Let Him Live

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “I want my mom to see it at its best,” he said. “But we can’t take too much time fixing it up. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I have to think about getting it done quickly.” He cut his eyes sideways. “Time is my enemy,” he said softly.

  Meg gripped the wheel, knowing what he said was true. “We’ll get it done,” she promised. If JWC could supply the money for fulfilling Donovan’s dream, then the least she could do was help him present his dream in the best possible condition.

  “It’s a beautiful house, Meg and it’s mine.” He touched her hair, gently tucking it behind her ear. “All mine.”

  Sixteen

  THUNDER RATTLED THE windows of the old house, and rain pelted the glass panes. “This is some storm,” Alana exclaimed as she climbed down from a ladder with a bucket of paint. “I’m sure glad we’re on the inside looking out.”

  Meg paused as she scraped peeling paint off of plaster walls. “Maybe we should take a break.” The empty room amplified the sound of the pounding rain, making it difficult to hear the portable radio plugged in to the wall. She turned toward Donovan. He was sitting on a beanbag chair in the center of the room, watching them work. “Up for a snack?” Meg asked. “I’ve brought food in an ice chest I stashed in the kitchen.”

  “I’m okay,” he insisted with a wave of his hand. “But you deserve a break.”

  “Thanks for the permission,” Meg joked. She knew it was hard for him to sit and watch, even though it was all he had the strength to do. Meg had organized a crew, and over the past week, they had painted almost every room. Most of the day’s volunteers had left before the heavy rain had started. Now the only ones left were Donovan; Alana; her boyfriend, Clark; Alana’s brother, Lonnie; and Meg.

  From upstairs, Meg heard the rumble of the floor polisher Lonnie was using. She hoped Lonnie’s robust health encouraged Donovan. To look at Alana’s well-muscled, broad-shouldered brother, it was difficult to believe he’d been in complete kidney failure. Surely, Donovan would rally physically in a similar way once he had his transplant, Meg told herself.

  “I’ll get the food,” Clark said, taking the paint bucket from Alana. “Let’s have an indoor picnic.”

  “Who cares if it’s raining,” Donovan said.

  “No ants,” Meg added.

  Clark pushed aside the door separating the front room from the kitchen. “I’ll help,” Alana volunteered, tagging after him.

  “It’s not that heavy,” Meg called.

  “There’s help, and there’s help,” Alana replied. “I’m thinking I should help with a kiss or two!”

  “I understand.” Meg laughed. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside Donovan and glanced about the partially painted room. “How’s it look, boss?”

  “You have paint chips stuck in your hair.” Smiling, he picked off several. “And on your nose, your cheeks, your neck.”

  “I promise to get them all off before the cruise Saturday night. You are still coming, aren’t you?”

  “I rented a tux. Clark took me to the mall.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “He’s nice, that’s true. And he and Alana really like each other.”

  His comment left Meg feeling uncomfortable. She wondered if he was remembering his former girlfriend and wishing he was with her. “They make a cute couple,” Meg said.

  “I’m looking forward to tomorrow night,” he said.

  “I found a great new dress,” Meg told him.

  “Just for me?” He grinned. “But then, I know how girls like to buy new clothes … any old excuse.”

  “Not ‘just for you,’ ” she sniffed. “I needed something new.” Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have taken the time to go shopping. She’d tried on her best dress and discovered a lovely surprise—it was too large. When she’d gotten on the scale, she’d seen that she’d lost ten pounds since the beginning of the summer.

  “ ‘Needed,’ ” he echoed with a lift of his eyebrows. “You mean the way Brett needs another laser water pistol?”

  “What happened to the one you gave him?”

  “He shot one too many girls at summer school, so it was confiscated.”

  “He’s a cute kid. I really like him.”

  Donovan sighed and surveyed the room. “I hope he likes this place. I hope it helps make up for our having to leave our old house and for life’s being so hard.” He tipped his head and looked deeply into Meg’s eyes. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Donovan said. “I know you’ve spent a lot of time on this.”

  “I don’t mind.” She hadn’t realized how much work went into buying a house until she’d helped him spend his Wish money. She’d had the water and electricity turned on. She’d selected and lugged all the paint and supplies to the house. “I want your mother to like it. The realtor was right—it needed paint and cleaning up. It really is a great house.”

  “Keeping it a secret from my mom’s been hard, but time’s almost up, isn’t it?”

  “I figure we’ll be finished next week.”

  “Good. I’ll feel like I can rest easier after I give her the keys.”

  A loud clap of thunder shook the windows. The lights flickered and then went off altogether. From the kitchen, Alana gave a squeal. Overhead, the drone of the polisher stopped abruptly. “Uh-oh,” Meg said. “Looks like we’re alone in the dark.”

  “Scared of the dark?” Donovan asked.

  “Not a bit. Unless this house is haunted.”

  “I’ll bet it is haunted. Just think—a long time ago, some sweet young thing sat in this very room—and some guy—put the moves on her.”

  “Maybe guys weren’t like that once upon a time.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” He chuckled.

