You Say Goodbye
Page 18
When the two men returned to the kitchen, Sean asked them if they wanted any milk or sugar.
“A little of both,” Martin answered.
“Sugar only,” Elliot replied, holding up a hand. “This poor lactose-intolerant body of mine rebels against any invasion of milk.”
Sitting on the couch next to Sean, Martin opened the pamphlet to page twenty-six, showing photos of the parts he recommended and explaining their benefits. Elliot sat in an adjacent chair, and as he peered across the table to peruse the photos, Hendrix trotted in and sat at Martin’s feet.
“As I mentioned outside,” Martin said, leaning down to scratch the dog’s head, “I’m not telling you to go out and buy new appliances, but your refrigerator and dryer are on the old side and not energy efficient. So what’s best for now is to expand your capacity for more power allowance.”
“Sounds good, if I can afford it.”
Giving Hendrix a final rub, Martin returned to an upward position, reached for his cup, and downed quick sip before continuing. “The good news is by the time we’re done, you’ll have an upgraded system that shouldn’t cause you any more problems.”
“Is there a bad news with the good news?” Sean asked.
Martin winced before offering a sheepish smile. “The bad news?” he echoed. “To adapt our products to the way your house is configured, I’ll have to order a device from back east. Sometimes they’re quick about it, other times you feel like you’re waiting forever and it’s frustrating as hell. But I won’t know what you’ll need yet until I finish here, and it will take too much time to finish checking everything today.” Raising the cup to his lips, he smiled and stared at Elliot. “After all, Sunday’s a day of rest, right?”
Elliot fingered the rim of his cup, smiling and holding Martin’s gaze for an extended period of time. “And the day for serving that poached salmon dish I prepared,” he added.
“Should I leave you the brochure?” Martin asked.
“Sure, why not? I’ll look through it and see what today’s modern world of electricity has to offer.”
“Believe me,” Elliot said, “if you’re like me when I peruse those pages, you’ll feel like a caveman entering a whole new world.”
Sean noticed Martin looking at Elliot with a quizzical expression before nodding in apparent acknowledgment about something.
“One more thing before we go, Sean,” Elliot said. “Your answer earlier today about Jenny and Stan seemed a bit vague, considering all that happened last night. I was worried sick, and I feel I’m owed more of an explanation. First I get brought out to the parking lot on false pretenses, then I get told that Jenny’s life could be in danger and the police need her address because they need to talk to Stan. Not quite the end of the successful evening I anticipated.”
“It wasn’t easy for Elliot after that whole incident,” Martin explained. Reaching out, he grabbed Elliot’s shoulder and leaned forward to kiss his forehead before turning back toward Sean.
“Sorry, guys, but I’ve got nothing to add to what I said earlier. Jenny’s fine and it turned out to be a complete misunderstanding with Stan.”
Sean observed their skeptical expressions, suppressing a brief urge to reveal the truth; that he feared for Jenny’s safety last night because of his belief that Stan might be The Beatles’ Song Murderer. His mind raced while his demeanor struggled to remain calm, knowing that two other men from Elliot’s invitation list appeared as suspects on a much different kind of list.
Chapter 26
The bell clanging realization dawned on him as he lay in bed staring into the darkness, the impact of the latest news about Kayleigh still fresh in his thoughts.
“Kayleigh’s doctor wants to do another test,” Stephanie told him, her voice sounding monotone and measured. “‘Abnormality’ is the word he used when he looked at her latest blood work.” A noticeable exhale burrowed its way between her full answer. “Her neutrophils are still lower than we hoped for at this point in her recovery.”
“I’m...I’m sorry, Stephanie, but I don’t know what those are.”
“Oh,” she said, uttering a short, unhappy laugh, “I’m sorry, Sean. I guess at this point I’ve learned enough medical terms to make me a real doctor.” Another pause. “Kayleigh has acute lymphocytic leukemia, which means it’s a cancer of the bone marrow. The neutrophils are the good guys, the healthy white blood cells. Without those, her defense system won’t hold up, and she’ll be prone to infections.”
Sean stared at the floor as he held the phone, his thoughts squeezed into a cold hard box of numbing sadness. “And this test will show if the good guys are winning?”
“Exactly,” she replied. “Doctor Chan told us that it isn’t necessarily a warning sign, but the sooner we see the bone marrow recover, the better her chance for success.”
It was Stephanie’s remark about another subject, however, that brought the clarity he required to make him understand how to help.
“We need to come up with another five thousand dollars to meet the deductible,” she explained, her voice breaking. “Sorry, Sean, it’s not right of me to share our difficulties with you. All you did was call to change the time of Kayleigh’s next lesson, but it’s hard to hold it in sometimes, you know? Jason’s business got hit with another big insurance increase and now this.”
***
Receiving confirmation that David could take his call, Sean sat on the edge of the couch and watched Hendrix gnaw on a chew toy.
His brother’s usual tone, part sarcasm, part abruptness, greeted him when he answered.
