Let Him Live (6 page)

Once they were gone, Meg tried to lounge by the pool and read a book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Her thoughts kept returning to Donovan, his medical prognosis, JWC, and the One Last Wish Foundation. Around five o’clock, she gave up, dressed, and left her parents a note: “Went for a drive to buy some frozen yogurt. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get the low-fat. Honest.”

She hoped the note’s levity would keep them from being concerned about her. She was in the pits emotionally and was attempting to take her therapist’s advice—“stay busy, stay involved.”

Meg wasn’t sure how she ended up near the hospital, but before she knew it, she was pulling her car off the exit ramp that would take her to Memorial. The neighborhood around the complex was well kept. Older houses, once the homes of Washington’s elite, dominated the area to the north, away from the expressway. To the west side of the hospital, signs announced the construction of sleek new medical office buildings. Meg saw the whole area as an odd mixture of the old and the new, with a sturdy median strip lined with cherry trees separating the past from the present.

As she neared the entrance of Memorial, Meg recognized Mrs. Jacoby and Brett waiting at the
bus stop. She pulled to a halt in front of them. “How are you?” she asked.

Brett waved. “Hi,” he said. “I remember you.”

Mrs. Jacoby’s face looked lined and drawn, and Meg’s heart went out to her. “Come on,” Meg urged, throwing open her car door. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“We live too far,” Mrs. Jacoby said.

“No problem. I’d love to take you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Meg replied, knowing instantly it was the truth. She wanted to know Donovan’s family better, and she wanted to help. She couldn’t change the past, but she could affect the future. “Hop in and tell me all about Donovan. I have a ton of questions for you.”

B
RETT BOUNDED INTO
the backseat, and Donovan’s mother wearily got into the front. “This is very nice of you. For some reason, the bus doesn’t seem to run on schedule on Sundays.”

“Hey, this car is neat!” Brett blurted, bouncing on the leather seat. “Is it yours?”

“It’s mine,” Meg said.

“Put on your seat belt,” his mother insisted.

“That’s the rule in my car,” Meg told him as he began to protest. When she heard the buckle snap into place, she asked, “So, how was Donovan today?”

“Crabby,” Brett announced.

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Mrs. Jacoby explained. “Dr. Rosenthal said his electrolytes were imbalanced and his potassium levels were elevated. It’s
happened before, and it always makes Donovan spacey and incoherent. The doctor says it’s hard on his heart too.”

“He kept talking like we were back home,” Brett chimed in. “He kept telling me to call Lauren for him and tell her he was picking her up for their date. That’s dumb.”

“I explained it was because his blood was messed up,” Mrs. Jacoby said over her shoulder. “He didn’t know what he was saying.”

“He didn’t even listen when I told him about the fort I’m making in my bedroom.”

“Please, Brett, he couldn’t help it.”

Meg thought Mrs. Jacoby sounded on the verge of tears. “I have an idea,” Meg said. “Before I take you home, how’d you like some ice cream? My treat.”

“Yeah!” Brett’s voice filled the car. “Chocolate.”

“Don’t go out of your way for us.”

“I was going to get some for myself when I saw you. There’s a minimall not too far from here.”

“It’s kind of you,” Mrs. Jacoby said. “I don’t want any, but Brett will follow you anywhere if you feed him.”

Meg laughed. When she reached a small strip center, she parked and the three of them went inside an ice-cream parlor decorated like an old-time country store. They ordered, and while they waited, Mrs. Jacoby handed Brett two quarters for a game machine tucked back in a corner. While he was preoccupied, Mrs. Jacoby leaned against
the booth and shut her eyes. “I’m exhausted. Thanks again for offering us a ride.”

“Too bad you live so far away from the hospital.”

“Believe me, I tried to get closer, but the immediate vicinity had no rental apartments. I’m afraid the homes there are out of my league.”

“Donovan told me about your home in Virginia. He misses it.”

“So do I, but once we were told he had to have a liver transplant, I knew we had to be closer to the transplant center. The call could come anytime, day or night. The closer we are, the sooner we can get here. I’m sure you understand how critical timing is for something like this.”

Meg nodded. “Maybe the call will come soon.”

“Maybe. I have mixed feelings, however.”

“You do?”

“Think about it. His life, the liver he so desperately needs, depends on someone else’s dying. I think about that. I think about some mother losing her child, and it makes my heart ache. But my son is living on borrowed time—every day is one less that he has to live. And every day brings him closer to either dying or surviving with a part of another mother’s child inside his body. These days, medical science gives us strange choices.”

“Sometimes it seems like doctors play God, doesn’t it?” Meg asked.

“Don’t get me wrong … I’m grateful for the technology, grateful for men like your father who’ve devoted their lives to bringing recovery
and longevity to the dying. Organ transplantation is a wonderful thing, but human beings are always involved, and that makes it complex, not simple at all. Life and death never is.” Mrs. Jacoby studied Meg and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so philosophical. It’s been a long day.”

“Now that you’ve moved to the city, will you stay even after Donovan’s transplant?”

