by Leslie Gould
“Mom!” Pepper shouted again. “Don’t let it get the horses.”
“Pepper, don’t look in his eyes. Hold up your arm. Make yourself look big.” Rebekah waved the shovel again.
Pepper held up both hands.
“Hold on. Don’t fall out of the tree!”
The cougar crouched lower. Rebekah swung the shovel around her head. Elise tried to grab Reid. A horn honked, and a man jumped out of Rebekah’s truck.
Elise turned back toward the cougar—it was gone.
Elise rubbed her hands on her jeans, got out of the car, and walked toward her house. The sunset pulled streaks of pink and orange clouds across the sky. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the sweet scent of the roses blooming on both sides of the porch. She kicked off her shoes in the foyer and padded down the hall toward the master bedroom.
“Hey, there,” Ted called out from his study. “How was it?”
“Okay.” Her voice shook.
Ted stepped into the hall. “Did you have fun?”
Elise nodded and then shook her head. “We saw the cougar.”
“The cougar?”
“In the field. It was huge. Even bigger than the other night.”
“Elise.” Ted wrapped his arms around her.
“It really is a cougar.”
Ted nodded.
“It’s not a barn cat.”
“I believe you.”
“Where have you been?” Mark poked his head out of the family room.
“Horseback riding.”
“You actually did something fun?” Mark flipped his hair out of his eyes.
“She saw the cougar again.” Ted tightened his arms around Elise.
She relaxed against him. “It was right there in the Grahams’ field.”
“Reid Graham?” Mark snickered. “I definitely don’t believe you now.”
“The cougar almost got Pepper.”
“Pepper?” Mark’s voice changed. “Is she okay?”
“Everyone’s okay, right?” Ted let go of Elise and stepped back.
“She’s fine.” Elise rubbed her lower back. “Rebekah called the game department. They’ll track the cougar with dogs.”
“And kill it?” Mark slapped the top of the doorframe.
“Probably.” Ted paused. “Or maybe they’ll stun the cougar and relocate it. You can’t have an animal that aggressive near people.”
Elise rubbed her hands on her jeans again. The heavy feel of dust and the sweaty scent of the horses hung in her nose. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“I’m thankful that you’re all right.” Ted pulled her close again. “That everyone is okay.”
She nodded. They’d all been scared, except for Pepper. She’d been worried only about the horses. Come to think of it, Rebekah hadn’t been afraid, either—not for herself anyway, only for Pepper.
Elise headed to the bedroom. So much for judging Rebekah by her italics and exclamation marks. The woman was the gutsiest person she had ever met.
“Ted here.”
Nineteen years of marriage and Elise still couldn’t ignore the middle-of-the-night intrusions. She squinted at the rows of red lights on the night table: 3:47 on a Monday morning. What a way to start the week.
“Surgery.” Ted kissed Elise’s forehead. “At the Salem Hospital. Car accident.”
Fifteen minutes later he bent down to kiss her again, and she decided to get up, lured by the smell of coffee. She poured herself a cup and padded down the hall to the study as Ted slipped out the door.
She had gone to church with Ted and the boys yesterday, hoping to see Rebekah, but none of the Grahams were there. She had seen Sandi from a distance but had quickly turned the other way. She settled into Ted’s desk chair and popped open the computer. Ted’s home page, the BBC, appeared. His e-mail was minimized at the bottom of the page. He must have checked it before he left and forgotten to close it. Elise clicked the mouse, revealing two messages with usarmy.gov.com addresses. She opened the last one.
Welcome to the Third Medical Command. Report for duty October 8. Please bring your family-readiness paperwork. We’re on standby to be deployed.
What was Ted not telling her? The e-mail had been sent at 6:30 a.m., September 12. That was today. But it was only 4:15 a.m. Where was the Third located? She Googled the unit. Fort Gillem, Georgia. What was going on?
Elise clicked on the next message.
Colonel Shelton, I’m looking for an anesthesiologist to go to Landstuhl. Interested? It would be a three-month deployment. Let me know ASAP.
