The Still of Night (56 page)
The nurse looked up with something like malice in her face. “I have no authority to address this. You’ll have to speak to the hospital administrator.” He was definitely scum in her eyes.
Morgan checked the name tag on her uniform. “Listen, Reba. I’m not here to cause trouble. I only want to see my daughter.”
“Well, that may not be possible, Mr. …” She glanced toward the letter to check his name.
“Spencer. Morgan Spencer. I’m the one who donated marrow for Kelsey’s transplant. They recognized my relationship when they performed the harvest.”
Her expression changed. “Oh.”
He caught Jill’s elbow. “And this is Kelsey’s birth mother.”
Jill gave the nurse a smile. “Cinda called me this morning with an update. That’s why we’re here. To help and support in any way we can.” She glanced at him.
He wished now he hadn’t played the heavy. Her winsome face was far more effective than his lawyer’s letter.
The nurse shook her head. “I’m sure that’s the case, but the doctor’s orders—”
Morgan pressed his palm to the counter. “Then ask the doctor.”
Jill laid a hand on his arm. “Morgan would really like to see his daughter. If you could at least let the Bensons know we’re here …”
Morgan frowned. He had not wanted to take that tack, to put him-self at the mercy of Roger Benson. But maybe Jill was right. What he really wanted was to do everything he could for Kelsey, donate plate-lets, new marrow, whatever. And just see her.
“You may wait, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
Jill nodded with such a look of hope that Morgan almost wished he hadn’t dragged her into it. He kept her hand in his and led her to a chair.
“I can’t sit.” She turned to him. “Morgan …”
“I’m not forcing things.”
Jill licked her lips. “In your world it might not look that way. To the rest of us, a man who walks in as though no one ever stands in his way, with letters from his lawyer and—”
“I just wanted her to know I have legal standing. I never gave it up.” He said it gently without malice, understanding now what she had sacrificed. He cupped her elbows. “They need to know I will do whatever it takes to help Kelsey, but I deserve something, even if it’s just the chance to know she’s really there.”
Jill laid her palm against his heart. “She’s here.” She pressed her own. “And here.”
He dropped his gaze, wishing that were enough, then started when the doors opened and the nurse returned with a medically clothed man. Not Kelsey’s dad then. Must be the doctor. He let go of Jill as the man approached with purpose.
“I’m Dr. McGraine, in charge of Kelsey Benson’s care. Reba’s explained your request and I’m afraid it’s out of the question. The hospital recognizes the Bensons’ parental rights and their complete authority over medical choices for their daughter.”
Morgan might have argued, but the man’s tone changed.
“We have a very sick little girl who cannot be exposed to anything that might stress or traumatize her situation.”
Morgan softened his own stance. “We don’t intend to traumatize her. We’ve been part of this whole process.”
“I understand that. But I have a fourteen-year-old patient and two very worried parents to consider. Any decision would be completely up to them.”
Morgan drew a breath, but Jill interrupted. “We understand. We only want to do what we can for Kelsey. And let Cinda and Roger know we’re here if—”
“How bad is she?” Morgan tried to keep his voice steady.
“I’m sorry. That information is for the family only. If they choose to share it—”
“Jill?” They all turned to the gray-faced man in scrubs coming through the door.
“Roger.” Jill’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. She must be reading the man’s condition as clearly as he.
Morgan swallowed. So this was Kelsey’s dad. Large, slightly hunched, gentle sounding.
Jill asked, “How is she?”
Roger couldn’t answer for a long moment. Then he turned to the doctor. “Her breathing’s worse. She’s really fighting. Isn’t there anything more we can do?”
Dr. McGraine glanced at them before answering. “This morning’s tests revealed aspergillus infection, which is causing the pneumonia. We’re treating with a fairly effective drug, amphotericin B.” He kept his face perfectly neutral.
“Is that going to help?” Morgan couldn’t stop the question, unused to the communicational nuances in doctor-patient relations. He didn’t care; he wanted to know.
Roger eyed him as though he’d just realized he was there. Morgan returned the gaze. “I’m Morgan Spencer.”