“I assume so. He’ll need to be checked regularly, and of course, his dosage of immune-suppressant drugs will have to be carefully regulated. Washington’s not such a bad place to raise two sons. There’s plenty of history here. And the suburbs really are lovely, although I’m positive I couldn’t afford anything too grand. Still, there must be some nice neighborhoods I’ll be able to afford someday.” She laughed wryly and added, “Tonight, I’d trade a mansion in the boondocks for a room with a view nearer the hospital. This commute is the pits.”

Once again, Meg realized how sheltered her own life had been. She’d lived in the same house since she was a baby, and she took her life-style for granted. “If you had a car—” she started.

“I couldn’t afford the insurance. No, for now, this is simply the way things have to be. I’m resigned to it.”

The ice cream arrived, and Brett bolted over to the table and dug in. Meg enjoyed his enthusiasm, and soon the three of them were laughing over his stories about taking his laser gun to
school. Yet, subconsciously, Meg kept mulling over Mrs. Jacoby’s dilemma. How terrible it would be to have someone in the hospital and no way to get to him quickly. She wondered if Donovan would want to spend a portion of his Wish money on transportation for his mom. She decided that as soon as he was feeling better, she would ask him.

When Meg arrived for work Monday morning, she went by the nurses’ station in order to get an update on Donovan’s medical status. “His blood work hasn’t come up from the lab yet,” Mrs. Vasquez said. “But he seems more coherent this morning.”

“My brother would get the same way when his blood chemistry got out of whack. Once Donovan’s balanced, he’ll be back in his right mind,” Alana told Meg.

Meg tried to feel encouraged, but she didn’t want to see Donovan not in control of his facilities. Something cautioned her that he wouldn’t want her to see him that way either. Around lunchtime, she overcame her inhibitions and went to his room anyway. He lay on his side, staring into space.

“Hello,” she said cautiously. His eyes slowly focused on her face. He attempted to sit up, but she put her hand on his shoulder to keep him down. “I can’t stay but a minute.”

He nodded and held his arm slightly aloft. An IV line led to a pole beside his bed where clear
plastic bags hung. “As you can tell, my friend and I are reattached.” Donovan’s voice sounded hoarse.

“That’s what friends are for.”

“I hate this one,” he whispered. “He cramps my style.”

“I’m sure you won’t need him in a couple of days.” She told him about taking his mom and Brett for ice cream and then home to their apartment.

“What did you think of our castle?”

She couldn’t tell him that she found the place small and depressing. “It was interesting. Your Mom’s fixed it up pretty nice.” His gaze never left her face, and soon she felt her cheeks burning. “You should call Brett later. He thought you were being mean to him yesterday because you were so out of it. He can’t quite catch on to what’s happening.”

“Me either,” Donovan said glumly.

“Brett said you kept asking for Lauren. Do you miss her?” Meg wasn’t sure why she was asking. It wasn’t any of her business, but she wanted to know, needed to know.

“No. I miss what she represents—freedom from this place. The life I used to have before I got sick.”

“After your transplant, you’ll be able to have your old life back.”

“How can a person go back after he’s been through something like this? How can I ever feel normal again?”

She wanted to tell him she understood perfectly what he was saying. She wanted to tell him about what she had been through during the past year. Instead, she asked, “What’s normal anyhow, and who decides? Let’s make our own ‘normal.’ ”

“I need a favor,” he said after a moment.

“Name it.”

“I need you to find out if the money from the Wish Foundation is really mine to spend on whatever I want. When I got sick, I started thinking I could die and never spend the money, and that wouldn’t be right. My family needs the money.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Meg assured him, even though she hadn’t a clue as to how to go about it.

“You have to figure out a way of getting the information without telling anyone I received it.”

“I’ll take care of it.” She hoped with every fiber of her being that the money would be his completely. Donovan deserved it. JWC must think so too, or why else would Donovan have been chosen?

Meg returned to work, determined to find out what she could. She hung around the hospital after her shift ended, until she knew that her father was alone in his office. Meg hurried to corner him before some medical emergency called him away.

“Are you busy?” she asked, stepping into his office and closing the door.

“Not at the moment. Come on in.”

He was all smiles, obviously in a good mood,
and she didn’t want to ruin it. “You look happy,” she said.

“My heart transplant patient is doing so splendidly that I’m going to release her at the end of the week. I love it when things go off without a hitch.”

“That’s super.” Meg felt her heart hammering against her ribs as she struggled with a way to phrase her questions on Donovan’s behalf. “I was wondering if you could tell me something.”

“I’ll try.”

Meg took a deep breath. “Can someone who’s been accepted for your transplant program be kicked out of it?”

“K
ICKED OUT
?” M
EG
’
S
father sounded puzzled. “It’s not a social club, Meg. We don’t admit people into the program lightly. We conduct medical as well as psychological tests—interviews with psychiatrists and other doctors to determine if a person can handle undergoing a transplant. Not everyone is a candidate, but once a patient is admitted, he stays until either we find a matching donor or he dies waiting for one.”

“And so if the money part’s already handled, it won’t matter if someone waiting to get a transplant gets rich all of a sudden? What I mean is, what if someone needs a transplant and he’s accepted and the cost is already covered and then that person wins the lottery or something. Will he
have to pay for his own transplant just because he’s gotten filthy rich?”

“Once funds have been allocated for a patient, his medical procedures are covered, no matter how rich he gets. But there are many costs following the transplant that the patient will incur,” her father replied.