Elise tried Ted’s cell phone; it went right to voice mail. Was he talking to someone else? Or had he turned it off? “Call me,” she said. She hoped he would check his messages after surgery. Her hand shook as she hung up the phone. She had waited so long for him to be done with the army. She closed Outlook, and up popped the BBC page with the headline “Two killed in Baghdad suicide bombing.”
He’d done his time. Kuwait. Kosovo. Afghanistan. She’d been the supportive army wife, or at least had tried to be. Elise headed back to the kitchen, refilled her coffee cup, and then stared at the picture of Ted and the boys on the refrigerator. She’d taken the photo at Fort Benning when Ted had returned from Afghanistan three years ago. Mark’s hair was nearly white from the sun, and he barely came to Ted’s shoulder. Michael looked like a little boy. Ted wore his camouflage uniform and beret. He hugged both boys, all three of their bodies entwined, all three of them grinning.
She hated the army.
Ted had told her all he had left was two years in the inactive reserves. He hadn’t said anything about being deployed.
She hated Ted.
Not really.
She slumped into a kitchen chair and set her mug down too hard, sloshing her coffee onto the table. She didn’t want to be alone in Forest Falls. She wanted to go on day trips with Ted, cuddle on the couch, and plan their future. Ted and the boys were all she had in life. She tried his cell phone a second time, just in case. It went straight to voice mail again. Who else could she call? Her mother and sister lived in Michigan, but they didn’t understand anything about the army or Elise’s life. Ted had a good job, and he made lots of money. What was Elise complaining about?
Ted was the one person she could count on, or so she thought.
She grabbed a napkin and sopped up the puddle of coffee and then wiped a lonely tear with the sleeve of her robe. She would find a good book to take up the day until Ted came home. A bird chirped a morning song through the window. “God,” she whispered, “I thought we’d made it. What’s going on?”
Rebekah rolled toward her side of the four-poster bed and opened one eye. Was a light on? “Mom.” A deep voice startled her. “Pepper’s sick. She’s in the bathroom.” Reid shook her shoulder. Would she ever get used to his grown-up voice? “Come on, Mom. She’s throwing up and crying.”
Rebekah swung her legs over the side of the bed, tugging her nightgown down over her thighs, and stumbled into the bathroom. Pepper sat on the floor wearing blue sweatpants and a brown T-shirt with a horse on the front.
“Honey.” Rebekah sank down next to Pepper. “What’s the matter?”
“I think I have the flu.” Pepper tucked a strand of long, fine hair behind her ear.
Rebekah stood and filled a paper cup with water. “Rinse,” she said.
“You look white as a sheet.” Reid stood in the doorway in his boxers and a T-shirt. “Worse than usual.”
Pepper spit the water into the toilet.
“Have you slept tonight?” Rebekah grabbed a ponytail fastener from the glass jelly jar and worked her fingers through Pepper’s hair.
“A little.”
“Do you hurt?” Rebekah twisted the blond strands into a single braid.
“No.”
“Maybe it’s appendicitis.” Reid crossed his arms. “We just studied that in health.”
Rebekah shook her head. “It would hurt if it was her appendix. Thanks for getting me, Reid.
” Rebekah pulled the bucket from underneath the sink and a stack of towels from the cupboard. “Come on, sweet pea,” she said to Pepper. “Let’s get back to bed.”
She would sleep beside Pepper for the hour that was left until morning. Patrick would never wake up enough to know she was gone. Surprisingly, for all his worrywart ways, he seldom lost any sleep.
How many nights had she spent in Pepper’s bedroom over the years? Pneumonia, bronchitis, viruses, the flu—Pepper had caught everything that came around, from the time she came to Rebekah and Patrick as a three-month-old foster baby until she was diagnosed with kidney disease as an eight-year-old.
But then she got better.
Rebekah tucked the covers under Pepper’s chin, put the bucket next to the wall, and crawled in beside her daughter. Adopting Pepper had been the first miracle in Rebekah’s life. She was sure that God had healed Pepper and given Rebekah a second miracle.
