The Still of Night (46 page)

Jill reached for the lemonade Celia handed her. “Thank you.”

The front door opened and a tall, slender brunette came in. Therese. Jill recognized her, but then she’d been six at least. A young man followed, about the same height with a triangular face and arched brows over gray eyes.

Hank stood up. “Jill, this is Therese and her fiancé, Steve.”

“Don’t get up,” Therese said, coming in. “We’re just family.”

Hank gave Steve a side hug and patted his back. “Long classes?” “My mind is mush.”

Therese sat down on Jill’s other side. “It’s been a long time.” Jill nodded. A lifetime.

“Mom filled us all in, so we know about Kelsey. I’m glad you had the baby.”

And here she’d worried about being careful what she said. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

“How’s Morgan?” Again right to the point.

“Do you mean from the bone marrow harvest?”

Therese shrugged. “Everything.”

Jill settled back in the couch, gripping the glass between her palms. “Well, he handled the harvest well. It’s not an easy procedure. But I spoke with him last night and he sounded good.”
I miss you
. Why had he said that? His actions had spoken quite the opposite.

“Tell us how all this works,” Hank said.

“I’m no expert, but I think I’ve read every Web site and quite a few books since I learned Kelsey had leukemia.” She started by explaining the sort of disease that threatened Kelsey’s life, then the treatments they’d already tried. Last she described the marrow harvest and rescue.

Tara hunched forward. “Is it for sure? The transplant will cure it?”

Heart sinking, Jill shook her head. “Because Kelsey got leukemia at an older age, the prognosis is not as good. Also, the disease is tenacious. They had hoped to do a minitransplant. That means they administer lower doses of chemotherapy and sometimes avoid total body irradiation to destroy most but not all of Kelsey’s own marrow. Her cells and Morgan’s would coexist, and his cells should combat the cancer in a graft-versus-tumor effect. But the cancer was too resistant and she needed standard myeloablative therapy, which wipes out her immune system completely.”

“So could Morgan just give more bone marrow if she needs it?”

“It’s part of the protocol for the donor to agree to successive transplants if necessary. I know he’ll do whatever it takes.” Jill pressed her hands together. “But it’s a difficult and involved process. So many things can go wrong.”

“I think we should pray.” Celia’s voice was calm but warm. She reached a hand to Hank, who joined with Steve, and as one, they formed a circle with their hands. Jill’s were clasped in Tara’s and Therese’s as they bowed their heads and prayed for Kelsey’s healing, for her adoptive parents, and for Jill and Morgan, as well.

Warmth and hope seized her as she joined them in prayer. Maybe this evening would not be so difficult after all. In fact, it was boisterously pleasant. Jill talked about her work—though not the current situation, which she had yet to confront—the others about their plans and activities. There were no lulls in the conversation, and by the time she left she felt thoroughly filled up.

She got home and found a FedEx same-day envelope on her door. The return address was Morgan’s and she scooped it up eagerly. Letting herself in, she set her purse on the couch and studied the envelope. She probably could readdress it and send it on, the way it was packaged.

Jill pressed it to her breast. Was it wrong to just take a look? She turned on the lamp and gripped the tab of the envelope. The phone rang. She went to the kitchen and answered, “Hi, Shelly.”

“No, Jill, it’s Mom.”

Jill’s heart made a guilty thump, having just left the Spencers. “How are you? Is everything okay?” Her breath came too quickly, but that was ridiculous! She was thirty-one years old. She could visit anyone she wanted.

“Oh, we’re fine. I just keep missing you every time I call. Are you working the summer again? You need time to relax, keep your perspective. They ask too much of you.”

“I actually have it off.” Through no choice of her own.
Thump,
thump, thump
. She pressed her hand to her heart. What was happening, a panic attack? She’d never had one, but it felt like she’d run too hard and long.

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s such draining work. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I love working with the kids. But it is hard.” Not as hard as praying and fighting for Kelsey, or explaining that to her mother.

“Jewels in your crown, Jill.”

Kelsey was her jewel. “Mom …”

“What is it, dear? You sound different. Is it stress?”

