“Oh, that’s so nice of her,” Brooke said. “She must be working eighty-hour weeks lately.”
“I don’t think she minds. It gives her a way to help you.”
Ian turned his head and could see that Charlie had lowered his face within a foot of Alex’s. They were studying each other with perfectly straight expressions.
“Do you know that this is the longest they have gone without seeing each other?” Brooke said. “They’ve never been apart for longer than a day.”
“What are they doing?” Ian asked.
“First one to smile loses,” Brooke said faintly. “It’s one of their games.”
An IV alarm beeped rudely next to Charlie’s head, startling him and causing him to jump. Alex lifted his head, started laughing, and then proceeded to cough up a tiny patch of vomit, which slowly dribbled down his chin.
“I’ve got it,” Ian said, grabbing a washcloth folded on the sink to wipe Alex’s chin. “There ya go, partner. It’s like it never happened.”
“That’s the third time today,” Brooke said. “And he still has diarrhea.”
“Has Macey been in?” Ian asked.
“Oh yeah,” Brooke said. “She and Kaitlyn have been in and out continuously since he was admitted. It’s like he’s getting preferential treatment.”
“Did somebody say my name?” Kaitlyn asked, bouncing into the room. “Excuse me there, big guy,” she added, stepping around Charlie and pressing her thumb firmly against a green button on the machine next to Alex. She removed the empty IV bag, turned around, and looked up at Charlie. She took off her glasses. “How are you, Charlie?”
Charlie smiled.
Kaitlyn put her hand on top of Alex’s. “You sure seem glad to see Charlie. I see you have perked up all of a sudden.”
“I just throwed up again,” Alex announced.
“That’s okay, honey,” Kaitlyn said.
“Where is Mr. Brave?” Alex asked. “I think Charlie would like him.”
“I’m not sure, but hang on a second,” the nurse said, stepping back around Charlie and then disappearing around the navy pull curtain.
“Hey, Charlie, look!” Alex said, pointing at his IV. “I forgot to show you this.” He tugged at the tape around the needle in his arm. “Look, Charlie, this doesn’t even hurt!”
“Alexander, stop pulling on that!” Brooke said.
Alex’s head flipped back at his mother. “But it doesn’t hurt, Mom.”
“That’s cuz he is so brave!” a high-pitched voice said from behind the curtain. They all turned around.
Alex laughed and pointed at Mr. Brave. The puppet’s head arched around the corner of the curtain.
“Man, are you ever a big guy!” Mr. Brave said in a tone of awe. “Are you Charlie?”
Charlie’s mouth opened, and he smiled at the puppet as Alex laughed heartily. Charlie held up his index finger to Alex and then slowly tiptoed to the edge of the curtain to peek around it. He grinned at Kaitlyn with an I-know-it’s-you look on his face.
“He’s looking at you, Nurse Kaitlyn,” Mr. Brave said. “Charlie sees you.”
The nurse came back around the corner and smiled at Ian and Brooke. “It looks like we’ve found some additional therapy for Mr. Alex, and it’s called Charlie.”
Brooke agreed. “Alex seems ten times better. That sparkle is back in his eyes, and his coloring even looks better with his BFF in the room.”
“The best of all medicines,” the nurse said, lifting Alex’s head and adjusting his pillow. “Is Charlie your best friend forever?”
“Heck yeah,” Alex said, grabbing his Styrofoam cup and sucking in a straw-full of water.
Brooke stood up and stretched. “I’m going to go grab a shower. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Ian hugged her, and then she hugged Charlie. “You’re good medicine for him, Charlie. Thanks for coming to be with him.”
Charlie nodded and then returned to Alex, while Ian and Brooke stepped outside with Kaitlyn.
“How are things looking?” Ian asked her.
Kaitlyn looked down at his chart. “Dr. Lewis wants to keep him here for a few more days. And then we’re going to check his blood again.”
“And then what?” Ian asked.
“Then we’ll see where we are,” Kaitlyn said carefully.
“Shouldn’t his numbers come down?” Ian asked.
