Cal squinted as if he were trying to shut out a bright light. “How’s Jared?”
“He was conscious this morning. Talking. I just left Wheeler.” Lucas spoke toward his feet. “I tried calling here, but—”
“We were grocery shopping,” Cal repeated with a hint of impatience.
“Right. So you said. Well, I guess I thought maybe you weren’t picking up the phone.” Lucas took another swig of beer, hoping it would help ease his sour stomach. “Anyway, I swung by here to let you know there are some forms at the hospital you’ll need to fill out, if we’re going to do this thing. And I respect how you feel about it, but I guess at this point, Cal, I’m just plain begging. You know I can’t ask Rachel’s family, or they’d raise a stink. I need you and Nita.”
Cal made a sound Lucas couldn’t decipher. For the next maddening minute, Cal continued his sanding in silence, without interruption. His eyes were on his work and nowhere else. The treetops above them began to sway and thrash. Lucas looked up in time to see the feather-light, bushy, gray tail of a squirrel disappear in the tangle of branches and leaves. Either it was a mighty big squirrel or there had to be at least two of them fighting to make such a racket, he thought.
“Ask me how I spent my day off yesterday,” Cal said unexpectedly. “First, me and Nita hit the video store. Look Who’s Talking and Mr. Mom were the picks. Venerable filmmaking. Rest of the time, I’ve been here working on this. You know what, Doc Shepard? I’d better just admit it. I’m a hypocrite.”
“How so?” Lucas asked, sitting down on one of the higher steps. Cal would wind his way around to his answer sooner or later, and Lucas was grateful for the comfort of small talk.
“All these years, I been watching the guys at work turn into blubbering fools as soon as their wives got pregnant, and I just shook my head and laughed. Now look at me. Hell, I’m even catching myself getting teary-eyed at commercials on TV like I’m crazy on hormones, too. I’m thinking maybe something happens at conception, like your balls wither down to raisins. Turns out I’m just as cradle-whipped as the rest of those ol’ fools.”
Lucas tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh.
Cal went on, “Now, every time I see a guy walk by with his son, it’s like I’m watching myself. I even watch the news different. Used to be, I’d hear stories about people hurting or killing kids and I’d think, ‘Yep, the world’s full of monsters,’ and go on about my business, you know? Now I pay close attention, and I wish I could get my hands on one of ’em just once. Just once.” Cal’s face, indeed, had grown rigid as his anger was clenched into his jaw. “Swear to God, it would almost be worth doing time just to break one monster’s neck.”
Lucas smiled. “You’re right, Cal. You’ve got it bad.”
“I’m cradle-whipped like a motherfucker.”
In that instant, it all felt the same again, as if Lucas could amble back across the street and find Jared reading comic books on the living-room floor instead of just an empty, unhappy house. And as if his best friend weren’t convinced he’d finally actually lost his mind.
Cal raised his bottle of beer to his lips, taking long swallows, and by the time he lowered it again, the bottle was nearly empty. Then he set the beer aside, at arm’s reach, as if he’d had his fill. Cal sighed, his entire frame heaving. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Cal said, angling his body toward Lucas but still avoiding his eyes. “You’re really going through with this, ain’t you, Lucas?”
Lucas hesitated. After all of his soul-searching, investigating, and planning, he’d rarely had time to confront the reality, the enormity, of what he was going to do. Or, more likely, he just didn’t want to; his brain was plodding along on autopilot, and the rest of him was just following its lead. Ever since the day he’d finally heard back from Veronica Davis, who was now a sergeant for the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Department in Louisiana, his fate had been set in motion by factors that seemed to have little to do with him.
Those three simple words had decided it all: The blood heals.
They weren’t just the three words his son had uttered before he’d cracked three ribs and knocked himself unconscious for two days in his tumble down the stairs, a fall that had just about killed Jared and cut his life expectancy in half. According to Sergeant Davis—who’d recited everything she could remember with the detailed precision of someone who’d been interviewed often and enjoyed it—they were also the words Jessica Jacobs-Wolde had spoken to her the night her daughter died in the motel room.
