Maybe she was playing that video game again, and she’d like some company. Headlights came up the street behind him. Kicking his inner censor, he pressed on the gas and drove past quickly, hoping she wouldn’t happen to notice his schoolboy antics. Some “nostrings” lover he’d turned out to be. Man, he needed to get it together where Kasey was concerned.
*
On Monday morning, Kasey went to work dreading facing poor Janie DeHart. Her experience with childhood immunizations reminded her it wouldn’t be easy. Kids could freak out and flail about like slippery fish when scared. These shots would be like giving a flu vaccination, they needed to go into deep muscle and the after-effect would feel like someone had punched her in the arm. Once Janie realized how painful the first shot was, her mother would have to drag her into the clinic, kicking and screaming, for the four follow-up appointments. Still, this revised and updated treatment was far, far better than the old twenty-three to thirty injections in the abdomen. The worst side-effect to watch for was the same with any immunization—anaphylaxis. Other than that, the side effects should be mild—headache, nausea, sometimes vomiting. If Janie worked herself into a fit, she might vomit anyway.
Kasey remembered hearing about rabies treatment as a kid, as though it was an urban legend, greatly embellished to scare kids out of their sneakers. In her childhood mind’s eye she’d seen evil nurses coming at her with foot-long needles and scowls on their faces. The fear factor had ranked right up there with stepping on a rusty nail and getting “lock jaw.” Oh, what her child’s mind could do with a little information and a lot of imagination back in her day.
Kasey would do her best not to be that scary nurse for Janie, and to put both the child and mother at ease. She hoped she could make the unfortunate appointment as tolerable as possible.
Angie appeared at her desk. “The DeHarts are here.”
Kasey fought back a tiny wave of nervous energy. She’d been a nurse for almost ten years—she’d take control of the situation and make sure nothing got out of hand. In theory, everything should work out fine. In theory.
Kasey stood and called for Vincent. “I’m going to need your help with this. Can you bring in the patient while I prepare the vaccines?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, and can you have some epinephrine on hand in case she has an adverse reaction?”
“Gotcha.”
“I may need you to hold her down, too.”
“I know, I know. Kids love me. I’ll make faces at her, get her laughing, then you can slip in with your shots. She won’t even know what hit her.”
A half-hour later, surprisingly, Vincent’s predictions had panned out. Janie got a little antsy while Kasey removed the old dressing to examine the smal
l puncture wounds on her shoulder, but she quickly fell under Vincent’s spell.
Now Kasey patted the whimpering child on the head and let her pick the biggest and brightest sticker, plus two lollipops. The relieved Mrs. DeHart looked on with grateful, watery eyes. Kasey nodded at her after a subtle exhalation. “We’ll get through this.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. DeHart mouthed to Kasey, then to Janie she said, “Are you ready for those chocolate-chip pancakes I promised?”
“Yes!” The little girl tugged the air with the fist of her non-shot arm, preferring to hold the other one perfectly still and stiff as if bionic. After waiting twenty minutes, while Vincent did his Sesame Street imitations, there had been no signs of adverse reaction.
The bat-bite area was slowly healing, though still red. She’d had Vincent clean the area and put on a new bandage for good measure. Now the little girl was good to go.
Kasey didn’t want to push the point, but since the regimen of shots was days one, three, seven, fourteen and twenty-eight, they’d be repeating the process again in three days. Hopefully, all would go just as well as it had today.
CHAPTER NINE
KASEY didn’t waste any time grabbing life by the tail. She got off work early Monday evening and took the T to the Chinatown station, took a brisk walk to Boston Public Garden and cut over to Newbury Street to get her hair cut and styled by Vincent’s friend Arturo. She never grew tired of the beautiful nineteenth-century brownstones along these tree-lined streets. Her favorite trees were the magnolias down towards the other end of the eclectic European-style shopping area.
She’d eaten before she’d left work, but the rows and rows of outdoor cafés filled to overflowing with customers on this warmer spring evening were inviting, nevertheless. Something on the table she’d just passed was rich with garlic and herbs and made her mouth water.
Skipping down the steps to the lower-level salon, she crossed her fingers Arturo would do well by her. At his this price, he’d better. While she waited for her appointment in the high-tech salon, mildly distracted by strange scents of chemical and hair products, so different from outdoors, she read the local newspaper, wondering if the fumes could be hazardous to her health.
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