  She felt his hand cover hers in the dark. His nearness and the husky sound of his voice in her ear were causing her pulse to flutter. “I’ve read that back long ago, girls and guys were never without chaperons.”

  “If chaperons were needed, then that just proves my point.”

  “We don’t have a chaperon.”

  “Do you wish we did?”

  “Why would we need one?” Her heart beat faster as his hand covered hers in the dark.

  “We don’t, I guess. You know what I wish?” His breath against her forehead made goose bumps skitter across her skin.

  “That the lights would come back on?” She tried to joke, but her heart was thudding hard against her rib cage. She wanted him to hold her.

  “I wish you could have known me before I got sick. I wish we could have dated when I was well.”

  Meg considered his words, while the rain splattered on the windowpanes. She doubted he would have even noticed her; she was plain and, until very recently, plump. “If you hadn’t been sick, we would have never met,” she concluded softly. “Why else would you ever have come to Washington?”

  He was silent, but his hand moved slowly up her arm, to her face, where his fingertips glided along her hair. “You’re right. Funny how good things can come out of bad.”

  Meg’s mouth went dry, and she felt lightheaded from his nearness. More than anything, she wanted him to kiss her. “Is that what I am? A good thing?”

  “You’re the only thing that makes this whole crazy experience worth anything at all.”

  Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit the room, and for an instant, Meg saw Donovan’s face etched in eerie brightness. She wanted to grab hold of him. Wanted to keep him from joining any ghosts that might be hovering over the house.

  “Alana and Clark to the rescue!” Alana’s voice called from the kitchen. The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness. “Guess what Clark found in his car?” She flicked the light over Meg and Donovan. “It looks like you two don’t need rescuing.”

  Meg scrambled to her feet. “No problem,” she said. Her hands were trembling. “We’re fine. How about your brother?”

  “Lonnie?” Alana called. “You all right up there?”

  “Fine, sis. I’m just sitting
here in the dark with my trusty machine waiting for the electricity to roll.”

  “You want Clark to come up with the flashlight and lead you down to us? It might be a long wait.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Alana handed the flashlight to Clark. He flipped the beam toward the staircase. “I think we should pack it in for the night. I’ll bet the electricity will be off for quite a while.”

  “Suits me,” Donovan said, rising. “I wouldn’t mind hitting the bed early. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got some cruise to go on tomorrow night. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “We’re almost through here. We can finish things up next week,” Meg added, still quivery with emotion.

  Later, when the rain had stopped, Clark and Lonnie loaded up the cars while Donovan waited in the front seat of Meg’s car. Meg and Alana stood together on the front porch. The fury of the storm had left the night freshly washed and sweet-smelling. “Sorry I came into the room when I did. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. My timing stinks,” Alana said.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Donovan and I were just waiting for the lights to come back on. Nothing was going on.”

  “Sure. And I’m the Queen of England.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Why don’t you just admit it, girl? You’re crazy about that boy.”

  “Because I’m not—not in that way.”

  “Listen, you can deny it with your mouth, but not with your heart. The way you feel about him is stamped all over you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Denying it won’t make it go away. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that it’s stupid to love somebody who might up and die on you.”

  “Stop it. That’s not true.” Yet, Meg knew it was true. She didn’t want to be in love with Donovan.

  “Friends don’t fib to friends,” Alana said. “Don’t be so scared of what you’re feeling. If he does die, you won’t be able to tell him how you feel. Don’t let this opportunity get away from you.”

  Meg kept thinking about the loss—so senseless—of her friend Cindy. It had made her empty and afraid when she’d learned that Cindy had died. She couldn’t go through something like that again. Admitting to herself that she loved Donovan would reopen wounds that still weren’t healed, even though she knew she felt better after therapy. Why hadn’t she listened to her father when he’d told her not to get emotionally involved?

  Because by the time he told me, it was too late. Meg answered her own question. “I know you think you’re helping me,” Meg told Alana. “But I know what I feel. It’s concern. It’s overinvolvement with a patient. It’s more than I should be feeling. But it isn’t love. And Donovan isn’t going to die either. The hospital will find him a donor, and my father will save him. That’s his job, you know. He’s saved others, and he’ll save Donovan too.”

  Alana shook her head slowly. “Your father’s a wonderful doctor and a fine man, but don’t put that on him. It’s not fair. He’s not God, and he can’t perform miracles.”

  “Are you saying that you think Donovan’s going to die?”

  “Not me. I’ve seen a miracle happen with my own brother. All I’m saying to you is to go with what you’re feeling toward him and don’t waste the chance to have something special because you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Meg snapped.

  “We’re all afraid,” Alana said.

  Meg could think of nothing to say to blot out the searing honesty of Alana’s words. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The rain had cooled the night air, but she knew that her shiver had come from inside herself, and had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature. Not a single thing.

  Seventeen

  MOONLIGHT CUT A wide swath across the peaceful, dark waters of the Potomac River. Standing on the deck of the huge riverboat, listening to the chug of the engine and watching moonbeams glitter on the water, Meg felt as if she’d been transported to another world. Behind her, from the ballroom, the music of an orchestra floated through the porthole.

