The Still of Night

by Kristen Heitzmann

  He leaned back in his chair and let the breakers center his mind. “You said she was smart.”

  “She came from us.”

  He nodded. Intelligence did seem to have some genetic connection.

  “She’s very spiritual.” Jill smiled. “She loves the Lord. Such a pure faith.”

  Morgan studied the stars over the water. His daughter loved the God he actively eluded. A smile brushed his lips. Touché.

  “She designed her own Web page, calls it Kelsey’s Hope Page. She answers questions from other kids with cancer and shares her faith, the love of Jesus. It’s a wonderful page.”

  Kelsey’s Hope Page. Maybe that was the place to start knowing his daughter. A cold, impersonal knowing, yet he could contact her, ask her if—no, that would put her in a hard position. Still, the site would give him something of her. “Has she written you tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Your laptop …”

  “It’s in the office. I’ll get it.” She looked as though she might stop him but didn’t. He paused at the door. “Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “Help yourself in the kitchen.” He had meant to offer it earlier, but the sunset beach had distracted him. Just because he had to fast didn’t mean she did. He went down and brought the laptop up, using his wireless LAN to open the Internet.

  Jill returned with an apple and a handful of whole-grain crackers. She went to the railing and looked out over the moonlit sea, obviously in no rush to check her mail, even though he’d booted up the computer. She couldn’t be that fascinated with the lighted ships, but he gave her space.

  Gazing on the water, she said, “It looks cold.”

  “It is. I just got out.”

  She half turned. “You went swimming?”

  “Needed something to cool me down.”

  She turned away.

  “So tell me more.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know, Morgan. It’s not as though I’ve known her all these years. They never sent pictures or letters or anything like that. It was pretty much a closed adoption, except we knew each other’s names. The first contact I had was the letter telling me she had leukemia.”

  “That wasn’t the first contact.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “You carried her to term. You birthed her.”

  Jill dropped her chin with a wounded look. Was she surprised he would resent her having had that much? “I held her for half an hour when she was born, memorized each finger, each wisp of hair. Her eyes were your color even then. She was so tiny, so incredible. But that was all I had.”

  Morgan sensed her loss. “Why didn’t you keep her?”

  “I could never have brought her home.”

  He pictured her father, firm, upright, narrow. An illegitimate grandchild would not go over well. “I’m sorry.” And he was. She’d lived all those years knowing her child was out there, wondering, imagining …

  He stood up and joined her. She didn’t pull away from his hand on her back. Maybe she sensed it was no more than comfort, what little he had to give.

  The door opened behind them. “Perdóneme. Señorita Jill, you have a phone call.” Dressed in a floor-length house gown and robe, Consuela handed her the cordless phone.

  “Thank you.” Jill took the phone. “Hello? Hi … Kelsey.” Her eyes darted to him.

  Morgan tensed. His daughter was on the phone.

  Jill shifted away from his hand. “How are you?”

  He checked his watch. Almost one in the morning on the East Coast. Why was she calling? Had they changed protocol? Kelsey wouldn’t be the one to tell them. Certainly not in the middle of the night. And how did she have his number? Jill must have given it.

  Jill’s voice continued. “No, I haven’t. Actually I was just going to check my mail now. The computer’s booted up, but I hadn’t gotten in. I didn’t think about the time change or I would have done it sooner. I should have.”

  She sounded nervous. Did she want him to leave?

  “Yes. How did you know?” She listened for a moment, then, “Oh.”

  It was frustrating hearing only her awkward answers. He wanted to grab the phone and say, Talk to me, Kelsey. Let me hear your voice.

  “Yes. At least I’ll be at the hospital and drive him home.” She moistened her lips.

  Him? They were discussing him.

  Jill met his eyes. “Honey, I don’t know. You need to decide that.”

  His breath paused. What was Kelsey deciding? Something to do with him?

  “Okay.” She held the phone out.

  His heart made a slow flip.

