Let Him Live

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “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?”

  Nine

  “KICKED OUT?” MEG’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.

  “Such as?”

  “A changed life-style. The immune-suppressant drugs. They can run upward of ten thousand dollars annually.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” Meg’s elation over Donovan’s being able to keep his Wish money quickly vanished.

  “But those drugs allow a patient years more of life. How can you put a price on that?” He steepled his fingers together and eyed her quizzically. “Why all this interest in finances?”

  Meg thought quickly, then replied, “I’ve been noticing things this hospital could use.”

  “Such as?”

  “For instance, why isn’t there a hotel nearby for a patient’s family to stay at while they wait around for a transplant?”

  “I admit it would be very helpful, but land around here is at a premium. This area was all residential until Memorial was built, but slowly, over the years, people have moved to the suburbs. Ever since the transplant program’s come in, Memorial’s grown even more.”

  “It bothers me that people like Mrs. Jacoby have to live so far away. I’ll bet Donovan would like to have her closer. And it must really be hard on littler kids. I see their parents sleeping in their rooms in chairs, or even on the couches in the waiting rooms. They don’t look very comfortable.”

  “You’re right. I wish we had a special house for patients’ families. A big corporation talked about building one years ago, but then they thought the need was greater for one near the children’s cancer facility in Maryland, so they built one up there. Without their financial backing, our project never got off the ground.”

  “But Memorial still needs one—especially now, for people waiting for transplants.”

  “It would take a couple of years to get such a project going.”

  “Why?”

  “I remember when we looked into it before. All monies had to be raised from scratch. An architect was needed to draw up plans, building materials had to be bought or donated, furnishings acquired, not to mention kitchen and bathroom fixtures, recreational areas for leisure time, people to manage the facility, volunteers to help out—I’m telling you, Meg, it’s a mammoth undertaking.”

  “But it seems to me as if you need it now more than ever.” She tried not to be dismayed over the length of his list.

  “I agree, but even if we had the land and the money, the actual building of this kind of facility could take close to a year of construction work.”

  “You have to start sometime.” Meg wasn’t sure why she felt so strongly in favor of the idea. She’d never been a crusader. Maybe it was seeing how Donovan’s mother was struggling to keep her family together. Or having to comfort some of the kids on the pediatric floor when they were sobbing because they missed their mothers. Or maybe it was knowing what Cindy’s family had gone through. All the things together caused her to imagine such a house vividly. “I can’t believe this hospital can’t spare some of its land to build a home away from home for patients’ families.”

  Her father eyed her thoughtfully. “The land’s only one hurdle. What about the rest of it? Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

  “What if some group took it on as a project?”

  “That would be nice. Any ideas?”

  “A couple.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “What?” His answer drew her up short. “Me do something?”

  “You’re the one with the ideas. And I know how determined you can get once you set your mind on something.” She opened he
r mouth to argue, but he continued, saying, “Aren’t you the girl who staged a sit-down strike in the school cafeteria in the eighth grade to protest the quality of the food?”

  Of course she remembered the event, but Cindy had been her cohort, and together they had masterminded the demonstration.

  “And won?” her father added.

  “That was different. This is serious.”

  “I know it’s serious. I’m not telling you to raise the money yourself, only to find a group to spearhead such a project. I have faith in you. I think you can do it.”

  Meg wanted to argue against the idea. She wanted to tell her father that all she’d agreed to do this summer was be a volunteer. But even as she silently listed her reasons for not tackling such a project, she knew it intrigued her. And all because of someone whose initials were JWC. If this anonymous person could calmly drop one hundred thousand dollars into Donovan Jacoby’s lap, then why couldn’t Meg do something of equal or even greater value for him?

  All the way home, Meg warred with herself about such an undertaking. A part of her said, “You’re sixteen. You can’t do this.” But another part of her argued, “Why not? All you have to do is discuss it with Mom and ask how one of her Junior League projects gets going. Maybe the League could be the spearhead group that Dad mentioned. The worst that can happen is the idea won’t work.”

  That evening, she broached the idea with her mother. “We have many worthwhile projects,” her mother told Meg after she’d listened carefully.

  “Don’t you think this one is worthwhile?”

  “Yes, I do. However, I’m only one board member. There are others who’ll need convincing.”

  “Can’t you convince them?”

  Her mother put her hand on Meg’s shoulder. “I could never do it as well as you. Perhaps you can speak to them at our next board meeting.”

  Meg groaned. What had she gotten herself into?

  A week later, Meg found herself standing in front of the Junior League’s board of directors in her own living room, her heart hammering as she made her case.

  “I have a friend at Memorial who’s dying. He needs a transplant, and he needs his family near him while he waits for one. You probably can’t help him with his transplant, but you can help his family get closer than an hour’s ride away from him.”

  Meg had prepared for the presentation. She had statistics and logical arguments. She made a strong case for an immediate and concentrated fund-raising effort. Appealing to the emotions of those women in the room, she spoke of a mother’s love for her child, a family’s need to be involved with their loved one’s care, a patient’s longing to have someone he loves near him to ease emotional and physical suffering.

  When Meg wrapped up her talk, she knew by the women’s expressions that she had had an impact. She silently hoped it had been strong enough to persuade the board to take up the project of building a special guest house.

  “Thank you, Meg,” Mrs. Hotchkiss, the president, said. “We’ll discuss your suggestion and get back to you.”

  Meg was disappointed. She had hoped they’d say yes on the spot. The next day over lunch, she confided in Alana, who’d become a pal.

