by Brenda Novak
Martin Slinkerhoff owned the Rustler’s Roost. Whether or not they got the account rested in his hands. “I’ll be there.”
“Man, we work too hard to piss away opportunities like this one. Ever since you got that baby idea—”
“I said I’ll be there. And I’ll be ready.”
“Tell me what you got.”
Nothing. He had nothing. And instead of coming home and working tonight, as he should have done, he’d driven all the way up to Primary Care Hospital to see Macy.
“I said I’ll be ready. I’m coming in early tomorrow.”
“Shit. You don’t even have the creative.”
“It’s been a busy weekend.” And a lousy night.
“Right. You’ve been too busy marrying a woman you plan to divorce.”
“Anything else?” Thad asked, cutting him off before he could go anywhere with the Macy issue.
“…elsewhere in Major League Baseball, the Giants racked up their fourth straight win against the Dodgers last night…”
“Yes. I’m glad they found a donor for Macy’s little girl.”
“Run that by me again?”
“I called the hospital today to see if I was a match. I’ve been wondering about the results ever since you dragged me down there.”
Thad felt a moment’s guilt for not passing on the news. “And?”
“They said I’m not, but they think they’ve found someone who is.”
He hit the mute button again and sat up. They’d found a donor? Why hadn’t Macy told him? “Who is it?” he asked incredulously.
“They didn’t give me a name. I’m sure there’s confidentiality issues involved. You didn’t know?”
Thad didn’t say anything. He was thinking about Macy and how she’d behaved tonight. If they’d found a donor, she should have been happy, hopeful. Something was wrong.
“Thad?”
“I gotta go.”
“What?”
“I said I gotta go. I’ll see you at eleven.”
“You’re not coming into the office before that? You said you were coming in early. What about Rustler’s Roost?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Shit!” Kevin cursed. “Thad—”
Thad paid him no attention. He hung up and hopped out of bed.
* * *
STANDING IN THE DOORWAY of Haley’s hospital room, Thad could see Macy sitting in a chair, leaning on Haley’s bed, her chin on her hands. She was watching her daughter, but at the sound of his entrance she turned, and despite the dim light, now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see she’d been crying.
His chest tightened as he witnessed the evidence of her pain and worry, and he nearly turned around and walked right out again. She deserved her privacy. He had no right to intrude.
But he couldn’t leave. He’d married her, hadn’t he? And deep down, he wanted to stay, to help, if he could. Macy and Haley needed him, and the connection made him feel human again.
Unfortunately, being human meant he felt pain, as well as pleasure.
Macy dashed a hand across her face and sat up straight. “What are you doing back here?” she whispered. “It’s nearly midnight.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the doorjamb. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That they’ve found a donor.”
She studied his face for a moment. “Because it’s not your problem. It has nothing to do with the artificial insemination. Nothing to do with our deal.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her delicate features. “And things have already gotten complicated enough,” she added.
He knew she was talking about last night, when they’d shared her bed. It had been complicated. He’d wanted to feel her beneath him, feel himself thrusting deep inside her. And there were moments when he could have sworn she wanted the same thing.
But she was only lonely, he told himself. Her feelings had nothing to do with him in particular. And his own desire stemmed from the need to appease his body after eighteen months of celibacy. He still loved Valerie, could never betray her by offering his heart, along with his body, to someone else. That would somehow lessen what they’d had, maybe make it disappear entirely, and too much of himself was still wrapped up in those years.
“If they’ve found a donor, what’s the problem?” he asked.
She pinched her lip. “I have to make a decision.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you know anything about HLA typing?”
He moved into the room, sitting on the end of the cot the nurse had brought in earlier. “No, but I know a med student who could probably explain it to me.”
She leaned her head on one hand while drawing designs on the blanket with the finger of the other. “Well, transplant recipients and donors are matched by comparing human leukocyte antigens, or HLA typing.”
He leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle and supporting his weight on his hands. “What’s an antigen?”
“It’s a protein molecule that exists on most cells of the body. They mark the cells as being ‘of self.’”
“Okay. So the body’s defense uses these protein molecules to recognize cells that should belong.”
“Right. There are six HLA antigens that are considered important for marrow matching—two A antigens, two B antigens and two DR antigens. A perfect match is a donor who matches all six antigens as the patient. The donor they’ve found for Haley matches only five out of six.”
“So it’s not a perfect fit. But isn’t six out of six hard to find?”
“Hard, yes, but not impossible. In order for the new immune system to work, it is important the HLA antigens match as closely as possible. The closer they match, the less problem Haley will have with graft-versus-host disease, or GVHD.”
“GVHD, huh? That doesn’t sound good.”
Macy stared down at her sleeping daughter. Haley’s profile was just visible in the dim light. “It’s not. GVHD happens when the immune system from the new marrow attacks what it feels is foreign. What it’s really attacking, though, is the cells of various organs. These attacks can cause rashes, diarrhea or jaundice. Or they can be far more severe.”
“Then certainly we can find a better match. The nurse who drew my blood last week said there’s a registry of over three million volunteers who are willing to donate bone marrow.”