“They certainly should,” Kaitlyn said. “But it’s equally important to see how the rest of his system responds to his treatment. Macey wants him eating more, retaining it, and she also wants him better hydrated.”
“When is she going to check his blood again?” Brooke asked the nurse.
The nurse flipped through a couple pages in the chart and ran her finger down to the center. “Looks like Wednesday.”
ON WEDNESDAY, JIM THOUGHT THE SUN GLISTENED ON the snow like a blanket of tiny diamonds. He put his arm around Shirley as they looked out over the snow-glazed pines that bent around the back of the church.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Jim asked.
“As a picture,” Shirley said.
Jim was thinking how quiet it was, inside and out. “Do you know that Sunday was the first service Brooke and Alex missed since they came into our lives?”
Shirley didn’t say anything. She gave his arm a little squeeze and walked over to the sink.
“You know,” Jim said, “if it warms up a little, it’d make great packing for a snowman. I’ll see if Charlie wants to make one for Alex to greet him when he comes home Saturday. We could build a doozy.”
“Let’s hope he comes home Saturday, James.”
Jim had never met another person with Shirley’s faith, and that faith never made her hesitate to speak plainly. He stared back at the snow-laden branches. Alex had lost seven pounds and had been in the hospital for almost a week now. He knew there probably wouldn’t be a snowman in the yard this weekend.
“I’m kind of surprised Kaitlyn and Zach are joining us tomorrow,” Shirley said.
“I’m glad. It will help it seem less lonely.”
Jim looked back out the window and took his turn at not saying anything.
It was hard to believe tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Help me concentrate on the blessings, Lord. The amazing blessings. And not what I’m missing.
ALEX TAPPED THE ROOF OF HIS MOUTH AND THEN THE inside of his cheek with his tongue. It all burned, and he wanted to cry. He was hungry, but it hurt when he ate. He was thirsty, his head hurt, and the thing in his arm was getting sore. He blinked lightly at his dad, who was standing at the side of the bed.
Maybe Dad can make it all go away.
“I know this isn’t much fun for you,” Dad said, taking Alex’s hand and rubbing the top of it gently with his thumb. “What can I do for you, partner?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, hunching his left shoulder. It slid out of his Spider-Man pajama top. “I’m a little hungry, but it hurts when I chew.”
“Let’s try some of this,” Dad said, peeling the top off of a tiny container of cherry Jell-O that was on Alex’s tray. “Do you want some water too?”
“Yeah,” Alex whispered, carefully licking his bottom lip. “Can I go home today? Please?”
“I’m not sure, partner,” Dad said, moving around to the side of the bed, trying not to wake Mom, who had fallen asleep in the chair she’d been glued to for most of the week. They were waiting for Dr. Lewis, who was supposed to come back with the test results.
“But I want to go home for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” Alex said. “I want to see Charlie. If I don’t, who will eat the other turkey leg?”
“I want you home too,” Dad said, holding a cup of water in his palm and bending the straw for him to take a drink. “I’ll see if the Lindys can save you a turkey leg. And I’ll see if I can get Charlie up here tonight or tomorrow to see you, okay?”
“Okay,” Alex said. He drew in a little taste of water. It soothed his mouth, making it feel cooler. It also felt lik
e he could breathe better. He went for more, this time taking in too much. He choked for a second, coughed, and water streamed down the sides of his mouth.
“Slow down, buddy,” Dad said. “Slow down.”
Dad held the back of his hand to Alex’s forehead. “You are a little warm, partner.”
Alex gazed at his dad, wondering if he could maybe fix it.
“Does the water make you feel better?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, opening his mouth slightly while Dad gave him half of a plastic spoonful of Jell-O. After only two bites, Alex shook his head. He didn’t want any more. It tasted funny. Everything tasted funny ever since he started chemo syrupy.
Dad finished the rest of his Jell-O and went back around to the foot of the bed. Behind him on a shelf was a box of those funny rubber gloves. Dad pulled one out and then dangled it under his chin like a rooster’s beard, making Alex smile a little. He then pulled it to his mouth for three quick puffs that quickly blew it up, making it look like a fat, bodiless hand. He held it over his head and then let it go, making it rattle and then fly in a funny circle above the bed before bumping against Mom’s forehead and landing on her shoulder.