  “She only has permission to call me, but she wants to talk to you, and—” Jill smiled—“she’s adolescent enough to stretch it.”

  Morgan took the phone, brought it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi.” The voice on the other end was impossibly sweet. “I know this is weird.” She paused just long enough for him to grasp that it was his daughter’s voice. “But I wanted to thank you beforehand. You won’t be feeling good tomorrow, so I thought it might help to know I appreciate it.”

  She was worried how he’d feel? “I’m glad to help, Kelsey.” His throat was raw.

  “You’ll be less glad tomorrow.”

  He swallowed. “You’re wrong. Even more so tomorrow, and the next day, and especially when it starts to work.”

  She drew a slow, labored breath. “Can I ask you another favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you send me a picture for my room?”

  He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “A picture of what?”

  “Of you.”

  His throat closed painfully. “Sure. If you want it.”

  “Thanks. Mom thought it would be hard for me to talk to you. But I’m glad I did.”

  “Me too.”

  “And I’m glad Jill’s there, that you’re together.”

  Morgan glanced at Jill, who was watching him pensively. “Me too.”

  “Bye.”

  “Good-bye, Kelsey.” He closed his eyes and turned off the phone.

  Jill’s arms came around his waist, and he slowly wrapped her shoulders, laid his jaw against her head, playing back Kelsey’s voice, her words. “I thought it might help to know I appreciate it.” Jill must feel the crazy beat of his heart with her head resting against his chest. He had no idea it would affect him like this to connect with Kelsey. There was so much he’d wanted to say, but none of it had come to his mind while he had her on the phone.

  I wouldn’t have abandoned you, Kelsey. I wanted you and Jill and me to be a family. I just wasn’t mature enough to do things right.

  Jill took the phone from his hand, stepped back from his embrace, and looked up into his face. “Are you all right?”

  Not by a long shot. He sucked in a breath. “How did she know you were here? With me?”

  “I left this number with Cinda, who told her she could call me. She’d actually asked about talking to you in her e-mail, only I didn’t get it.”

  “Get it now.” He took her hand and brought her to the table. He wanted more.

  Jill brought up her account and clicked through the messages until she came to Kelsey’s. And though it might be presumptuous, he read over her shoulder.

  Hi Jill, I know you’re right about Josh. I don’t think I would actually kiss him, even if he does come back. But I’m glad I admitted I wanted to. I have all these feelings going around inside me. It’s not as easy anymore to know how to be, what to do, what to want. I know what people want for me, to be well and grow up and stay alive. But I will never have a normal life. I don’t talk like this to Mom. It would break her heart. But it is the truth. I can’t marry or have children. I feel so weak already, and I’m afraid of what will happen with the transplant.

  Sensing Jill’s distress, Morgan rested his hands on her shoulders, stroking softly with his thumbs as his own heart wrenched.

  Jesus
is so real right now. I sense Him every day. His love is all that keeps me going when I get so sick I can’t take it. Dad said it’s okay to cry. He cries with me.

  Morgan’s throat filled with ache. The man she called Dad, crying with his daughter. Jill reached up and touched his fingers.

  I cry because I’m too sick to stop it, not because it helps. Only prayer helps. I know you’re praying, too. Is Morgan?

  His fingers stiffened on Jill’s shoulders. He hadn’t prayed for Kelsey since he thought she’d been destroyed as a fetus. He hadn’t prayed at all since then.

  Do you think I could talk to him? I understand Mom and Dad’s point. They don’t want me hurt or my energy drained. But I’d like to thank him. Before, I mean. In case I can’t after the transplant. They didn’t actually say no, just that they didn’t think it would be good for me. So do you think I should? Hurry and tell me since it’s tomorrow, you know. Love, Kelsey.

  Jill drew a shaky breath. “She made up her own mind.”

