The Still of Night (8 page)
Kelsey turned back to Jill. “Why did you choose me?”
Jill’s heart jumped. Was there more in the question than Kelsey let
on?
Cinda touched Kelsey’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “You know that’s not how the program works, Kelsey. It’s all matching antigens.”
Kelsey’s gaze remained direct. Was she one step ahead of them? Did she guess, did she know? “If I were healthy, I’d donate, too.” Kelsey settled into the pillows. “It helps people live.”
“You do enough by giving people hope.” Cinda looked up. “Kelsey has a Web page—she calls it her Hope Page. She answers the questions and fears of other kids with leukemia, and sometimes their parents. Mostly she shares Christ’s love.” Cinda rested her fingers on Kelsey’s head. Jill absorbed every one of those touches, imagining them for her-self.
“Mom?” Kelsey’s eyes suddenly took on Morgan’s intensity.
“Yes?” Cinda met her daughter’s gaze.
“God could do this, couldn’t He?”
Jill felt a jolt, sensing Kelsey’s fear.
Cinda fought her tears. “Of course He can.”
“Like a miracle.”
Cinda smiled. “Yes.”
Jill’s throat went dry and cleaved together.
Please God
. If anyone deserved a miracle, it was the child before her.
Her daughter’s eyes pierced her. “Thank you for coming to see me. And for the rest of it especially.”
Jill nodded, her voice trapped in her throat. And that was all she would have, fresh images to play through her mind of her daughter. Not as she had ever imagined her, but real true images. Somehow she walked out.
Downstairs, Cinda handed her a sheet of information and a business card. “This explains what you need to do to begin the process. If the testing indicates we can go forward, Kelsey will enter the Yale New Haven Cancer Treatment Center.”
“Okay.” But nothing was really sinking in.
The drive home gave her time to think and to pray desperate prayers that left her empty and afraid.
Why like this? Why couldn’t I find
her whole and healthy?
All her fairy-tale imaginings of Kelsey in the perfect life, with every happiness, shattered and spilled about her. “It’s not fair! I’ve already paid!”
Angry tears dammed up inside. Why now? She’d gone on, just as Cinda said, though it was a battle sometimes. She had the kids at school, and her work meant so much to her. To help the ones who struggled for too many reasons.
Now Kelsey. It hit her again like a blow. She had already lost her child once. How could she do it again? Even with the brave smile and intense eyes, it was obvious that Kelsey was terribly sick. Jill was caught in a vortex, spiraling down. She had to focus on what she could do. Otherwise she felt too helpless for words.
After Jill had left, Kelsey sat at the desk near her window. It seemed like a small miracle to have that much energy. This last round of chemotherapy had been worse than the others, since her second remission had proved harder to achieve, and it was taking larger doses to maintain. But she’d napped a couple hours and felt better.
She opened the laptop computer her parents had given her last Christmas and brought it to life. Yes, she was a whiz. Not that she could take much credit for that. Because of all the hours she’d spent in a hospital bed, and since she didn’t watch TV, the computer was a godsend, one her parents could scarcely afford these days with the mounting medical bills, but the computer had provided a chance to reach out.
It had been her roommate’s idea, actually, to start a Web page. Sort of the Ann Landers for leukemia kids. A man from the church had helped her create it, but she had taken over from there. With an animated DIF and a MIDI, she’d added graphics and music, just to make it fun. But really, as Mom had said, it gave her the chance to share Christ’s love.
She opened up the mail section. Four letters today. She clicked to open the first from a girl newly diagnosed. That was the hardest time, before your sickness became the reality of your life. She raised her fingers to the keyboard.
Dear Amy,
I know it’s scary. I was scared, too, and confused. How could
this be happening to me? Maybe they’re wrong. It’s all a bad dream.
Then when chemo started, I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was real,
though I still didn’t understand why. The only thing I knew was that
Jesus was in control. He is the best, best friend.When other kids were afraid to come see me, or even grownups
didn’t know what to say, I felt like a freak. But Jesus was always
there. I trust Him with my life. You can, too. Write me back if you
want to know more.Jesus loves you and so do I. Kelsey
She moved on to the next. Some days she was so tired it was hard to think what to say. Then she trusted the Holy Spirit to give her the words. Days like today, her words came easily, maybe because seeing Jill gave her fresh hope herself.
