The Lives Between Us (2 page)

“Find another one.”

“It’s too dangerous. Niki’s on the organ donor list, but the latest battery of tests showed she’s worse.” Lips trembling, she wiped tears with the back of one hand. “They upgraded her to class four heart failure.”

“How many classes are there?”

“Four.”

“How is that an upgrade?”
Upgraded to what? Death
?

Faith shrugged and reached in her pocket for Kleenex. “I guess it moves her higher up the organ recipient list.”

Suddenly Skye felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, squirt.” Her brother-in-law backed away to inspect her hospital gown and slippers. “Niiice outfit, but aren’t you a little cold?”

Skye smiled and gave Peter a brief hug. She shifted so her back was to the wall—just in case.

Peter bent to kiss his wife. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Faith moved into his arms, whispering, “They won’t do the extraction. She’s not strong enough for the anesthetic.”

Peter gathered his wife close and rubbed a comforting hand over her back. “Shh. We’ll think of something.”

“She’s so tiny. We’ll never get a heart in time. And the chances of finding compatible stem cells are—”

“Can’t she use ours?” Skye asked. “We’re blood relatives; we have to be a good match.”

“We’re not. We were checked months ago when we had our blood drawn.”

Skye couldn’t believe she’d forgotten—she hated needles about as much as hospitals. “That was just a blood test.”

“That’s all it takes.”

“So what now?”

Faith tore at her thumbnail. “The doctor’s going to call the International Cord Blood Society and the National Marrow Donor Program first thing tomorrow morning to look for a match.”

“International organization? Excellent.
Somebody’s
got to be a good match for Niki.”

Faith slowly nodded. “Except Peter’s Native American heritage makes it harder to find good matches.”

“Don’t borrow trouble. As soon as I get home tomorrow I’ll start making calls and research. I’ll find compatible stem cells for Nik. I promise.” As a journalist, Skye had become a master researcher. With the proliferation of the Internet, it was just a matter of time before she found those cells.

“Skye, don’t go making promises that are impossible to keep—especially to Niki,” Faith said. “She’s been disappointed too many times.”

I’ll keep it.

“Still want to go out to dinner?” Peter asked.

“Not really, but I need some time.” Faith took a deep breath. “Let’s say goodnight.”

The adults filed back into the room and stared at the sleeping girl. She was such a sweet thing. How could God allow Niki to suffer this way? She didn’t deserve it. And Faith and Peter for sure didn’t deserve it.

Faith had nearly died from eclampsia while pregnant with Niki. Her reaction had been so severe the doctor warned them that another pregnancy would jeopardize her life. The family had paid their price. It was time their luck changed.

Niki adjusted the oxygen tube under her nose and woke. Her blue eyes, so like her mother’s, filled with awareness and such resignation Skye had to look away. “What’s wrong?”

Peter moved forward and kissed his daughter’s pale forehead. “Hey, Pumpkin.”

“What’s wrong?”

The bed crinkled under Faith’s weight as she sat and pulled her daughter close in a careful hug. She blinked hard and cleared her throat. “They’re worried you’ll have a bad reaction to the anesthetic, so they’ve put off your bone marrow extraction until we can think of another way.”

Niki looked at her father’s stoic face, then turned to Skye, who valiantly tried to meet her honest gaze with one of her own, but ended up focusing on the girl’s cute upturned nose. She fought the impulse to squirm under the inspection.

Niki pulled away and fixed solemn eyes on her mother. “Am I going to die?”

Faith’s eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. Her mouth dropped open, then slowly closed as she lifted her face helplessly to Peter.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” The words burst from Skye’s mouth with such force, she tried to cover them with a nervous smile. “Don’t be so dramatic, kid.”

Niki die? She was only nine. She hadn’t even made it to double digits yet. She hadn’t had a chance to play team soccer, get braces, have her first kiss, go to prom, be a bridesmaid at Skye’s wedding—not that she was even dating anyone right now, but she
might
get married some day, and she’d want Niki to be a bridesmaid. She couldn’t die.

Niki’s face creased in worry as her gaze moved from her to Peter. “Daddy?”