You check on my baby later. Do you hear me? The blood heals.
So, really, it was no longer a question of what he had to do. Now, it just boiled down to whether he had enough time, could work out the logistics, and really had the courage.
“I just need to sort out this guardianship business with you. Hospital regulations,” Lucas said. “After that, it’s a matter of talking to Jared. Asking him if it’s all right.”
“He’s lucid enough for that? To say if it’s okay for his own daddy to take off and just maybe not be around when his time runs out?” Cal’s voice broke.
“Yes.”
“How long’s he got?”
“Two weeks, maybe,” Lucas said, detaching himself the way he’d learned after spending a week on the phone with Jared’s aunt in San Francisco, and his uncles and grandmother in Connecticut. Deathbed courtesy calls. Buy your plane tickets, folks. Mark your calendars. “It’s hard to guess, but his oncodoc and I are pretty sure he can hang on for ten days. I figure on keeping this trip to five days, maybe one week at the outside. I’m ready to leave tomorrow night, after the paperwork’s done. I’ll be in Johannesburg by Tuesday.”
Cal shook his head, flicking the corner of one eye with his fingertip. “That’s close, Lucas. He could go anytime. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said in a ghost’s voice. The word was an ax, but it was pure, awful truth.
Now, for the first time, Cal’s blue-eyed gaze was dead-on. “How do you know this isn’t Peru all over again? That you’re not just running away from this ’cause it hurts so goddamned much?” Cal’s glassy, reddened eyes bore into Lucas. “You better convince me this is different, Lucas, or I’m having no part in it. I won’t let you do it. Not to Jared, not to me, and sure as hell not to yourself. This is one you’ll live with till the grave, Doc.”
Lucas closed his eyes. He wouldn’t help his case by trying to explain the details of the miracle clinic, the serial killer, and the blood; in fact, that would make things worse. The whole story sounded like the worst kind of horseshit. The less Cal knew, the better.
“This is different,” Lucas said flatly. “You know I wouldn’t take a chance like this unless I thought I could really save his life. And if you didn’t know it, I just told you. I have to try. I’ve plumb run out of choices here, Cal. I need you to help me do this.”
Cal scraped angrily at the footboard. “South Africa, huh? This is about the Atlantic Monthly I brought over, ain’t it?”
“Afraid so. This one’s your fault.”
“Nita told me not to take it to you. Just get you all worked up over nothing, she said.”
“Then why did you?”
Cal sighed again, shrugging. Then, he ran his fingers through his scalp and all the way down the length of two days’ worth of gray-specked facial hair until his fingers dropped limply from his chin. “Guess I wanted to believe. If there was even a chance . . .”
“There is a chance. More than just a chance. If I didn’t believe that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m just sorry this is making things hard on you with Nita.”
Finally, a flicker of mirth across Cal’s cheeks. “Well . . . if I let you do this, she won’t be speaking to me for a long while, that’s for damn sure. But then again, I’ve always enjoyed my peace and quiet. And in a few months I’ll have the baby to keep me company, anyway. If Nita doesn’t have me committed to Chattahoochee first, that is.”
“At least you’ll have a fri
end there.”
“Got that right. Maybe they’ll let us be roommates in the nuthouse, you and me.”
As always, when Lucas stopped long enough to allow reflection, his emotions began to boil to the surface. His throat burned mercilessly. Just one more day, he told himself. If he could make it through one more day, he’d be on the plane . . .
Suddenly, Lucas’s body snapped taut. Jesus, what if he was only running away? How could he risk abandoning a dying child over what might well turn out to be pure hearsay and coincidence? He’d been wrong before. He’d sure been wrong with Rachel. Taunted by those thoughts, Lucas sucked at his bottle of beer like a newborn calf.
Cal must have seen the fear and doubt written plainly on his face, but Cal only slapped the dust from his grimy palms and rose to his feet. Politely, his eyes drifted away.
“Guess I’d better tell Nita I’m heading over to Wheeler to sign some autographs,” Cal said. “Looks like our godson’s gonna need some looking after for a few days.”