  “I think it’s a dynamite idea,” Alana said. “My brother will too. In fact, I’ll bet if we get endorsements from all the people who’ve gotten transplants at this place, we could make one fine fund-raising letter.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right,” Meg agreed, warming to the suggestion. “Maybe we could ask local reporters to feature stories about former patients. Would Lonnie volunteer for an interview?”

  “Of course. Especially if his sister strong-arms him.” Alana giggled. “Lonnie’s working for a big company in Washington. Maybe they will cough up some big bucks. Maybe we can talk folks into being Santa in July.”

  “Why not? For every gift Santa leaves, he could take up a donation for our cause.”

  “We’ll be Santa’s special elves.”

  Meg laughed. The home away from home for the families of sick people was no laughing matter, but somehow the joking made the task seem less insurmountable. Laughing with Alana about grandiose plans such as building a place was just plain fun.

  Fun. Wasn’t that what had been missing in her life for over a year? What an odd place to get it, Meg thought. Through the lives of people she hadn’t even known six weeks before.

  Ten

  BY THE END of the week, Meg had no news about her project, but good news about Donovan. His blood chemistry had stabilized, his IV had been removed, and he was in good spirits. “It’s a six-hour pass for Saturday from your father,” he said, waving a piece of paper under Meg’s nose. “Where do you want to take me?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Besides Alaska? I’d like to go home.” His expression grew wistful, then he said, “Mom wants us over for dinner at the apartment. Would you come with me?”

  “I’d love to,” Meg said, realizing she was his sole means of transportation and that without her, it would cost him a fortune in cab fare to get to his mother’s apartment. “I’ll bet your Mom’s a good cook.”

  “Even the dying get a final meal.”

  “Don’t joke about that.”

  Donovan took her hand. “Sorry. Being cooped up for so long has blackened my sense of humor. Promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Before we go to my mom’s, let’s have some fun on our own.”

  She smiled. “You’re on.”

  Donovan checked out of the hospital on Saturday afternoon, and Meg started their outing with a drive down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the White House. “Think we should stop in and say hello to the Prez?” Donovan asked. “I think he should allocate more funding for transplants. There’s not enough money for people who need them.”

  “He’s out of the city—too hot this time of the year.”

  “Great. Where’s government in action when I need it?”

  “Have you seen the Washington Monument? How about the Lincoln Memorial?” She tried to think of things that didn’t require much walking, since Donovan was still recovering.

  “I’ve never seen them,” he admitted. “The most I’ve seen is the inside of Memorial Hospital.”

  Meg took him to the Washington Monument first. The great obelisk soared upward from the green grass into the bright blue sky. People had spread blankets on the grass, and children ran squealing and trailing kites. Meg thought the air humid and muggy, but Donovan insisted the warmth felt good. “I’ve been cooped up so long in the hospital, I feel like a mushroom,” he told her.

  They walked toward the Lincoln Memorial, along the rectangular Reflecting Pool, then sat beside the cool water, where Meg watched reflections of clouds float on the water’s surface. She hoped Donovan wasn’t overly exerting himself.

  “Do you know how tired I am of being sick?” Donovan asked with a sigh. “Sometimes I don’t think they’ll ever find a donor for me.”

  “Sure they will.” Meg tried to sound confident. “You’ve come this far.”

  “Far?” He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Far from what? My home? My friends? Look what my mother’s had to sacrifice for me. I think about all she’s had to give up because I’m sick.”

  “Don’t think about it. Think about all the things you’ll get to do once your transplant is over.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like spend your Wish money. You could buy your mom a car.” Meg had already told him how she had talked to her father and confirmed that Donovan’s medical expenses would be covered regardless of his personal finances. The One Last Wish check was his to keep and spend as he wanted.

  “No … I want to get her something really awesome. She could use a new house.” Donovan sat up straighter the moment the words were out of his mouth. He turned and looked at Meg with an expression of total revelation. “That’s it. That’s what I can buy her. I haven’t told her anything yet.”

  “A house is a big deal, all right. Don�
�t you think your mother might like to pick out her own?”

  “But then it won’t be a surprise. That’s the part that would make it special. She’d be surprised—the way I was surprised when I discovered the Wish money and decided it was for real. I can’t tell you how it felt to open that letter and see that check. And then to know it was mine—all mine—to do anything I wanted with. Well, what I want is to buy my mother a house.”

  “Houses cost lots of money.”

  “I have a ton of money.”

  “But it still may not be enough.”

  “I won’t know until I start looking.” Donovan took her by her shoulders. “You can help me.”

  Meg blinked. “How? I don’t know the first thing about looking for a house.”

  “How hard can it be? When we sold ours in Virginia, Mom hired a real estate agent. She showed the house to a bunch of people, and one of them bought it. That seems simple enough to me.”

  “I know how the process works,” Meg said. “I just don’t know what I can do to help.”

  “You can help me find an agent. You can tell her how much money I have to work with. And about how I need to be near the hospital. It needs to be a nice neighborhood, one with good schools for Brett.”

  Meg noticed that Donovan had excluded himself from the school agenda. “Gee, I don’t know …”

  “Meg, please, I need you. I need you to be my arms and legs while I’m stuck at Memorial.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw quiet desperation. He needed her. His appeal sliced deep into her heart. She needed him too. Needed him in her life, even though she couldn’t explain why to either one of them. “Well, I guess I could ask around for you.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  She wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up. “I’m not even positive I can persuade a real estate agent to talk to me. I mean, I don’t look old enough to have the kind of money it takes for a house. An agent will think I’m a fraud.”

  “So tell her you’re a rock star.” He grinned. “Everybody knows rock stars are young, rich, and weird.”