Of Flesh and Blood (16 page)

As much as William had downplayed the importance of the meeting to Tyler, Erin, and others, he was deeply concerned. Only direct descendants of Marshall Alfredson had voting authority with the board. Though several responsible family members—including the current chairperson, Eileen Hutchins—had built upon their inheritance, many of the offspring had frittered away the sizable fortune left to them when Marshall died in 1929. The
Californian branch of the family had been particularly wasteful. William had heard that almost all of them planned to attend the board meeting. Few, if any, had ever come to a previous meeting, and it was hard to escape the obvious conclusion—
they’re coming to cash in
.

William knew he had a strong ally in Eileen Hutchins. She was as committed to the medical center as he was. He had known her for over thirty years, since her husband had first become his patient for treatment of his failing kidneys. The disease eventually killed Richard Hutchins after years of dialysis and two rejected kidney transplants. In the fifteen years since Richard died, Eileen had never remarried. And, in William’s eyes, she had only grown more elegant without losing an iota of her attractiveness. But despite her unwavering support, William recognized that her influence only ran so deep with the more distant Alfredson cousins. Those board members felt no affiliation to Eileen or the hospital, and yet they were the ones who might end up deciding its fate.

William tried to turn his attention back to Chow’s spreadsheet, but he couldn’t stop ruminating over the possible disastrous fallout if the board voted to sell.

“Hello, William,” a familiar voice called. “Is now a bad time?”

He looked up, surprised to see his daughter-in-law standing at the doorway. “Never for you, Jill.” He rose as fluidly as he could manage through his backache.

Jill Laidlaw swept into the room, stopping a few feet from him. Her subtle French perfume reached his nose, but she did not come any closer. In earlier days, William and his daughter-in-law might have hugged their greetings, but they had long since given up the ritual. It had little to do with their lingering tension; neither was the hugging type.

William waved her into a chair, then circled behind his desk and eased back into his own seat. Despite their sometimes-adversarial relationship, he still had a soft spot for Jill. He admired her intelligence, strength, poise, and ambition. And he wasn’t too old or too ill to appreciate her captivating blue eyes, chiseled facial features, or her flair for smart sexy ensembles like the black blouse, skirt, and black pumps that she currently wore. On paper, his son had landed the perfect catch. And vice versa. But whenever William saw them together lately, he could not help but suspect that significant problems boiled under the placid front they presented to the family.

“To what do I owe this rare pleasure?” he asked.

Jill smiled. “I missed you the other night. And I wanted to say thank you.”

“For?”

“The birthday present you dropped off for Tyler. He was touched.”

Was he?
William wondered, recalling their angry argument on his way out of the house. “I hope the two of you find a special occasion to crack that bottle.”

“We will.” Jill eyed him with fleeting distrust but her smile soon resurfaced. “William, you look pale. Are you feeling okay?”

“Just a hazard of my job.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I never see the sun, and I don’t get as much time under the tanning lamps as I would like.”

“Somehow, I can’t picture that,” she said with a laugh, but the skepticism clung to her features. “You sure it’s nothing else?”

“Quite.” William leaned back in his chair, and was rewarded with another jolt of pain. “It’s a long trek from the neurosciences building to my office,” he said, attempting to steer Jill away from a discussion regarding his health.

“I assume you heard that Senator Wilder has been admitted?” she asked.

“Multiple sclerosis.”

Jill nodded. “An aggressive form.”

“Do you have new treatment options for him?”

“Nothing mainstream,” Jill said matter-of-factly. “Other neurologists have tried all the known disease-modifying agents. They’ve done little to slow his deterioration.”

“Are you planning to enroll him in your study?”

“We’ve discussed that.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “Senator Wilder is a very insightful man. He’s considering his options carefully.”

“I see.” William felt a mix of excitement and apprehension at the prospect, recognizing the potential upside and pitfalls of having such a high-profile research subject at the Alfredson.

Jill looked down at her hands. “The senator mentioned something to me that I’m sure you must already know about.”