  Morgan didn’t answer. She’d sounded so cheerful. He was glad he hadn’t seen this before he heard his daughter’s voice. He would have known she was forcing it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Jill pressed his hand to her shoulder, stroking with her fingers. Now it was she comforting him. “She’s so strong. These letters don’t show it. They’re her chance to let down, but inside she’s …” Her words trailed away.

  “She thought I wouldn’t be glad I helped.”

  “Only that it’ll be painful for you.”

  He shook his head. “She has no idea.”

  Jill stood up and faced him. “She will, Morgan. As soon as she’s strong, she’ll see you. She’ll make it happen, just as she did with me. You don’t have to force it.”

  He cupped her shoulders. “I won’t.”

  She rested a hand on his heart. “I would never have done this to you, if there was any other way.”

  He covered her hand with his. “It’s out of our control.”

  She nodded. “Morgan?”

  He did not like what he saw in her eyes.

  “Will you pray for her?”

  “I can’t.”

  Her brows drew up painfully. “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t mean anything.”

  Her palm on his chest was warm. “It would mean everything.”

  He cupped the back of her head, the soft short hair like kitten fur on his fingertips. “It’s been too long, too hard.”

  “She needs you.”

  “I’m doing all I can.”

  Her eyelids drooped, then rose again. “I guess that’s my part, then.”

  He smiled, drinking in her face in the moonlight. “Maybe between us, we’ll get it right this time.”

  She reached her fingers up and touched his lips, and it was more intimate and visceral than any touch he’d experienced. No wonder he’d never gotten over her.

  Jill waited in the UCLA Medical Center after Morgan had left her with a cavalier smile. She didn’t know how long it would take before she saw him again, or what condition he’d be in when she did. She only knew she was glad now that she hadn’t matched and Morgan had. That he had the chance to do what she had wanted to. Lord, your ways are above mine, flawless and right. Bless this process now.

  “Praying for someone?”

  Jill opened her eyes to the woman on the chair across from her to the right.

  “Yes.”

  The woman had to be eighty at least. She waved a small reptilian hand. “When you pray, all heaven prays with you. That’s a mighty army.”

  The imagery was suddenly strong in her mind, matching Kelsey’s so well. “Yes.”

  “I’ll pray for you, too.” The woman sat back in her chair.

  “It’s not me, it’s—”

  “You will be sifted, but hell will not prevail.”

  Jill stared at her. How did one answer that? When the woman closed her eyes, Jill reached for a magazine and opened it. The article was on gardening with color themes and made her think of Morgan’s yard. When she finished it, the woman was gone. But what had she meant, sifted?

  CHAPTER

  24

  Morgan seriously needed coffee. He’d been up since six to make the drive into L. A. and get registered for the harvest scheduled for nine o’clock, to ensure plenty of time to transport the marrow to his daughter.

  While he waited he considered all that had gone into the process so far. The blood tests, then the counseling and physical exam, including an EKG and chest X-ray. Not sure what that was for. Probably anesthesia, which posed the only possible danger to him. And they’d taken a unit of blood at that time to be given back during today’s harvest.

  He looked around at the other people awaiting their procedures in the outpatient unit. Were any of them using their own bodies to save someone else? The thought was immense. He’d accomplished a lot, turned entire corporations around, saved jobs for hundreds of workers.

  But nothing meant more than what he was doing now, giving Kelsey another chance to live. They’d been forthright with the statistics. It wasn’t a sure thing by any gambler’s odds. But without it, she had no chance at all.

  A nurse came, directed him to a cubicle, and instructed him to change into the hospital gown she provided. It was designed to ensure the patient felt utterly vulnerable. He was then instructed to empty his bladder and remove all jewelry and dentures or partial plates.

  The nurse glanced up. “Do you wear contact lenses?”

  “No.” No dentures or partial plates, either.

  “Have a seat on the cart, please.” She wheeled him into another room. “This is the pre-op holding area.” She took his arm. “I’m inserting an introducer needle for an IV to administer fluids during and after the surgery.”