Lucas only nodded. He realized that if he opened his mouth to try to speak, he was ready to tell Cal to forget all about it. Maybe he hadn’t believed Cal would actually agree to take legal responsibility for Jared, which would have made the logistics fall apart and given Lucas permission not to try this one last, desperate act. To accept there was nothing else he could do. He’d forgotten what a good man Cal was. He’d forgotten how much faith Cal had in him.
Now all Lucas needed was courage and time.
• • •
His son’s grace always amazed Lucas.
Jared’s illness had put him through so many awkward, uncomfortable stages, but at each stage he’d adapted after a time and found a way to conduct himself with calm and even some cheer. At Johns Hopkins, he’d scandalized the nurses on his floor after he’d learned his way around in his wheelchair so well that he even popped wheelies in the hallway, balancing himself on two wheels. A little blond boy he’d met, Ralphie, had dared him to do it, and the two of them had cracked up about it for days—even though three weeks later Jared hadn’t had the strength even to get out of bed and pneumonia had silenced Ralphie for good. But the two of them had found their instant of playfulness together, hanging on to who they were for just a while longer.
It seemed to Lucas that, even now, Jared retained his grace.
Never mind this bare little room, which had no cheerful decorations except for a large stuffed panda bear and a card from Cal and Nita on the nightstand. And never mind the oxygen tent and the dire-looking machinery that monitored everything down to the last drop of Ringer’s lactate to drip into Jared’s veins, or the imposing tubing surgically implanted into his chest so he could be medicated without being subjected to any more shots, or his jellyfish complexion and the way his lips bled from overdryness. Or how his left eye was gruesomely bloodshot from a burst vessel, betraying how precariously low his platelet count was despite constant blood transfusions.
Underneath all that, the kid was still somehow finding a way to be himself. Sometimes Lucas could only see it in Jared’s eyes, but he could still see it. There had been times when Lucas had stared right into Rachel’s eyes and hadn’t seen a trace of her. But Jared was still here.
“I brought it back for you, just like I told you,” Lucas said, flipping open the oversize Norman Rockwell coffee-table book he’d spent the past hour searching for at his house. He’d known Rachel had the book somewhere, and at first he’d been sorry he even set himself up for the task of prying open a half dozen taped-up boxes and searching every cranny of their bookshelves.
But now when he saw the glow in Jared’s eyes, he knew it had been worth it.
Lucas had nearly finished reading Jared The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and every day he thanked the good Lord there’d been such a man as Samuel Clemens. Even the distractions of nurse’s rounds, beeping machines, noisy passersby, and constant discomfort couldn’t pull Jared’s attention away from that story as Lucas read it to him in the most inspired storyteller’s voice he could muster. Jared had been so sucked into Tom’s world that Lucas felt himself being sucked back, too, feeling the same surges of wonder he’d felt when he’d first read that book at Jared’s age and gone to bed with nightmares about Injun Joe and the cave. That was why he’d remembered the Rockwell painting of Tom whitewashing the fence and decided to find it for Jared; the first time he’d seen it himself, he’d believed his book had been brought to life.
“Cool,” Jared said hoarsely. He couldn’t move to prop himself up, but his eyes savored the details of the painting, not blinking, as Lucas held the book close to the tent. “Just like . . . I pictured it. Except . . . he looks like a . . . dork.”
Yep, Jared was still here.
So, Lucas felt confident that he could ask Jared what he needed to ask. This was a hard decision, the kind only adults could make, and like it or not, Jared was an adult now. Jared was the only person in the world with the right to give Lucas his blessing or ask him not to go.
After putting the art book aside, Lucas leaned as close to Jared as the tent would allow, his face brushing against the plastic, so he could speak to him quietly. He told his son the story of Jessica Jacobs-Wolde and the magic blood, almost a fairy tale in itself. As thoroughly as he knew how, he spelled out what he wanted to do.
In silence, with even his bloody eye rapt, Jared listened.