“Thanks, Mom,” Pepper whispered. She was silent for a minute. Had she gone to sleep? “Mom?” Pepper wiggled. Of course she hadn’t gone to sleep, not without talking first. “I wish we had gotten a picture of the cougar.”
“That’s a thought.” Rebekah wanted to laugh out loud. “Quick! There’s a cougar. Grab the camera.”
“He was beautiful. Did you see how he stared at me?”
“I think I was too preoccupied with the rest of him to notice.”
“His eyes were gorgeous.” Pepper stroked Rebekah’s face. “He looked like Mark.”
“Mark?”
“Elise’s son.”
Rebekah propped her head on her hand. “How?”
“Mark has blondish hair, like the cougar’s, and dark eyes. They look dignified but kind of wild. You know?”
Dignified but wild. Was that what attracted girls these days? Pepper had never liked a boy before. Correction. She probably had liked boys before this; she’d just never mentioned any of them.
“Is Mark nice?”
“He’s kind of a loner. His brother, Michael, is nice, though.” Pepper yawned. “I like Elise.” She yawned again and stretched her arms over her head. “Don’t you?”
Did she like Elise? Rebekah wasn’t sure. “Hush,” she said, evading the question. “Go to sleep.”
“I have a call in to the doctor.” Rebekah dished up a bowl of oatmeal for Patrick. “It’s more than the flu.”
“I have a meeting this morning.” Patrick picked up the brown sugar bowl.
“I’ll let you know when the appointment is.” Rebekah dropped the wooden spoon into the pan of cereal.
He carefully poured milk into his bowl. “Do you want me to go?”
“Do you want to?”
“I want to know exactly what the doctor says.”
“Then you’d better go.” She turned off the burner.
Reid shuffled through the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetie.” Rebekah patted his back. He ignored her.
“What about the shop?” Patrick held his spoon in midair.
“I’ll call Sandi.”
“Will you pay her?”
“In supplies.”
Reid slammed the pantry door. “You didn’t buy any more Pop-Tarts.”
“They’re not good for you.” Rebekah held out an empty bowl. “Have oatmeal or raisin bran.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat, and hurry, or you’ll miss the bus.” She set the bowl on the counter.
Reid slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Where’s Pepper?”
“She’s still sick.”
As Reid headed toward the door, Rebekah eyed the oatmeal. A Pop-Tart did sound good. “Make sure to brush your teeth.”
“If the appointment is in the afternoon, then I’ll come home after lunch.” Patrick rinsed his bowl and placed it in the dishwasher.
“Who will pick me up after practice?” Reid opened the front door.
“We’ll be back in time. Don’t worry.” Rebekah put the milk in the refrigerator. “Did you brush your teeth?”
Reid grunted and slammed the door.
“What did he say?”
Patrick grunted.
“I’ll call you.” Rebekah blew him a kiss as she headed up the steps to check on Pepper.
Rebekah leafed through the kidney-disease booklet. They’d been waiting in the tiny exam room for over an hour.
“How do you feel?” Patrick asked Pepper for the fourth time in ten minutes.
“Dad.” Pepper’s feet beat against the metal of the examination table. “Stop asking me that.” She swung her minipack off her back and pulled out a package of gum. Next she pulled out her watch. “Three o’clock. I missed art.”
Dr. Thomas pushed open the door, shook Patrick’s hand, smiled at Rebekah, and patted Pepper on the head. “How’s my favorite patient?”
“Fine.” Pepper extended the pack of gum. “Want some?”
“Thank you.” The doctor took a piece and popped it into his mouth as he sat down on the stool. “Your labs just came in. Your kidneys are not doing so hot. In fact, they’ve significantly declined since your last checkup.”
Rebekah put the booklet back in the rack. “What percentage is she at?”
“Fifteen, but we don’t go entirely by the percentage of function. We also consider her symptoms.”
Patrick ran his hand through his hair.
“We need to talk about a few things today.” The doctor leaned forward. Pepper smacked her gum. “Things like dialysis and an imminent kidney transplant.”