Still weighing the implications of having a former presidential front-runner as a research guinea pig, William said distractedly, “Oh, what’s that?”

“It’s related to the upcoming Alfredson board meeting.”

William snapped back to the moment, on guard again, though he tried not to let on to his daughter-in-law. “What about it, Jill?”

“Senator Wilder implied that the Alfredson family is considering selling the hospital.”

“It’s not entirely theirs to sell.”

“Really?”

“While it’s true that Marshall Alfredson paid for the initial construction and the family still owns the land on which the hospital is built, the hospital’s finances are complex. For example, there is an Alfredson Foundation—funded by years of donations—that has covered much of the capital costs in terms of the newer buildings and equipment.”

“But couldn’t the family just sell the land out from under it?”

“Not without a drawn-out legal battle.” Though his assessment was technically true, he was not nearly as confident as he sounded. “Why did the senator raise the subject?”

“To warn me, I think.” Jill studied her fingernails, appearing to lose interest. “Actually, I think he was using
me
to warn
you
that the Alfredsons might decide to sell the hospital to some HMO or other private-interest group.”

“Very good of him,” William said with a lightness he didn’t feel. Clearly, Wilder and others had reached the same conclusion he already had. “Did he happen to mention where he heard this rumor?”

“No. I just thought I should pass it along.”

“Consider it passed. Thanks.”

Jill rose from her seat. “I’m up against a major grant reapplication. I better get moving.”

He stood painfully to his feet. “How is that going?”

Doubt flittered across her face. “You know how these things are. It gets more and more competitive every year. Still, I think we’re in okay shape.”

“I wouldn’t have headhunted you and your team for the Alfredson if I didn’t believe that your lab was in better-than-okay shape.”

“I thought hiring me was your way of getting Tyler back to the family homestead.”

“I can’t deny it’s good to have family close.” He frowned. “Speaking of Tyler, did he mention our conversation at all?”

“Only the gift. But we’ve hardly had any chance to chat since.”

William hesitated a moment. “I suggested that he consider taking a more active role in shaping the future of the Alfredson.”

“You mean medical administration?” She shook her head. “I don’t imagine that would have gone over too well.”

“No. Not well at all.” William measured his next few words before speaking. “Listen, Jill, you’re both young. You’ve got bigger hopes and aspirations. I understand that. But one day, Tyler might see the upside in having a nine-to-five job. You, too. It’s rewarding and less stressful—for the most part—than the high-level clinical or research work you both do. And in many ways, it’s more conducive to a family lifestyle.”

She pursed her lips. “Which family?”

William held up his palm. “I don’t presume to know what your long-term plans are, but one day you might consider children.”

“
Consider?
” Jill snapped. “William, you know that Tyler and I have more than just ‘considered’ children, but none of our efforts have panned out so far.”

“That must be disheartening.” He shook his head. “But it seems to me that Tyler and you are burning the candles at both ends. I don’t imagine that helps.”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s simple biology, William. And, since there’s apparently nothing wrong with your son’s sperm count, it has to be some issue with my eggs or uterus or whatever.” She looked away in embarrassment. “Please don’t insult me by trying to pin our infertility on my overambitious career.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I think you’re misinterpreting my meaning, Jill.”

“Am I? I thought you were just lecturing me on what’s best for my family. Did your career choices give you the freedom to enjoy a family-conducive lifestyle with your wife and children?”

He took a long slow breath. “I was consumed by my practice and then my administrative work for most of Erin and Tyler’s childhoods. I am not necessarily proud of my choices. Time slips away so very quickly.” He sighed. “And before you know it, sometimes it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” Her voice cracked. “Too late to have children?”

“Too late to see what really matters in life,” he said quietly.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said with quiet anger. “You’re concerned I won’t produce the precious McGrath heir to the Alfredson.”

Without waiting for a reply, she spun and raced out of the office.

Maybe she’s right, William thought as he watched her go.
Maybe I am obsessing over what will amount to nothing more than a historical footnote
.