Alex let out a laugh that made his throat hurt superbad. But he smiled, looking at the dead glove on Mom’s shoulder.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked in a lazy voice, her eyes still closed. “What’s up with you two?”
“Nothing,” Dad said, looking over at Alex.
“Nothing,” Alex echoed. He felt like crying again. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
Dad came up beside him and felt his forehead again. “I’m calling Kaitlyn,” he said to Mom.
“I want to go home,” Alex said, half crying. His mouth still burned, his eyes hurt, and his throat now felt as if he’d swallowed broken glass. He had to go to the bathroom, he was on the verge of throwing up again, and the back of his neck was going boom, boom, boom.
“I know, buddy,” Mom said, looking at him like she knew just how he felt. She kissed his cheek and then looked up at Dad. “He’s warmer than usual.” Her eyes looked all big and scared, which made Alex more scared.
“I know,” Dad said. “Macey is supposed to be in any minute.” Mom offered Alex some water, but he turned away.
The drape pulled back, and Dr. Lewis entered the room. “Hi, everybody,” she said. “How are we doing today?”
“Not so great,” Mom said. She looked like she was gonna cry, which made Alex feel like crying too. Alex noticed that Dr. Lewis wasn’t carrying the manila folder that she normally held under her arm as she stepped right up next to the bed and looked at him.
Nurse Kaitlyn came around the curtain, wearing her standard smile. She scooched in beside Dad and pressed the same button that he’d used to have her come to the room. “How are we doing? It looks like somebody turned Alex’s temperature up, huh?”
“That’s normal, though, right?” Mom asked, her voice all high and squeaky-like. “The fever?”
“He’s okay,” Dr. Lewis said, sounding like she knew. She looked down at Alex. “I know you don’t feel well, Alex. We are going to fix you up, okay? You’re doing great.”
Alex nodded.
“Let’s pull our chairs over here for a few minutes,” Dr. Lewis said, gesturing past the blue curtain into the other side of the room. “Kaitlyn, can you entertain Mr. Alex while I speak to Mom and Dad for a few minutes?”
“Sure!” Kaitlyn said. “How ’bout a visit from Mr. Brave?”
Alex shrugged. He knew Dr. Lewis was going to talk to Mom and Dad about him, but he didn’t feel good enough to care. And today he didn’t really care if he saw Mr. Brave ever again.
I just wanna go home.
IAN WASN’T A DOCTOR, BUT ONE THING THAT HELPED him move up the ranks of the plant was his ability to read people. Something’s definitely wrong. With one look at Brooke, he knew she knew it too. They all sat down, and Macey leaned toward the edge of her seat and laced her fingers together.
“There’s a problem, isn’t there?” Ian asked.
“Ian and Brooke,” Macey said, “all kids are different. They all have different treatments, and they all respond differently.”
“Tell us,” Ian said. He didn’t like the tone of the doctor’s voice, confirming his suspicions. “Straight up.”
“I wouldn’t do it any other way,” Macey said. “Here it is. Alex’s white blood cell test came back, and his count went up.”
“That’s bad,” Brooke said.
Macey nodded somberly. “The cancer’s very aggressive.”
Aggressive.
Ian didn’t like that word. It had tiny fangs that carried poison— poison that could make the heart skip beats and then pound with sickening cold flashes.
Brooke beat him to the punch and repeated it. “Aggressive?”
“Yes,” the doctor said.
“What’s the plan, then?” Ian asked. “What do we do?”
“Like I said, all kids are different. They all respond differently. As tough as Alex is, I’m concerned about the toll his treatment is taking on him. With that being said, I believe we need to move on against the disease.”
“You’re worried about the toll it’s taking?” Ian asked. Reality had an interesting way of constantly redefining itself. I have a son. My son has leukemia. The leukemia is both aggressive and taking its toll.