“She was probably talking about the National Marrow Donor Program. They do have a lot of registered donors, but only about thirty percent of them have been DR typed. An initial search of their registry has shown several possible candidates for Haley, but they’re all out of state, and it takes about two weeks to receive the DR-typing results once the donor has been contacted and agrees to participate. Even if the DR typing matches, the donor has to have counseling and a physical before the transplant can be scheduled.”
He looked over at Haley, wishing, somehow, he could trade places with her. “And Haley can’t wait?”
“Dr. Forte feels it’s too big of a risk to wait any longer. The mismatch is ‘minor,’ meaning the mismatched antigens look alike and are crossreactive, which is better than a mismatch between two antigens that are not at all similar to each other. But…”
“But it’s not a six for six.”
“Right.” Macy cleared her throat, probably fighting the same despair he felt. “I have to decide whether to let them go ahead with the imperfect match or wait for a better one.”
“When do they want to do the transplant?”
“A week from Tuesday.”
Thad rubbed his chin without speaking. Macy watched him, looking small and vulnerable, as though she was staggering under the weight she shouldered.
“What would you do if she were your daughter?” she asked at last.
Closing his eyes, Thad pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the night he’d had to make the toughest decision of his life.
When Valerie was in the hospital after the accident, the doctors had told him they could save his wife or their baby, but probably not both. He’d chosen Valerie, of course, but the guilt of having turned his back on his own child had never gone away. Probably never would. Some decisions just left an indelible mark on a person’s life, like that Robert Frost poem said he’d read in college: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—/I took the one less travelled by,/And that has made all the difference.”
Unfortunately for him, choosing Valerie hadn’t made the difference he’d wanted. He’d lost his wife and child both….
“I’d probably go ahead with the transplant,” he said at last. He’d been tempted to take the easy way out, to tell her he couldn’t say, that it was a decision only she could make. What if she took his advice and he was wrong—again? But like the night of Valerie’s accident, there were no guarantees either way. And Macy looked so alone, so lost and weary. He decided the only way to truly help her was to have the guts to answer her honestly. To stand up and help carry some of the responsibility, maybe even to give her someone else to blame if things went wrong. There’d been no one to do that for him. Just myriad faces smiling sympathetically. We’re so sorry…such a tragedy…I know it’s difficult, but you’ll feel better with time….
Now Macy was suffering the same kind of pain and confusion. Maybe he could give her something to cling to.
She nodded. “Okay. I think you’re right.”
“Come here.” Thad stood and pulled the blankets back so they could both climb into the cot and lie down. It was the least he could do—to hold her and offer another soul who was hurting, as he had hurt, the comfort of his body, the support of his understanding.
He thought she might resist. She had so damn much pride, was so busy trying to do it all on her own. But the day’s events had taken the fight out of her. Still fully dressed, except for her shoes, she curled up in his arms as soon as he opened them to her and tucked her head into his shoulder.
“We’ll get through this somehow, Macy,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
“We?” she whispered.
“You’re a married woman now, remember?” he teased.
Silence settled over the room for several minutes, then, “Thad?”
“Hmm?” he responded, feeling warm and sleepy and comfortable with Macy curled around him.
“You can come to the birth,” she whispered.
He smiled into the darkness. Macy had to have one of the softest hearts he’d ever known. How could she have gotten herself involved with him when she already had so much on her plate? “We’ll make that decision later,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Slowly her breathing evened out and, eventually, she slept.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“DADDY! DADDY!”
Macy blinked awake to see Haley sitting up in her bed, trying to gain Thad’s attention. He was still asleep but was starting to stir as Macy reluctantly moved away from his big body.
“Haley, what’s wrong?” Macy asked. Her daughter had another sore on her top lip, a side effect of the chemo, but she seemed to be in good spirits.
“My new daddy’s here,” she answered simply, as if Thad’s presence was enough to start anyone’s day off on the right foot.
Her daughter’s easy acceptance of a relative stranger still bothered Macy, but she knew it wasn’t in Haley’s nature to approach anything with caution or reserve. What happy five-year-old did? It was her job as a mother to teach her those things, right?
“Haley, honey, you don’t have to call Thad ‘Daddy,’ you know. You could call him Thad, just like I do.”
“But I want to call him Daddy. He is my daddy, isn’t he?”
“Well, um…yes, in a way, I guess that’s true, but it’s okay if you want to take a while to get to know him first. That’s all I’m saying.”
Haley’s eyebrows knit above her swollen face, another side effect of the cancer drugs. She obviously didn’t understand. But before Macy could explain more, Thad interrupted.
“She can call me Daddy,” he said, sitting up and offering Haley a smile. “Hello, angel. How are you today?”
Haley’s grin was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. She reached her arms out to him. “Good,” she said, even though Macy knew Haley no longer knew what feeling good was like.
Careful not to upset the IVs, Thad moved to her bed, took her in his lap and gently rubbed his large hand over her bald head.
“Where’s my wig?” Haley asked, self-conscious, suddenly, about her lack of hair, which was something that bothered her occasionally.