  “Having fun?” Donovan asked.

  “The most. How about you?”

  “I feel better tonight than I have in days. It’s like I’ve been given a reprieve—you know, a delay in my sentence of sickness.”

  Alone with him in the moonlight, she felt as if his illness didn’t exist. For just a little while, she could forget the real reason they were together on the boat. “I wish your mother had come,” Meg said.

  “I did everything to try and persuade her, but she didn’t feel she belonged with these people. We’re way out of this league financially. We’re happy to get by, even though now the Wish money will help us. I’ve seen some people I recognize from newspapers and TV. I feel out of place myself.”

  “They’re just people. And they all want to help build the Wayfarer Inn. We need them.”

  “I wonder if JWC is on this cruise. What do you think?”

  Meg looked thoughtful. “I’ve seen the guest list, but no one with those initials stands out in my memory. Why does it matter?”

  “Are you kidding? My mom will own a home because of JWC. I still can’t get over being chosen to get all that money, so I’m really curious.”

  Meg straightened, feeling a slight prick of jealously because JWC had given Donovan something she could not. “No one I asked at the hospital ever heard of the One Last Wish Foundation,” she said.

  “I don’t even know if JWC is a man or a woman.”

  “For that matter, you don’t even know if that’s the person’s real initials. Maybe they’re made up.”

  “But why?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Intimate strangers?” he offered.

  She recalled their conversation—Donovan’s explanation about how strangers could become linked by the intensity of a shared problem. She had no illness to share with him, as JWC had. “Maybe JWC only wants privacy. Rich people are like that sometimes.”

  “But I keep asking myself, ‘Why me?’ I’m so ordinary.”

  He wasn’t ordinary to Meg, but she didn’t tell him that. “If you ask me, I don’t think JWC is playing fair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remaining anonymous is a cop-out. I think it’s sort of cowardly to pass out money and then hide in the shadows. What’s it prove? I mean, look at you. You’d like to say thank you, but how can you? And if JWC has so much money, then why not step forward and support our cause?”

  Donovan shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. In a way, what you’re saying makes sense. I would like to meet the person who’s been so good to me, but JWC must have big reasons for staying out of the spotlight. I’m not sure that if it were me, I wouldn’t choose to do the same thing.”

  “How so?”

  Donovan thrust his hands into the pockets of his tux and leaned against the ship’s rail. “All those people inside are rich, and everybody knows it.”

  “That’s one of the reasons they were invited.”

  “I know. They expect to be asked for charitable donations. Maybe some of them get jollies out of it because it makes them feel important. But when you do something for someone and expect nothing in return, it makes you feel good inside. It makes you feel …” he searched for a word, “fulfilled. Doing something nice for someone in secret has its own reward. Maybe JWC knows that too.”

  Meg remembered how nice Donovan was to everyone on the pediatric floor. Why, the first time she’d met him, he’d been racing a kid in a wheelchair in spite of being so sick himself. And she thought of how different she herself was. Hadn’t she become a candy striper because her father had coerced her into it? Helping others hadn’t been something she’d longed to do, as it was for Donovan, or Alana.

  Hadn’t she spent over six months in mourning for her loss of Cindy without much concern for Cindy’s parents? Had she called them, written them recently? No, she had not. And how about her own parents? How worried they
must have been about her when depression had all but taken over her life.

  Losing Cindy hurt so much, she told herself. But at what point had Cindy’s death become a crutch that she used for an excuse to insulate herself from friendships and relationships that might cause her hurt? Intimate strangers. Did she want to go through the rest of her life never making lasting friendships again because she was terrified of being hurt? Had Alana been right when she’d challenged her the night before?

  She felt Donovan’s nearness, like a comforting embrace. She cared for him so much. How could she have not understood all of this before? How could a sick, possibly dying boy, and a stranger who donated money anonymously, have given her so much? Why had she become interested in the Wayfarer Inn in the first place? Of course, there was a need for one, but as long as she was being brutally honest with herself, she had to admit that it was also because she felt competitive with JWC and wanted Donovan to feel indebted to her the way he did to JWC.

  “You sure got quiet all of a sudden, Meg. Did I say something to upset you?”

  Donovan’s question snapped Meg out of her soul-searching. Quickly, she looked up at him. His face was softened by moonlight, and she felt something stir deep inside. A sleeping part of her was awakening as if from a long drugged sleep. “No, Donovan. You said some things that made me think.”

  “I did? Like what?”

  “Like friends. We are friends, aren’t we?”

  He straightened and took her by the shoulders. “Since you’ve asked, Megan Charnell, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  A warm melting sensation went through her.

  “Look at them, will you, Clark? The two of them stand under a perfectly gorgeous moon talking! I swear, I’ve never known two people who spend so much time flapping their lips.”

  Meg and Donovan turned in unison toward Alana and Clark, who had come up beside them. Alana stood with her hands on her hips, a look of pure frustration on her face.

  Donovan suppressed a smile. “And what have you two been doing?”