Still, he had only one son. And the McGraths had not multiplied as prodigiously as the Alfredsons. There were only three other males from Tyler’s generation with the McGrath surname; none of them had shown any interest in medicine or the Alfredson.

William hobbled back over to his chair and sank into it. With all the brewing catastrophes, the chance of the Alfredson lasting in its current form—with or without McGrath representation—was rapidly dwindling. Besides, he wasn’t sure he had enough energy, or red blood cells, left to keep fighting for its survival.

Rather than the head-to-toe sterile garb he had to put on to visit Nate Stafford in his isolation room, Tyler wore only his civvies, black jeans and a navy polo shirt, to see Keisha Berry and her parents in her private room. In the past four months, Keisha’s immune system had fully rebounded from her bone marrow transplant; she no longer required isolation or any special precautions. Wearing a pink gown and with her hair tied in a ponytail, Keisha sat on top of her bed drawing in a sketchbook with thick colored markers, which she switched often and rapidly. Cheeks full and flushed, the eight-year-old African-American looked the picture of health.

The sight reminded Tyler how cruelly deceptive appearances could be.

Despite her bone marrow’s recovery, Keisha was facing a battle almost as lopsided as Nate’s. Her most recent screening blood tests had revealed what they all feared most: Keisha’s leukemia had recurred despite chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant. Because her remission had lasted for only a few months, her prognosis was statistically even worse.

Had Tyler not personally delivered the demoralizing news to Keisha’s parents the day before, he would have assumed that they hadn’t heard. They were smiling when he entered the room, and little he had told them so far had dented their positive outlook. He knew their profound faith helped explain their unwavering hopefulness. Keisha’s father, Jonah, was a Baptist minister. Her mother, Maya, was a high school teacher who also taught Sunday school. The family had moved to Tacoma only a year before, from Mobile, Alabama, after Jonah had been recruited to lead a large church in the Pacific Northwest.

Tyler had treated children of devoutly religious families before. Even when compared to those families, the Berrys’ acceptance of Keisha’s condition
bordered on extreme. Neither Maya nor Jonah had shown Tyler more than an occasional glimpse of the desperation that Nate’s parents never stopped exuding. Even Keisha was remarkably philosophical about her illness. “I don’t think God would take me now and leave Mommy and Daddy alone in the world,” she had told Tyler matter-of-factly the day before.

Tyler was convinced that the Berrys’ religiousness amounted to an alternate form of denial, though he realized his own atheism, which ran deep in his family, might be influencing his opinion. He had grown up without any exposure to organized religion. The random cruelty and senselessness of the childhood cancers he dealt with—especially in children like Keisha, who sometimes suffered the worst of chemotherapy without seeing any benefit—had only pushed him further away from a belief in any possible divine rhyme or reason to existence.

While Tyler respected the Berrys’ beliefs and admired their unshakable faith, their ever-present gratitude embarrassed him to the point of annoyance. Standing beside Keisha and clasping her husband’s hand in hers, Maya viewed the doctor as though he had just pulled her from a sinking ship. “I don’t know where we would be without you, Dr. McGrath,” she said in her strong Southern accent. “You’ve been a godsend.”

What good have I done?
Tyler wanted to scream.
Keisha’s cancer is back, likely for good
.

But as he stared into the woman’s kind brown eyes, he simply accepted the compliment with a shrug. “Did you have any questions about the pamphlets I gave you yesterday?”

Maya turned deferentially to her husband. No taller than his wife, Jonah was as skinny as she was full-figured. He had a long, thin face and a receding hairline that made him look older than he was. Tyler imagined that Jonah’s penetrating ocher eyes and deep resonant voice would have commanded serious attention from a pulpit. “Dr. McGrath, I have read all the pages,” he said. “However, I’m still not entirely clear on how this . . . Vintazomab”—he pronounced the name tentatively but correctly—“works.”

“It’s a monoclonal antibody that targets the tumor marker CD thirty-three.” Tyler turned to his patient with a smile and a wink. “How’s that for a mouthful of gobbledygook, Keisha?”