  He did not watch as she tied a piece of rubber tubing around his arm and felt for his vein, then inserted the needle. At least she knew what she was doing. They hadn’t given him some nurse intern who needed practice, as was probably the norm in a teaching hospital. “The anesthesiologist will be in shortly.” She untied the tourniquet.

  The anesthesiologist was a bullet-shaped man with hair on the underside of his arms. “How are you?” He pumped Morgan’s hand. “Had a spinal block before? Probably not unless you’ve birthed a baby.” When he’d finished laughing, he went on to describe the procedure.

  “Ready to go forward?”

  Morgan smiled dryly.

  “Now hunch over and roll your back for me. Don’t move at all if you can help it. This is the worst part, after which you’ll feel nothing but pressure during the harvest.”

  The needle went in. Morgan held his breath, hoping the comedian knew his way around a spinal cord.

  “Might notice an electrical sort of shock in your leg.”

  He’d already noticed it, and it was not pleasant.

  “That’s it.” The doctor drew the sides of the gown back together.

  “Now lie down on your stomach.” He eased Morgan’s legs up and back while the nurse connected the IV tubes to his arm.

  In a short while he was wheeled into the operating room where he lay for nearly two hours while they punctured the upper ridge of his hip bone several times on both sides. Though there was no pain, he felt the pressure of multiple bone punctures for each position of the needle. They’d explained to him that only a couple teaspoons of marrow could be taken from each bone puncture, and they’d draw between one and two liters of fluid to obtain enough healthy stem cells for Kelsey.

  Kelsey. Her voice had stayed with him all night, and somewhere around three he had gone to her Web page and absorbed every word of it. Her newsletter was chatty and droll, a sense of humor mirroring his own. He had to wade through her faith-in-the-spiritual-promises section, though he was glad she had faith. That joy for her was obvious, and he wanted her to have anything that helped the pain of what he saw in the pictures that followed.

  Elfin features and a quirky smile didn’t change the bald head, the fragile
limbs, or the machines in each photo performing the various procedures that the text beside the pictures explained. She’d used her own treatments as a text for other kids to see what it was like, and her tone was frank and encouraging. Can’t say I prefer catching rays in the radiation lab to lying on the beach, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined it.

  It was the same voice she had used with him on the phone, but not the way she had written to Jill. Jill got the truth, the real child, the one who let down and cried. His throat tightened. Her page was intended to relieve fear, but Kelsey was afraid of what might happen. He was, too. They’d been way too forthcoming with possible complications of the transplant process that could not only cause the harvest to fail, but in itself, threaten Kelsey’s life.

  He did not want to go there, even in his thoughts. Maybe he couldn’t pray, but he’d control his doubts and fears the best he could. He tried to picture Kelsey now and imagine her thriving because of this. It was so little compared to all he would have done for her. Then he remembered himself at eighteen and wondered. Maybe Jill had done the loving thing. Two mature parents, desperate for a child …

  Could he have gone to Wharton? He could have brought Jill and Kelsey and lived in some sort of married housing. His scholarship would have covered something, though he would have had to work and might not have done as well. Or Jill could have stayed with her parents—no, his. Mom would have welcomed them once she was over the initial shock. She would have loved his daughter, her grandchild.

  He closed his eyes. Fifteen years. Not that he couldn’t have married since then and provided other grandchildren for his mother to love. Well, Rick was filling the bill. Good, do-it-the-right-way Rick. And beautiful Noelle.

  He was getting drowsy when they at last removed the needle without reinserting it. The doctor said, “We’ll dress the surgical site now, Mr. Spencer, and take you into the recovery room. It looks like a very good harvest, and the marrow will be sent to your daughter. You’ve done a wonderful thing.”

  Morgan lay still as they wheeled him into another room. He was tired, but then he’d hardly slept the night before and still had no coffee, only sugar water, in his veins. He closed his eyes and dozed until the pain in his lower back notified him that the spinal block had worn off. He tried to roll over and moaned.