Roger nodded, his eyes flicking to Jill, then back to him. “I’ve seen your picture.”
Jill stepped between them, a small motion putting only her shoulder in front of his chest but enough to get her point across. “Roger, we came when Cinda called, hoping there was something we could do. Medically or …”
Roger spread his hands. “We all want that. I’d give anything ….” He choked up and tears filled his eyes. Surprisingly, he returned his gaze to Morgan. “You want to see her.”
Morgan’s throat tightened painfully, and he nodded.
“She doesn’t look …”
“I don’t care how she looks.”
Dr. McGraine intervened. “She’s too weak to handle a shock.”
Morgan kept eye contact with Roger. “I just want to look at her. I won’t say a word.” It would be enough for now. Later, he’d tell her all the things he wanted to say.
Roger turned to the doctor with a questioning glance.
Dr. McGraine shook his head, then released a breath. “From out-side the observation window.”
Morgan grasped that he was being admitted. Something inside him trembled as Jill slipped her hand into his and they were buzzed through the doors. He walked with more confidence than he felt, realized Jill was equally vulnerable and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
They stopped outside a glass cubicle filled with equipment, tubes, and a bed. In the bed, a person partially covered by a sheet, no way to guess at sex or age, and nothing at all like the elfish pictures he’d seen on her family’s walls. Pain like nothing he’d experienced seared through him. “Why is she so swollen?” The words escaped in a whisper. Was this what his marrow was doing to her?
The doctor answered. “Her kidneys are no longer processing fluids and toxins.”
Kidneys. Morgan gripped the edge of the window and turned on the doctor. “If hers won’t work, I have one to spare. And Jill has another.”
Dr. McGraine took a moment before saying, “She can’t withstand a surgery. We’re pouring platelets into her body, but even so she’s hem-orrhaging. We can’t stop it.”
“Then what can you do?” Morgan hadn’t meant to holler. Jill gripped his arm, and he forced himself to calm. He turned back to his daughter and noticed the woman at her bedside. That must be Cinda, the one Jill had trusted more than herself to raise their daughter.
Morgan dropped his face to his hand, resting his forehead against the glass. “Is there anything at all?”
Roger said, “Pray.” Then he went into the room and spoke to his wife. She glanced up, sent Jill a weak smile, met Morgan’s eyes briefly, then returned to her bedside vigil.
The doctor seemed to debate a moment, then left them. Neither one of them moved as he walked away. Implicit was that they could stay there outside the window. Jill slid an arm around his waist, shaking with her silent tears. Morgan held her shoulders, but walls were coming up inside.
“You can’t take responsibility for the outcome. The odds
are only ten to thirty percent that she will survive.”
The counselor knew nothing about how impossible that was. His body, which had wrongly created her, was now killing her. And there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Pray
. What a perversion that would be.
Kelsey burned. Drawing air into her sodden lungs took more effort than she had strength for. Her mouth was filled with pain from sores that wouldn’t heal. Her mind could not focus. Her kidneys did not understand she didn’t want this extra fluid.
Her palm sweated in Mom’s hand, comfort passed osmotically. She could only think medically, picturing the inside of her body more clearly than the oozing, hairless skin. Images of blood cells mutating, spasming, attacking their companions. Nerves screaming overload messages to her brain that already knew but had no answer. Bones devoid of marrow, hollow, brittle reeds, filling with alien cells that made war on her.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
.
But she did! She wanted smooth skin and hair she could braid. To see Josh again, to laugh with him. She wanted to sing in church, play softball, and run faster than anyone on her team. To hit a home run over the fence. She wanted to sit under the big tree in her yard and crochet blankets for the babies at the crisis pregnancy center. Babies like her who happened by mistake.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
.
How long since she’d walked between the rows of corn, felt the hot earth between her toes? How long since the rain fell on her out-stretched palms? Since she’d spun herself dizzy with the wind in her hair and the song of birds all around? Walls, steel bars, beeping, buzzing, blinking machines and tubes, tubes all over her, though most had been disconnected now.
He restoreth my soul
.
Her soul cried,
Jesus. My Jesus
.
Mom’s hand tightened, and there was Dad’s voice. “Hey, baby. You hanging in there?”