“It’s another lovely day in paradise, Sean. What’s up?”
Sean gripped the phone and prepared to speak the words he’d practiced before calling, but a sudden trepidation overtook him, exposing a naiveté he’d not realized until now. “I hope it’s not too late,” he said, “but if they still want it, Wally’s Window Wipes can use my song.”
Several seconds of silence followed.
“You’re serious?”
“I didn’t call for your bedazzling charm, David.”
“Statute of limitations hasn’t terminated, Sean,” David replied, his tone taking on a sudden lighthearted tenor. “You’re still good to go, bro. And congratulations for coming to your senses.”
Sean took a sigh of relief, but one other issue still remained. “I have one stipulation, however. And this is a make or break request.”
“Jesus,” David muttered, “you sound like a fucking lawyer.” An exaggerated breath followed before he asked, “What is it?”
“I want a five-thousand-dollar advance, and I need it as fast as possible.”
“An advance? Shouldn’t you be asking ASCAP for that?”
“If there wasn’t an urgency to it, I suppose so,” he said. “But that high-flying law firm of yours can arrange it easier and quicker than I could. Just add an addendum on the paperwork that the first five thousand received goes back to you guys.”
“Forgive me if I go Led Zeppelin on you, Sean, but you’ve got me dazed and confused right now. You’ve gone from being vehemently opposed to using your song to doing a complete one-eighty on the idea. And to top it off, you’re insisting on an advance ‘as fast as possible.’”
“That’s right,” he replied. “Five thousand dollars as soon as you can.”
“I know, I heard you the first time.” Neither one spoke for several moments. “Are you in trouble of some kind?” David asked. “Is everything all right?”
Sean closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers back and forth across his forehead. “This isn’t about me, okay?” The sudden echo of Kayleigh’s nauseous cries pierced his consciousness. “Give me a few minutes to explain.”
Sean detailed his relationship with Kayleigh, the Michaels family, and the purpose for the money. He ended with the details about donating anonymously, and why the advance needed to be expedited without delay.
“I’m proud of you, bro,” David replied, “and highly impressed. You’
re doing something wonderful for that little girl and, at the same time, overcoming your past feelings about ‘Looking Glass,’ for the commercial. You’ll also make enough money to help yourself down the line, no doubt about it.”
Sean grimaced at David’s pie-in-the-sky remark. “I appreciate what you said about Kayleigh,” he said, “but let me clarify something. My feelings haven’t changed one damn bit. ‘Looking Glass,’ will soon go from a respected, classy lady aging gracefully, to an old, toothless street whore. Every time that fucking jingle plays it will be another dagger in my heart.”
“Jesus,” David grumbled, “and I thought lawyers were overly dramatic.”
“Give me a fucking break, David.”
“A fucking break?” David shot back. “Just remember something, okay? Beyond that selfless cause your advance money will go toward, every time that fucking jingle plays, it means dollars you can use to record new material. Isn’t that what you always wanted? To write another great song and leave the shadow of ‘Looking Glass’ behind?”
The change of subject left him tense and frustrated. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Sean said. He reached out toward Hendrix and pulled him close, stroking the soft fur of his right ear as he stared out the window toward the front yard where he first met Kayleigh. “Let’s just say I’m hoping to turn lemons into lemonade.”
***
A guard directed Sean to the end of the hallway of the Administration and Admissions building where he sat and waited in a foyer decorated with leafy plants and a stack of timeworn magazines. Unsure where to go when he first arrived at the hospital, he wound up walking through the children’s wing of the cancer ward, thinking that’s where he could talk to someone about Kayleigh. He passed rows of photos interspersing Disney characters and super heroes alongside those of smiling children, many of them bald or nearly so, just like her. Putting a happy face to young cancer victims seemed disingenuous to say the least, but he somehow felt better knowing these kids received support and possessed hope. Kayleigh had the support. Now Sean wanted to offer the hope.
Another couple, similar in age to Stephanie and Jason, looked up for a moment as he entered the waiting room. So did a bald man who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with a thick black beard and a head that seemed to be screwed on to his shoulders, bypassing any need for a neck. Sean signed his name on the sheet of paper at the front desk, handed it to the woman sitting behind the open sliding glass enclosure, and picked through the magazines scattered in a wicker basket before settling for an old National Geographic.
Glancing at the couple, he observed the difference in body language and wondered if it symbolized anything. The man leaned forward as he read an article from Time, his elbows-on-knees position contrasting with the woman on his right, his wife, he presumed, who blank-stared at the floor as her left leg pivoted back and forth over the right one in a rapid, nervous motion. He wondered what their story was, and that of the bald guy. Cancer didn’t differentiate between rich or poor, young or old. Entire families got sucked into the whirlpool of despair and fear.
After flipping through a few pages, Sean put the magazine on the empty chair next to him, leaned forward, and dropped his head in his hands, reflecting on the scare he experienced when a black mark appeared on his X-rays. How would he have handled a cancer diagnosis? How much would his insurance have covered? How much would his deductible and other out-of-pocket expenses total? Unlike the Michaels, who apparently had no rich parent to help them, he could have, most likely would have, gone to his father for help if he faced the possibility of death.