“Africa’s big, Dad,” Jared said when the story was over. His throat was in tatters, so he always conserved his words now.
“I know, but a doctor there gave me a lead.” Lucas explained that the nurse who had worked at the clinic had a mother who still lived in Zululand. Floyd Mbuli had told Lucas he suspected that Mrs. Shabalala knew exactly where her daughter was, although she’d never cooperated when asked before. She was probably just trying to protect her, Lucas told Jared. “I’m going to see her, and I’ll show her your picture and tell her how much we need that clinic, Jared. She’s a parent, and I’m hoping she’ll change her mind.”
“Maybe . . . not.”
“That’s true, she might not. And if she doesn’t, I’ll try other routes.”
“But . . . I can’t go . . . for a shot.”
Lucas blinked. “I know. I’d have to bring a sample back to you.”
Fat chance, Lucas’s mind taunted him. Jared was quiet for a moment, and his oxygen machine hissed. Jared’s eyebrows had fallen low, so Lucas knew he was deep in thought.
“There’s something else to consider in all this, Jared. If there’s any way I can, I’ll call you every single day, but a trip like this will take time, maybe even a whole week. Now, your uncle Cal and aunt Nita will be here. . . . And you know Cleo will come in to read to you every day just like me. I told her to start with that book Nita bought you, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, remember? I think you’ll really like it. Oh, and I told you Grandma Ruth is flying in next weekend with your uncles. They all want to be here. I should be back by then, too. But a week is a very long time from now.”
From Jared’s eyes, which flinched for an instant, Lucas knew he understood, and his heart thudded. He didn’t know which answer from Jared he dreaded more.
Jared closed his eyes, resting for a moment, then opened them again. “Okay.”
“You know it might turn out to be a hoax. Or all exaggerations. This whole trip might be for nothing, Jared.”
Almost imperceptibly, Jared nodded.
“You’ll . . .” Jared swallowed hard, fighting his parched throat. “You’ll feel better, Dad.”
“I don’t care about me,” Lucas said, swallowing back his own tears. “Don’t you do this for me, Jared. I’m looking for something for you. Understand?”
“ ’Kay,” Jared whispered.
By now, it was too late for Lucas to hide from his tears. The time for a brave front was long past, and he was too weary to fight. His tears poured freely, setting his face aflame. Lucas slipped his hand through the narrow tunnel in the tent that allowed him to touch Jared, and Jared rea
ched back, their fingers still separated by a thin film of plastic. Lucas squeezed his son’s fingers as tightly as he dared. “You try your best to wait for me, hear? Your very best.”
“ ’Kay.”
“But if it’s too hard—if you feel like it’s too much for you, and you’re really ready . . .” Lucas couldn’t go on. His unfinished sentence sat in the room like an oppressive cloud for a long time, until he inhaled deeply and finally went on, “Then that’s okay. I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me down. You could never do anything to let me down, hear? I’ve been so proud of you. I don’t want you to be afraid of anything, Jared.”
“I’m . . . not scared, Dad.”
“Right, because you’ll have your mom up there with you. That’s a fact.”
At that, Jared even smiled thinly. “Yeah.”
Lucas sobbed and caught his breath, wiping his face dry with his free hand. Suddenly, he could feel the weeks of sleeplessness and poor eating habits gnawing at him, trying to knock him from his feet. No, not weeks. Years. This was killing him, too, body and soul.
The machine hissed again, the only sound in the room for a long time. With a few more breaths, Lucas felt the vaguest sense of relief inside his anguish. He’d said what he needed to say. He’d finally stopped pretending Jared’s dying wasn’t real.
“Remember right before you fell down the stairs, Jared? You said a woman told you, ‘The blood heals.’ Do you remember that? You dreamed it. Was that your mom, you think?”
“No . . . a little girl.”
“So, do you think it was some kind of message for us?”
Jared shrugged. “I guess.”
“Well, whatever you saw sure made you look happy. Maybe that’s why you’re not scared, huh? Maybe you saw something on the other side that made you feel better.”
The Living Blood Page 15