“How much time do we have?” Patrick asked.
“There’s no way to know. A few months, maybe a year.” The doctor paused. “But we have to be ready.”
Rebekah reached for Pepper’s hand.
“You should be tested as possible donors—the two of you.” He looked at Rebekah and then Patrick.
“We have the wrong blood type.” Rebekah squeezed Pepper’s hand. “Pepper is B, and we’re all A.” Rebekah had sorted out the blood-type piece of the puzzle when Pepper had been ill four years ago.
“That’s right.” The doctor paged through the file and then put it on the counter. “Pepper, I’d forgotten that you’re adopted. Do you have any contact with your birth family?”
Pepper shook her head.
Rebekah sighed. Did he remember that the birth mother was deceased and that there was no record of the birth father? Rebekah didn’t want to explain all of that, not now.
“A bio parent, grandparent, aunt, or uncle might be a possibility.” He looked at her. “It would be good to find them—to see who is willing. A related donor is your best bet.”
Related. Rebekah squeezed Pepper’s hand again. She would do anything for Pepper, give her entire body to her if she could. She had never felt more related to anyone in her whole life.
The doctor continued. “I want you to take a transplant class here and then a dialysis class at the Salem Hospital. We’ll hope for a transplant first. We’ll have better results if we can avoid dialysis.”
“I wanted to clarify one thing.” Patrick held up his index finger. “I remember reading that Medicare pays for transplants. Is that still correct?”
“Yes. Tell my receptionist that you need an appointment with Jamie, our transplant coordinator. She will explain everything and walk you through each step. Your insurance and Medicare will cover the transplant. Of course, you’ll have other expenses—plus the medicine Pepper will have to take for the rest of her life is very expensive. Your insurance may cover it for only a certain amount of time.”
Insurance. When was the deadline for reenrollment? Sometime in September? Rebekah bit her lip. She would look for the paperwork as soon as they got home.
“What can we do in the meantime to help Pepper feel better?” Patrick put his hands on his knees.
“We’ll give her antibiotics. She has an infection.” The doctor took out his prescription pad. “Pepper, drink ten glasses of water a day, and watch what you eat. No white flour, and
limit your sugar. No cola. No baked potatoes. Don’t go overboard on protein. Lots of fruits and vegetables and exercise.”
“Does riding horses count?”
“Yes.” Dr. Thomas stood and patted her head again. “I’m sorry we’ve come to this so soon, but there’s still a lot we can do. Try not to worry.”
Rebekah turned off the air conditioning in the pickup as Patrick exited I-5 and headed toward Forest Falls. It was past 5 p.m. Reid would be waiting. Pepper slept in the backseat of the quad cab, a stadium blanket pulled up to her chin.
“We shouldn’t have moved to Forest Falls.” Patrick slowed for a curve. “Now we’ll be going back and forth to Portland, fighting traffic, trying to juggle my job, the horses, Reid’s sports, and your shop.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“It was irresponsible of us to move.”
“She was better.” Rebekah hated the way he analyzed every decision.
“But we knew it wouldn’t last.” Patrick shook his head.
“I thought it would.” The words sounded hollow.
“And I was too influenced by you.” He took a deep breath.
“Patrick, we had no reason to believe that she would need a transplant anytime soon. We can’t live in fear.”
“You’re right. But we should have at least lived with some common sense.” Patrick accelerated.
“Shh.” Rebekah turned her head. Pepper’s mouth was slightly open.
“I don’t see how we can make it.”
“We’ll be fine. You heard the doctor. Medicare will kick in.” Rebekah paused. “Why do you think they get involved?”
“It’s a special program because transplants wouldn’t happen otherwise. Insurance companies wouldn’t cover them without help, although I think transplants are cheaper than years of dialysis.” Patrick passed a semi and then maneuvered back into the right lane.
“How much do you think surgery costs?”
Patrick tapped the steering wheel. “A hundred thousand.”
“That much?” No wonder he was worried. “Good grief.” What if their insurance or Medicare didn’t pay? What if she had missed the deadline?