She had to be honest. Who was she to lecture Morgan when she couldn’t be frank with her own mother? “I’ve had some stress lately.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope. I hate you living alone.”

Jill straightened. “Mom, I live across from a police officer, for heaven’s sake.”

“Speaking of which, are you still dating Dan?”

And what a wonderful segue into the meaty part of her confession. “Not really.”
Coward
.

“Well, your father and I met a young man at church whose wife died of cancer. Two years ago, I think he said. A little older, he’s fortythree. But such a nice man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“We told him about you.”

Sure you did. All except the dark parts
.

“You’re thirty-one, Jill. Work can’t be everything forever.”

At least her heart had stopped thumping through her chest. Because she wasn’t going to mention Morgan’s name? “I’m not really interested right now.”

“We could have the two of you over for dinner.”

“How subtle.”

“You don’t have to be sharp.”

Jill sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you mean well.”

“You’re my daughter and I want … what’s best for you.”

For a moment Jill thought she would say for her to be happy. “I know, Mom.”

“Think about it, will you?”

She didn’t want to lie. “I’m not in a very good place for that now.”

“Because of Dan?”

Say Morgan. Just say it
. “It’s not a good time, that’s all.”

The sigh. “Your father sends his love.”

“Mine to Dad, too. Good night, Mom.”

Jill hung up and went back to the chair, calling herself every kind of coward. She picked up the envelope and tore it open, taking out the inner padded envelope. She wasn’t cheating Kelsey; she would get it to her at the earliest opportunity. She peeled it open and pulled out the stiff watercolor. Morgan’s face—rakish, yes, but irresistible.

Breath leaked from her lungs and left an ache. Noelle was talented.

She had captured not only the form but the substance. Jill closed her eyes and saw it still. And now the price of her nosiness; she didn’t want to let it go. She had so little of him.

She opened her eyes again, crossed to the couch, and slid her purse onto her shoulder, then drove to the twenty-four-hour copy shop. The sorts of machines they had now should suffice. “I’d like the best possible copy of this,” she told the clerk, laying the painting on the counter. It took less than five minutes.

Then with the copy and original, she drove back home. She had felt so close to Morgan at his family’s house. Eating around their table had almost brought tears to her eyes, listening to the chatter that had matured but not diminished. She had told them more about her visit with Morgan, about the incident with Juan. They seemed to hang on every word. Why wouldn’t he talk to them? They were so receptive and desirous.

She took out the copy of his portrait, studied his broad but roguish smile. His family did not hide the past or cover his flaws. They didn’t pretend he was some perfect offering for a widow at church.

Dinner with the Spencers had not been peaceful, but it had given her hope, and she’d enjoyed getting to know the girls again. She had sensed a true affection from Hank and a softening on Celia’s part. Most of all, their prayer together had filled a dry well inside her, wakened again that sense of purpose. God was moving.

She refused to let her mother’s phone call get in the way.
Lord, I don’t know your purpose
. Her heart leaped to prayer in its new manner.
Whatever way you can use me, I’m here
.

Morgan shivered. If he could just get warm. The only good thing was this hadn’t happened when he was on the job. But then his focus had been too complete. Coming home was dangerous. He was not a brooder by nature, but he’d done enough of it these last weeks to brew up a major illness. He clutched the sheet and cover around him, aching up his spine into his head, his arms, his legs. He should never have let down.

He’d spent last night with dry heaves. Consuela had tried to help several times throughout the day. He hadn’t let her through the door. He couldn’t focus his thoughts; nothing held his attention. Malta Systems. His meeting with Bern, and what to do about Kelsey. His favorite night spots, his upcoming prospects.

His stomach seized. He hadn’t eaten since the airplane from New York. Maybe he’d been poisoned. He kicked off the covers as heat radiated from his skin, tried to lift his head, then let it fall. It was night again. The moon’s silver glow shone through his skylight. A knock on the door.

“Señor Morgan.”

“Let me die in peace.”

She opened the door.

He whisked the sheet over himself. “Do you mind?”

“I had a husband and two sons. What haven’t I seen?”

She hadn’t seen him. But she came right in and pressed her palm to his forehead.