Dear Samantha,
Yes, there are days I feel sorry for myself. I say, why me? But the answer is, why not? Would I wish it on someone else instead? What if they didn’t have faith or courage? Jesus gives me what I need even when I forget to ask. And sometimes I do. Sometimes I even get angry and think it’s not fair. But God’s Word says, “In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” So I know He uses even leukemia for some good thing I can’t see. Trust Him and He’ll give you peace.
Jesus loves you and so do I. Kelsey
When she finished the mail, she surfed the Web awhile, then stopped and stared out the window. Kelsey bit her lip. The thought of an allogeneic bone marrow transplant scared her. There were so manymore complications. But autologous transplants, taking her own marrow, treating it to kill the cancer and putting it back in, didn’t work well for leukemia. No, they’d have to wipe her marrow out and hope Jill’s worked.
She felt like a geek knowing all that medical stuff, more than Mom or Dad guessed that she grasped. But as she’d told Amy, leukemia was her reality, her life. It would maybe be her death. She’d gone three years in remission and dared to feel cured, even though five was the magic number. When the markers showed a recurrence, she almost didn’t believe it. But then, she’d been feeling punky again—and ignoring it as though it would go away. She knew better. Leukemia didn’t go away, no matter how much you wanted it to.
It was a battle between good and evil. Though the drugs made her sick and ugly, she pictured them as bright angels with fierce faces and long swords hacking down the demon cells that tried to kill her. She’d gotten the idea from the psychotherapist who counseled kids on the ward. Dr. Blair called it imaging and suggested they picture what was going on in their bodies in a positive way.
What was going on in her body seemed no less than the war in the heavens. So angels it was. In between fevers and nausea, the angels didn’t look quite so fierce. Sometimes they raised their swords to her and smiled. Then she felt seriously certain they would win.
But when her mind wandered with spiking fevers and her body swelled and her hair fell out, it was hard not to see the slimy black horde beating back her army. It only helped to know that whatever happened inside her, ultimately she had the victory.
A lingering scent of scorched macaroni and cheese clung to the main room as Morgan showed Todd his assignment on the game card: act out the cameo for his team to guess. And the word was
nun
. This ought to be good.
Morgan had purchased the game Cranium at Starbucks to liven up the evenings and dispel the interpersonal stiffness infused into the ranch by Todd’s family. Stan was uptight and insecure, the mother, Melanie, an exercise in frustration, and the daughter, Sarah, a teacher’s pet sort of girl, whom Todd had pegged pretty accurately. Todd fit with them like a scorpion in a bunny cage.
But it was just the sort of challenge Morgan thrived on in the corporate world, bringing people with disparate strengths and expectations into a common vision and equipping them to move forward. This was simply a small-case scenario. So far he’d explained the rules and they were having a practice round in each category before playing guys against girls for blood.
“No way,” Todd said, looking from the card to him.
“Come on. You know what it is.”
Todd shoved the card at him. “I’m not gonna be that.”
Morgan pulled him close and whispered, “You want to wax those girls or don’t you?”
“I can’t act like a—”
Morgan pressed a hand to his mouth, turned so both their faces were away from the group. “Now what do nuns do?”
Todd shrugged. “Nothing fun.”
Morgan grinned, responding too easily to Todd’s recalcitrance. “So make your face sour. Now what?”
“Pray,” Todd whispered.
“That’s right. Put your hands together.”
“This is stupid.”
Morgan pressed Todd’s hands into a flattened peak. “Now get on your knees and if they don’t get it, show them you’re wearing a veil.”
“I’m what?”
Morgan pushed him out to the center of the circle. Todd dropped grumpily to his knees, then closed his eyes and looked heavenward with a better imitation than Morgan had expected.
“He’s praying,” twelve-year-old Sarah guessed.
“It’s a person,” Morgan reminded her.
Todd stroked the sides of his head to his shoulders, then prayed again.