She squeezed, drawing a damp, worthless breath, but no words came.
“She hears you, Roger.”
“That’s my girl.”
She tried to open her eyes. Sometimes she made it.
“It’s all right, Kelsey.” Mom’s voice like chocolate pudding. “Just rest. We’re here with you. We’re praying.”
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death …
Was this the final valley? How many more breaths must she take? She fought the urge to stop, to simply stop. It wasn’t time. There was something, someone … She gathered strength and opened her eyes. Mom’s face, and Dad. Love surged. But … She looked past Dad’s shoulder to the window.
Jill. And Morgan. It had to be. Was she dreaming? No, their pain was too real.
Lord
. Her mind could not form the thoughts. But Jesus knew her heart.
She closed her eyes. The room had faded anyway. Angels closed in around her, a brilliant guard backing toward her until the light from their wings illuminated her skin. If she could raise her hand, she would touch the vibrant feathers.
What is it? What are you doing?
The angels pressed closer, swords raised outward, until no space remained between them and they became a circle of light. The darkness was engulfed in their shimmering brilliance, light pure and beautiful, bathing her as she stood inside their circle. She could no longer see the enemy, yet somehow she knew it was there, stronger and more malevolent than before. Why didn’t they fight? Why had they drawn back, crowded into her like a bright cocoon?
We’re losing the war
. The thought formulated and clung.
One massive seraph turned to look over his shoulder.
We will guard
you to the end
.
But what about the others? Mom and Dad, and Jill and Morgan?
Their battle has just begun
.
She wanted to help, to comfort. But she couldn’t penetrate the circle of light. A moment of fear.
Again the seraph addressed her over his vigilant pose.
Do not be
afraid. You will not be alone
.
And she knew that without question.
I’m not alone. I’m never alone
.
And then He was there, standing above her, and the seraphim had dropped a knee and pressed their swords to their breasts.
Talitha kum
. Kelsey heard the words in her heart. Its beating no longer blocked them.
Come where, Lord? Where do you want me?
At the answer, longing became joy. Such joy.
Little girl, arise
.
She lifted her hands toward him and they were light, so light.
Come
.
For one moment doubt stirred. Tears? Yes, but not hers. The tears of those she left behind.
I’m sorry. I have to go. You must see. I have to.
I want to
.
Then joy. Only joy.
J
ill stood at the window when the room changed, a machine sounding, Cinda’s head dropping, her shoulders shaking with tears, Roger closing in. Kelsey’s glance had been so brief, but she knew it was goodbye. She should be glad the suffering was over, but a grief too wrenching for tears tore her insides.
People passed into the room and the curtains were drawn, leaving her reflection and Morgan’s on the glass. She sagged against him.
Oh,
God
. His head still rested against the pane, and she knew it was more bitter still, since he had nothing but one brief conversation and that single glance.
He turned to her, eyes like broken glass. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. He could not take this on himself.
“Let’s get out of here.” He caught her hand and walked her out of the secured hall and through the passages of the hospital to the valet parking, where he turned over his ticket without a word. Jill might have stayed and offered a word to Cinda and Roger, but it was probably best that they simply go.
Tears streamed unbidden from her eyes as Morgan drove them back to the airport. When would she realize that it was over? Her mind knew, but the rest of her was numb. Like a soldier on the battlefield who has no idea his limb is missing, she couldn’t even question why.
The sun was setting when they reached the airport, and Morgan buffaloed an employee into finding a pilot to fly them back on whatever charter plane they had. It was dark when they landed and took a taxi into Beauview. A light turned on in Mr. Deerborne’s window as Morgan paid the driver and walked her inside. Jill was so far from caring what her neighbor or anyone else thought about Morgan going in with her at one-thirty in the morning.
They sat together on the couch and after a while they dozed. It seemed disrespectful to give in to sleep, yet her system was functioning on such a subnormal level it was inevitable. She woke with her head pressed into Morgan’s neck, his arm heavy across her shoulders. As soon as she stirred, he opened his eyes. They pulled apart, and she looked into his face without words. He reached up and cupped her cheek, then let his hand drop.