He clutched the sheet. “It’s running its course. Let me be.”

She set a glass beside the bed, its fizzing crackling in his ears and a slight scent of lemon-lime. “You need the liquid.” She was probably right.

“Tomorrow, I call the doctor.” She pressed a holy card into his hand. “Tonight, I pray.”

“Whatever you say.”
Just go away and leave me alone
.

“It’s an attack of the evil one. You helped too many and drew his eye.”

He rolled to his side, dragging the sheet with him.

“I will light the candles.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You are a good man. It attracts the notice.”

“Consuela …”

She patted his shoulder. “I go now.”

He nodded.
Good
.

“You drink.”

If only he could. He nodded again. She left, and he reached for the glass, brought it to his lips, achingly thirsty. The soda was crisp and sweet. He took one gulp and let it settle. His elbow slid on the laminated visage of the holy card, rays of light shining from the heart of Jesus.

Closing his eyes, he sank into the pillows. Sweat beaded his forehead. If he was poisoned, it would soon be purged from his pores. His stomach tolerated the soda, so he took another gulp. He must be dehydrated. But the third gulp sent warning signals.

He set the glass down and clutched his stomach, curling up like a worm. He thought of the crab pecked at mercilessly, dashed against the walk, and ripped apart. Had God removed the kid gloves and decided to go at him in earnest? A hard ache balled his stomach.

What do you want?
He writhed, rolled to his feet, and staggered to the bathroom to lose the soda. One hand pressed to his face, he shuffled back and dropped to the bed. He set the Sacred Heart next to the soda, then buried his face in the pillow. If he could just sleep.

“You are a good man. It draws the notice.”
His sweat soaked the pillow. Thank God he hadn’t gotten this before the bone marrow harvest.
Thank God?
Why not? At least his daughter would heal. Had his marrow engrafted? Was it making new cells, teaching her body to live? There was a thought he could cling to.
Don’t waste Consuela’s prayers
on me, Lord. Use them for Kelsey
. He sprawled to his stomach, kicked off the sheet, and tried to sleep.

Kelsey stood up, determined to accomplish the “hall walk.” Since she had not yet managed food, she slid her IV pole alongside and made it to the doorway. The mask over her mouth crinkled when she smiled at the nurse watching her progress. It was Jackie who usually did her daily measurements of waist girth and weight, drew the blood for the bilirubin and blood-sugar checks, and monitored her blood pressure, like any of that told them something they didn’t know.

Her face was shaped like the moon, her waist like the lollipop girls. For someone who couldn’t eat she was certainly putting on weight, and by the looks on everyone’s faces it wasn’t a healthy glow her skin had developed. It burned like a sunburn and itched.

“How did the ultrasound go?” Jackie pushed the door wide to fit the IV pole through.

Kelsey shrugged. “Haven’t seen the pictures, but I’m hoping for a bouncing baby liver.”

Jackie smiled. “You know this is all in the expected range.”

“Oh, I know. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the experts.” She took a step down the hall, then realized how sharp that had sounded. That was another thing; her moods were all over the place and it was really hard not to give in to them. “Sorry, Jackie.”

“That’s okay. How far are you going to go?”

Kelsey looked down the hall. “To the bulletin board and back.”

“Good goal. But this is your first time. Be gentle with yourself.”

Meaning Jackie didn’t think she could do it.
All right, army, fight
off those lying spirits. I am making it to the bulletin board and back
. Her mouth was on fire, a side effect of the methotrexate, and even though she sponged her teeth and gums to avoid splits that might get infected, she had developed painful sores. She fought tears, but they came anyway.
Why are you doing this, Jesus? I don’t understand
.

She swiped the tears so she could see where she was going and kept plodding.
Guess I misunderstood. I thought we were praying for me to get well and Morgan to get sick
. And that was such a snippy thought, she immediately repented.
Actually, could we both just be well now?
She felt too terrible to wish illness on anyone.

She sniffed. “I’m sorry, Jesus,” she whispered. But for once there was no answer. Maybe the medications had blocked her ability to communicate spiritually. They had adjusted the drugs, but nothing was the same. “I know what you asked. But I’m sick enough for both of us.”