“Well... I know Skye’s cooking isn’t the best, but I’m pretty sure it won’t kill you.” He put a hand on Skye’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Ya gotta give her points for trying. She didn’t make you her famous stew, did she?” He shuddered.

Niki giggled. “Nope. Chicken. Store bought.”

Peter released a deep exaggerated breath. “Well, good. Then you’re saved. Praise Jesus, it’s a miracle.”

Skye scowled and swatted his stomach. “I’m a fantabulous cook.”

“So are they sending me home? Is our sleepover cancelled?”

“Not a chance, kiddo.” Skye forced the lightness into her voice. “They can kick us out tomorrow, but tonight’s already paid for, and I’m
not
being gypped out of my movie. If your parents will ever leave, that is.”

“We can take a hint.” Peter reached for Faith and pulled her to her feet. “Brush your teeth and don’t stay up too late. You can always finish watching the movie tomorrow morning.”

“Enough already. Say goodnight and get out so we can get on with our party,” Skye ordered.

Peter and Faith kissed Niki goodnight, promising to return first thing in the morning to bring her home. Skye set the DVD player on the tray directly in front of them, then climbed onto the bed and wrapped Niki in her arms. She resisted the urge to press Niki close, as if crushing their bodies together might somehow magically recharge her damaged heart. Or maybe, if Niki were a part of her, Skye’s heart could beat for them both.

Skye sighed, forced her arms to relax, and turned her attention to the movie. Unfortunately, the predicament of a thirteen-year-old girl magically turning into her successful thirty-year-old self overnight couldn’t come close to competing with her niece’s real-life drama. Skye couldn’t do much about finding Niki a suitable heart for transplant, but she could—and would—find compatible stem cells.

She would not let Niki die.

* * *

“What the hell.” Skye jabbed the delete key on her laptop to erase the close-up of Senator Edward Hastings. She scowled at the computer and slapped the lid closed with a loud click, then poked her head outside her cubby to see who might have overheard her outburst. Low-pitched murmuring came from Doug White’s lit cubical, and the janitor pushed his cart toward the bathrooms, but other than that, everybody else had gone home. Good.

Skye dropped back in her chair and crossed her arms. Her hand drifted over to the three-inch research pile. She opened the manila folder and then pushed it aside. There had to be something she’d missed.

Skye spun away from her ugly, gray metal desk and reached for her tea. Bringing the warm cup to her lips, she savored the gingerbread aroma misting her face. She took a fortifying sip, enjoying the gentle melding of honey and ginger, anticipating the familiar wake-up call to her sedentary brain cells. After another satisfying swallow, she squared her shoulders and lifted the computer lid.

Skye started at her ringing desk phone. “Hello.”

“What’re you doing at the newsroom at nine-thirty at night?”

“What’re you doing calling me at nine-thirty at night?” Faith went to bed early.

“You have work that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Or putting in overtime researching every dang aspect of stem cell therapy until exhaustion drove worry from her mind, allowing her to get four or five of hours sleep. “Is Niki okay?”

“She’s fine. Just checking to see if you’re coming for dinner tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” Skye paused and took a deep breath. “I... There’s something I need to tell you. I’m still looking, but—” She blew hair from her face. “I’m not having any luck.”

“It’s okay, Skye—”

“No, it’s
not
okay.” Skye scowled. She’d never failed at anything important before. Failing Niki made her furious, but it was the helplessness that ate at her soul.

“What’re we going to do? The two largest organizations of stem cells in the world, the ICBS and the NMDP, don’t have a match for Niki. More than ten and a half million chances and not one match. What are the odds of that?” She’d done so much research on stem cells, she now spoke in acronyms instead of words.

“Skye—”

“I’ve contacted over fifty stem cell companies worldwide, but I’m coming up empty.”

“I know—”

“There are tons of cord blood storage companies where a person can store her child’s cord blood and placental stem cells, but hardly any of them catalogue donated stem cells,” she said with frustration.

“We knew it was a long shot. If the doctors couldn’t find any, with all their resources, it was unlikely you’d find a match. But we love you for trying.”