Macey nodded yet again. “He’s now down eleven pounds in a little over a month. He is still not eating well, and at this pace, we’re going to have a hard time keeping him comfortable. We need to move forward before he loses more ground. There are some significant hills to climb ahead of us.”
Brooke looked like she was in agony. Their little boy was going to suffer some more. It was like sending a wounded soldier back to the front.
“How aggressive is it?” Ian asked, standing up and looking around the edge of the curtain. Alex was perfectly still, his small hand in Kaitlyn’s. She lifted a finger to her lips. He was asleep. Ian sat back down and asked the same question. “How aggressive?”
“It’s early in his treatment,” Macey said. “But I know we are now looking at a high-risk leukemia—one where regular treatment is not effective enough to keep the cancer away.”
“High-risk?” Ian said.
“He is going to be okay,” Brooke said, taking a deep breath. She tilted her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. “He is going to be okay. He is going to be okay. Only believe. Only believe.”
Ian put his hand on Brooke’s shoulder. He knew she was scared. He was scared too, but something about Macey’s confidence had earned his trust. He looked back at the doctor. “What do you plan to do next?”
“Treating leukemia is sometimes like playing a game of cat and mouse. You treat and then test, treat and then test again, constantly adjusting until you get consistent results, with the ultimate goal being remission.”
“And with Alex,” Ian said, “it’s like chasing a very fast mouse.”
“You could say that,” Macey said. Her eyes flicked from Ian to Brooke and back again. “You wanted it straight . . .”
“Let’s have it,” Ian said.
“I believe with just chemo, the cancer will keep coming back, making it more difficult to treat, because the cancer itself can develop a drug resistance.”
“So what do you do then?”
“We up the chemo. Try to kill it before it can outrun it, in a sense.”
“So then,” Brooke said, “why aren’t you doing that?”
“We could,” Macey said. She rose and walked to the window, putting her hands in her white coat pockets. “It’s definitely an option.”
“But you’re hesitating,” Ian said. “Because?”
Macey turned around, took a long step back toward them, and crossed her arms. “Because it could kill him,” she said quietly.
“No,” Brooke said, bringing her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. “You have to help him. Before it gets to that point.”
&
nbsp; Ian reached over and took Brooke’s hand. “What’s your best plan, Macey? What would you do if this was your kid?”
“We need to go in and knock it all out,” she said. “Fast.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“The transplant. It’s our best chance. And that chance is inside of you right now, Ian.”
“Best chance?” Brooke asked.
Ian gently put his hand under Brooke’s chin and had her face him. “It’s gonna be okay, Brooke. Macey knows what she is doing.”
“I know,” Brooke sniffled. “He is going to be made well, remember? He is going to be all right. I believe—I believe.”
“That’s right,” Macey repeated, the increasingly familiar words providing comfort in a clearly uncomfortable moment. “Only believe.”
But there was something in her eyes that made Ian think she didn’t.
THIRTY-EIGHT
What a day,” Jim said, sitting down in his La-Z-Boy. “We get to eat turkey and watch Thanksgiving football on television. It has been quite awhile for me. Praise God.”
“Good for you,” Kaitlyn said, sitting on the couch next to Zach and Charlie. She nudged Zach with her elbow to look at Charlie.
Charlie was wearing headphones that could only reach his ears by being put on from the back of his head instead of from the top. He was listening to Brooke’s iPod. Kaitlyn smiled, watching as his lips rounded in amazement. His head slowly moved back and forth as he pressed the mystery button—the button that magically changed the songs he was hearing.
Shirley came out of the kitchen and handed Jim a soda, and Carla trailed right behind her. Carla sat down on the floor, resting her back against the edge of the sofa. “So you said that it went pretty well at the shelter this morning, Pastor Jim?”
“It went really well,” he said, reaching over and grabbing a handful of potato chips out of a plastic bowl on Charlie’s lap. He held his hand out to Carla, and she took one. “A lot of people showed up to help.”
“Many from St. Thomas?” Zach asked. “I know Kenneth was there.”
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