But how many millions of people per year faced rejected claims and destroyed their financial stability to save the life of a loved one, or even themselves? What do they do then? Stephanie told him that young people with serious diseases had limits in their coverage, resulting in cutoffs of payments while they were still young. She also explained that attempting to get another insurer when you had a preexisting condition was like walking around with a flashing neon sign announcing, BEWARE, YOU DON’T WANT ME!
About thirty minutes after he arrived, an attractive middle-aged African-American woman in white hospital attire, with cropped black hair, dark rimmed glasses, and hazel-colored eyes, opened an adjoining door near the sitting area and approached Sean.
“Mr. Hightower?” she asked, extending her hand. “I’m Donna Fitzsimmons. Please come with me.”
Sean grimaced at the arthritic jolt striking his hip as he stood to shake hands before following her inside. Approaching one of the two empty chairs situated on the visitor side of her desk, she waited for him to sit, opened her drawer, and started perusing a page from a school-sized yellow notepad before taking her seat. Leaning forward, Fitzsimmons looked at him for a few moments before speaking.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Hightower?”
Sean sat with his hands clasped on his lap, feeling at ease, but preparing to wade into the unchartered waters of hospital protocol. “There’s a little girl I know with cancer in need of a certain test at this hospital. From what her mother tells me, the doctor is advising it because he’s not sure if she’s improving or not, and this test will give him a much better idea of where she stands.” He paused a moment before continuing. “I’m here to help the family pay for the procedure, but I first want to confirm that the doctor is still recommending it.”
The woman turned toward her computer screen and placed her fingers on the keypad. “What’s the girl’s name?” she asked.
“Kayleigh Michaels.”
“You say you’ve spoken with the mother. Are you friends with the family?”
“Yes,” he answered. “They live next door.”
Fitzsimmons waited several moments in silence, continuing to stare at the screen.
“Here she is. Kayleigh Alison Michaels, age ten. Jason Michaels, father, Stephanie Michaels, mother.” She brought her face closer to the screen as her eyes scanned the information. “Doctor Joseph Chan is her primary physician, and he’s recommending bone marrow aspiration and biopsy.”
“What is that, exactly?” Sean asked.
“The doctor removes a sample of the soft tissue, the bone marrow, to determine how the blood cells are responding. A pathologist will examine the cells under a microscope to see what’s going on.”
Sean narrowed his eyes, fearing the worst. “That sounds scary,” he said. “I don’t think the doctor would recommend it if her markers were improving.”
Fitzsimmons nodded her head in small, slow motion movements. “Most of the time you could say that’s true,” she explained. “If there’s a possible indicator of an abnormality in the patient’s blood work, it’s best to find out for sure what’s going on. But if a problem is found early enough, it can often be monitored and controlled. Let’s hope this is the situation with Kayleigh.”
Sean sat in silence for several moments, feeling his heart beating from fear for his little friend’s life. “Kayleigh’s mother told me they need five thousand dollars to meet the deductible for this procedure,” he said. “I know they’re living on a tight budget, so it’s going to hurt them. But they’ll pay it, of course, no matter what.” Sean leaned forward, placing his arms on the desk. Staring into her eyes, he continued. “I want to help them, but I know they’re too proud to agree to my offer. It’s not as if I’m a family member, I’m just a friend, their neighbor. But a donation can be made anonymously, right? That’s how I’d like to do it.”
Fitzsimmons nodded. “Whatever amount you’d like to contribute can be made without a name attached, so, yes, we can accommodate your request.”
“Good,” he said, his head nodding in relief. “Can I pay it now?”
“There’s a form you’ll need to complete,” she told him, “but other than that, your donation can be made whenever you’d like.”
“How soon will Kayleigh’s parents be told about the donation?” he asked. “We need that test done fast, so the sooner the better.”
Sean clapped his hands twice. “Great!”
Fitzsimmons leaned back in her chair. Removing her glasses, she stared at Sean as a small smile appeared on her face. “Mr. Hightower,” she said, her voice taking on a less formal tone, “I’ve worked here for over twenty years, and one thing I’ve gained is a true appreciation for how much goodness so many people have in their hearts when it comes to helping others. Any donation is a blessing, of course, but it’s the ones who want to remain anonymous that give me the biggest reason to pause and reflect on what that person is doing. You’re paying a great deal of money, yet obviously not for any recognition or future favor. It’s such a wonderful act of selflessness, and because nobody in her family will ever have the chance to express their gratitude, please allow me to express mine.”
Sean smiled before forcing a cough into his hand to clear the catch in his throat. “Thank you, Donna,” he replied, his voice rendered weak. He paused, reflecting on that fateful day they met. “Without going into specifics, let’s just say that little girl is living proof about good things coming in small packages. And I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure she keeps living.”