“The real kicker, that pisses me off more than anything is every blessed time I search stem cells, Senator Hastings’s name comes up—and he’s definitely not a fan.” She paused, then whispered, “I failed Nik.”

“You didn’t fail.”

“I did.” She rubbed her aching forehead. “I couldn’t find any matching stem cells. All I found was ridiculous politicians and righteous religious fanatics getting in the way of progress. What does it matter to him where the stem cells come from?”

“Him who?”

“Hastings. You know, our famous Michigan Senator they’re saying is the next JFK.”

“I like Hastings.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. He’s done more to block the progress of stem cell research and therapy than any other person. What the hell does he know? He’s led a charmed life. The closest he’s probably come to a medical emergency is having a plantar wart—or a hang nail.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What’re we going to do?” Her voice lowered and wobbled. “We can’t just let her die.”

It’d been years since Skye turned to her big sister for help. When Dad died, newly wed Faith and Peter took Skye in and got her through those difficult teenage years. Even when she was at her obnoxious worst, Faith had known what to do—but this was different.

“We’re not going to let her die.” Faith’s reassurance was calmly delivered, yet there was something in her voice.

Skye frowned, perking up. “What do you mean?”

“We’re taking care of it.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and Skye straightened in her seat. “What? How?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you. Just trust—”

“Geeze, Faith. You’re not doing anything illegal, are you? No scratch that, I’m in. Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“You’re already helping. Tempting Niki to eat, entertaining her, and keeping her spirits up— it’s all very important. But you’ve got to trust me. Niki just needs to hang on a few more months and everything will be fine.”

Six months later

Skye hated technology in general, computers in particular. Like animals that harassed people who feared them, she was convinced computers could smell her ignorance and capitalized on it.

She wanted to pick up the notebook computer and slam it into the floor but feared that instead of shattering into a million satisfying pieces, it would only taunt her with its structural fortitude. It still wouldn’t cough up the info instructing her on which magic commands she should use to get the printer to clean its print heads so that she could print out her copy before she missed deadline.

Skye propped her chin on her hands and scowled at the monitor, wondering what to try next. Why had she taken Drama instead of Computers 101 her freshman year?

“Skye, I need to talk to you.”

Skye looked up as her boss breezed past. She stood, glanced at her watch, and headed for the office. She had five minutes before deadline. “I’m having trouble with my printer, but was about to email—”

“Shut the door, please.”

Skye turned her back and shut the door, then took a seat on a cold, hard chair in front of the desk. She rested her hand on her crossed knees, stifling the nervous urge to bounce her leg up and down.

“So. How’s it going?” Karen asked.

“Going?”

“You’ve been here a little over seven months, I was just wondering how you’re adjusting.”

“Fiiine.”

“You’re happy working here?”

I was until you asked.
She slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“You like what you’re writing?”

“It’s fine,” she hedged. “I mean, I get that I need to pay my dues and prove myself before I’m assigned articles with a little more meat.”

“So you’d like to write more meaningful pieces?”

Gosh, what was the right answer to that? If she said yes, would she be seen as a malcontent? If she said no, she’d be stuck writing fluff articles for the rest of her life. After years of job-hopping, Skye finally found something she loved and was good at. She didn’t want to blow it. “Is there a problem?”

“That depends upon you. You’re assigned to write human interest articles, yet over the months, your pieces progressively trend toward editorials.” She paused, almost as if embarrassed, as she chose her words. “I allowed you a bit—a lot—of latitude, because, personally, I agree with you, and frankly, I’ve been distracted with a family crisis, but Stanley wants it stopped.”

Skye grimaced. “Stanley—”

“Is my boss, and therefore, your boss, too. Stop the editorials.”

“Editorials? Well, I don’t th—”

The pen between Karen’s finger and thumb wagged back and forth at the speed of hummingbird wings. “Skye, you’re butchering these simple pieces. Just stick to the story.”

“Butchering?” She frowned. “That’s a little harsh.”

“David writes the editorials. We don’t need, or want, your opinions. Am I clear?”