“I think it’s in the closet.” Macy got up to retrieve the blond wig. Haley went through periods where it was very important to her to feel pretty. Or, at least, to look like a normal child. That she’d thought of the wig now testified to how much she wanted to impress Thad. Knowing that made Macy uncomfortable all over again. Don’t let him hurt her.
But Haley was happy for now, she told herself. And now might be all they had.
Macy settled the long blond wig on Haley’s head and adjusted it so the bang fell across her forehead, not above her ear. “Don’t you look pretty, honey.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if I like it,” Thad said. “I can’t kiss your head with all this hair in the way.” He kissed the wig in several places, always missing Haley’s face, and soon Haley was giggling with abandon. Finally, she ripped the wig off of her own accord so he could kiss her.
The nurse who came in to administer Haley’s medication smiled at the sight. “Someone’s happy this morning.”
“This is my new daddy,” Haley announced.
Thad grinned up at the nurse. His hair was sticking up, but Macy resisted the urge to smooth it back. They’d slept with their bodies pressed close together, but she hadn’t let her fingers seek the warm skin beneath his shirt, the toned muscles of his chest and arms, even though she’d awakened more than once and longed to do just that.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Six-thirty,” the nurse answered, bustling around the room.
He set Haley back on her bed while she replaced and adjusted the IVs that would deliver another round of chemicals into Haley’s bloodstream. “I’ve got to go. I have an important appointment at eleven, and I’m not even close to ready. I’m going to give poor Kevin an ulcer.”
“Kevin?” Macy echoed.
“My partner, remember?”
She nodded but felt a flicker of disappointment at the thought of his leaving.
It’s just a reaction to the stress. I have to concentrate on my conference with Dr. Forte, she reminded herself. Somehow she’d hoped Thad would be with her when she met with the doctor. She wanted him to talk with Forte, get a feel for how much he thought she should trust his opinion. But that was silly. She was the one in med school. Haley was her daughter. And Thad knew nothing about non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma or its treatments.
“Thanks for last night,” she said, walking him partway down the hall. “It was nice not to be alone.”
With a glance around them, he stopped and took her elbow, turning her to face him. “The insemination is scheduled for Thursday morning,” he said, “but I’ve been thinking that we should wait until after the transplant—”
“We’d have to wait until I ovulate again. That would take another month.”
“I realize that. But you’re going through so much right now, it doesn’t make sense to add to your stress level.”
She grinned. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll back out?”
He watched her for a moment. “You have that right. I’m not going to try and railroad you.”
“I know.”
“Except that you did say I could go to the birth,” he added, giving her the sweetest smile Macy had ever seen. “Did you mean it?”
The thought of having Thad’s baby caused Macy’s stomach to tingle, along with an area a little farther down. What was happening to her? she wondered.
She
was falling for him, that was what, falling hard—and asking for a whole new world of heartache. “I meant it.”
His eyes warmed. “I’ll call and reschedule the appointment, then.”
Macy caught Thad’s arm before he could go. “No, let’s go through with it this Thursday.” While I still have the courage. “It should only take an hour or so.”
Thad raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said. And for the first time since she’d met him, Macy decided that maybe she wouldn’t give him up without a fight, after all.
* * *
THAD SAT STARING at the results of his brainstorming session and frowned. It was still early. He was alone in the office, but he was getting nowhere. Fast.
Taking out the battery-powered razor he’d brought to work with him, he laid an old T-shirt across his desk to catch the whiskers and began to shave. What now? He’d considered trying to sell Rustler’s Roost on adopting an animal mascot for their television commercial, but everything he thought of was too juvenile for the upscale steak and chicken restaurant. They’d hired one of the best chefs in the area to create some new pasta and salad entrées, but without a bold new advertising campaign, the same old clientele would frequent the restaurant and would order the same old things. And their normal clientele was aging, which made it easy to forecast a decline in sales in coming years. To grow the market the way they wanted, they needed to appeal to the younger crowd and the growing number of vegetarians in the populace. But how to reach the twenty-to-thirty-five-year-old cohort in an effective, innovative way…
“How’s it going?” Kevin entered his office without knocking, carrying two cups of coffee, one of which he deposited on Thad’s desk.
Thad glanced at the clock encased in a perpetual-motion device sitting on top of his credenza. Seven-forty. The secretaries would be in shortly, and his quiet think time would be gone. The phones would ring, employees would congregate at the coffee machine and talk and laugh, and Kevin would remind him every five minutes that the time of their meeting was speedily approaching.
“Pretty good,” he lied, shutting off the hum of his razor and trying to look more optimistic than he felt as he rolled up the T-shirt. He’d been doodling, trying to free his mind up enough to do his favorite part of the job—the creative, or the idea for the ad. But thoughts of Macy and Haley kept intruding. He was worried about them both, excited by the upcoming insemination, confused by the desire that licked at his nerves whenever he and Macy were close enough to touch. It warred so completely with the loyalty he still felt toward Valerie, yet seemed so right in other ways.