“A nun!” Melanie called out, and Todd pushed up from his knees and sagged into his chair. But there was a prideful flicker behind his glare.
“Good job, Todd. Last category is ‘creative cat.’” Morgan took the tub of clay from the box. He passed the clay to Stan, who looked utterly defeated when he realized he had to model DNA. Noelle could do it. She’d ice them all in the artistic category, even the sensosketch category, where the artist’s eyes had to stay closed. The time in the hourglass passed before Stan had done more than wad the clay back and forth in his hands with a pained look that rivaled the roll of Todd’s eyes.
“That’s okay, Stan.” Morgan stuffed the clay back into the tub. “We’ll count on you for the datahead category.” He caught Noelle’s smile across the room and returned it. Rick might think chores would settle Todd with a sense of responsibility, but unless this family got to know one another, those gangs would look better than ever by the end of the summer.
As the evening progressed he felt like a camp director. Boys and girls, can’t we all get along? Was he the only one who understood communication? It was a small victory that by the end of the game, he’d at least gotten them to laugh. Noelle especially, but then, she already appreciated his sense of humor. By the time Todd’s family headed back to their cabin, she turned shining eyes on him and murmured, “That was nothing short of amazing.”
“What?”
“The way you drew them out, got them working together.”
“Once I ascertained Stan did have a pulse, and Sarah and her mother could smile, and Todd wouldn’t murder anyone …” He spread his hands. “It was clear sailing.”
Rick adjusted his seat on the couch, stretched his legs. “Not everyone has your stamina, Morgan.”
“Stamina? We are talking basic interfacing.”
“Well, not everyone has your gift of gab.”
“But Morgan’s right.” Noelle laid her hand on Rick’s arm. “When Stan had us all rolling with his mermaid impersonation, I think everyone felt a surprising camaraderie. That family needs to laugh.”
Morgan sent her a half smile. “I definitely think your asylum charade topped the event.”
“So I do insane well.” She polished her nails on her chest with a smile. Was it only months ago she’d hidden herself away, too broken to face life and love and laughter? “But
you
are the consummate ham.”
“Well.” He stood up. “It’s good for people to push past their inhibitions.” He jutted his jaw at Rick. “You might even find a latent thespian in that man you married, Noelle.”
Rick shook his head. “It’s not inhibition. Just not my style.”
Morgan smiled. “Give me a while.”
“Morgan, you’ve had thirty years of working on me, pushing me into things I wanted no part of. I think I am what I am.”
Noelle reached up and kissed his cheek. “Just the way I like you.”
Morgan ran a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s getting thick in here. Guess I’ll check my mail.”
“I thought you didn’t work on these hiatuses.” Rick wrapped his arm around Noelle’s shoulders.
“I have a few things hanging. Denise’ll have my hide if I go completely incommunicado.” Though he regularly drove his zealous professional assistant crazy that way. “Good night, lovebirds.” He headed up the stairs.
J
ill wondered for the umpteenth time why she had come. The week had passed too quickly with all the end-of-the-year reports and evaluations, the meetings with the parents whose children she would continue to tutor. And then there’d been the blood test and the stress of waiting for those results and the thoughts and memories churned by the whole situation.
She should have skipped this event even after paying the fee. She’d done her duty for the fund, more than she could afford, and it was ludicrous seeing these people, hearing who was driving a Porsche, who practiced law, who was in jail. None of that mattered to her. She shouldn’t have come. It would drain her reserves.
She saw him walk in, as though some inner radar had been tuned for that moment all evening. She hadn’t been watching for him, but his entrance had drawn her gaze immediately. How could it not?
He looked better at thirty-three than he had at eighteen. What man didn’t? But Morgan more so. He’d grown into himself, filled in the spare places, yet stayed fit and handsome … heart-seizing handsome. He carried himself with confidence and ease as he joked with the attendants at the reception table. That was Morgan, quick with the jokes and smooth with the lines. He pinned his name tag on, probably the only person there whose yearbook picture wasn’t adolescently stupid. He always had been photogenic, easy before the camera, something he had done better than she.
