by S. E. Lund
"And how do you know he's my son? I should be tested—"
"Drake," she said, her voice sounding frustrated. "It was either you or Chris. I wasn't seeing anyone else. Yes, you should be tested, but given it's the same leukemia as your brother, I assumed he's yours."
"Of course…" Drake stammered. "They'll find out when they test me for compatibility." Drake said nothing for a moment, holding his cup between his palms. He didn't meet Maureen's eyes, focusing instead on the table and his cup. "So you were fucking us both, obviously."
"I didn’t mean to. You were pretty insistent when you were around. I tried to talk to you but you were always shushing me, trying to get me into bed. I finally gave up."
I stood up at that, embarrassed to be listening in to their private conversation. Drake grabbed my hand.
"Stay," he said. I sat back down, my face red. Drake sighed heavily. "Tell me about my son."
"Liam," she said. Drake glanced up at that. Maureen gave a half-smile, somewhat guilty-looking. "I always liked your father and that name, so I called him that when I found out he was a boy."
"Jesus Christ," Drake said, rubbing his eyes. "You never suspected that he was my son?"
"You and Chris look quite a lot alike. Dark hair, fair skin. He has hazel eyes, and yours are blue, but still. Liam could have been either of yours. I assumed," she said, her voice low. "I wanted to believe he was Chris's son. It wasn't until we needed a donor that I found out the truth."
"How long ago was this?"
"He's had leukemia for a year, but it wasn't until he didn't respond to chemo and had a relapse that we decided on stem cell transplantation. We tested everyone in the family and that's when we discovered Chris wasn't his father. As soon as I found out, I made an appointment with Krishnamurtha here at NYP Children's. I decided to come here, where I knew some of the nurses. NYP has one of the best pediatric oncology centers in the world. And of course, there's you. You're the same blood type. I thought you might be an HLA match."
"What's his diagnosis?"
"AML. M5. He has a rare 10:11 mutation and needs aggressive treatment. I should have known he was yours when I heard it, but I wasn't thinking about you."
"Christ," Drake said, rubbing his forehead. "How's he doing?"
"He's holding his own, but he needs a transplant. If you're a match, he'll be prepped for consolidation therapy. High dose chemo and radiation, then bone marrow or stem cell transplant. We looked for a donor but came up empty. If you're a match, will you agree to donate your marrow?"
Drake didn’t hesitate. "Of course. Anything."
"I know you're going to Africa, but I need you to do this."
"The semester doesn’t start until March so I have some time. I was going to help with their surgical slate for a while, help with backlogged cases, but that can wait."
Maureen covered her face with her hands and for the first time, she cracked, her perfect blonde exterior crumbling. She actually cried in front of us, her sobs silent, her shoulders shaking.
Drake looked very uncomfortable, but finally, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Maureen seemed to snap out of it and reached into her bag. She fished through its contents and removed a tissue, wiping her eyes as she struggled to gain control over herself.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Drake shrugged. "How could I say no? He's my son."
"I knew you didn't want kids, Drake. That's why I never tried to find out if he was yours or Chris's. I knew you probably wouldn't want him anyway, but Chris did want him. He wanted a family."
Drake nodded. "I never wanted to have kids because of the chance of passing on the gene. I never imagined being a father."
"You are, but Chris is his real father, Drake. A father isn't just a sperm donor. A father is the man who reads you stories at night, who plays soccer with you in the summer and who takes you fishing. A father is the one who sits by your bed when you're sick."
Drake shook his head. "I guess I never had a father, then."
She glared at Drake, an exasperated expression on her face. "Look, Drake. If you do this, I don’t want you trying to become involved in Liam's life. Leave things as they are," she said, her voice edged with warning. "It was hard enough telling Chris that Liam wasn't his. Liam doesn't have to know. It would break his heart to find out that Chris wasn’t his biological father. Maybe some day when he's grown and able to handle it, but now? I don't want him to know."
Drake didn’t say anything, but I could tell from the way he held his jaw that he was very upset.
"Will you come up and see him now?" she said. "He's probably asleep, but you could look in on him." She turned to me. "You won't be able to go into the room. Only family is allowed inside."
I shook my head. "That's fine. I wouldn’t presume to intrude on your private family business."
"Kate can come along if she wants, and wait outside his room." Drake turned to me and took my hand, squeezing it.
I nodded. Maureen didn’t argue.
We followed Maureen down the many hallways and took the elevator to the ward where Liam was, and as we walked, our pace brisk, Drake questioned Maureen about Liam's diagnosis and treatment. I realized it was a nurse and a doctor talking about medicine, and I had a hard time keeping up.
Drake turned to me. "He has acute myelogenous leukemia. It's a cancer of the white blood cell at a certain stage of development. He has a rare mutation that makes it very aggressive and so they have to treat it equally aggressively."
"Like your brother's?" I asked.
He nodded. "Liam was diagnosed when he was four and died when he was five." We pushed through double doors and into the pediatric oncology ward. "I never knew Liam," he said, exhaling heavily. "I was supposed to be the consolation baby, but apparently, I wasn't enough."
I frowned, remembering what Drake told me about his mother. It all became clearer now – the grieving mother trying to make up for the dead child by having another baby but it wasn't enough to overcome her depression. Then, add into that a father who was absent from his life most of the time. Maybe Liam was also trying to deal with his own loss in the only way he knew – by keeping extra-busy.
Poor Drake. My heart swelled for him and I took his hand in mine. He turned to me, his brow furrowed. My eyes were brimming, and when he saw me, he smiled softly, his expression changing.
"Sweet sweet Kate," he whispered to me, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
I didn't want to be weak when he needed strength to get through this, but I couldn't help but feel so much emotion for him. I imagined him as a tiny boy with parents who couldn't love him the way he needed. It wasn't his fault his brother died, yet he was the one who paid the price because of their inability to deal with the loss of their first child, the brother he never knew.
Finally, we arrived at the pediatric oncology ward, walking past a playroom with brightly painted floors and walls in blues and yellows. The happy colors and images of elephants and bears just made me even more sad.
I sat in a small waiting room while Drake and Maureen spoke to the nurses at the nursing station. Liam was in isolation, and so Drake and Maureen had to suit up in scrubs and masks. I was able to glance through the windows of the isolation room to the bed where young five-year old Liam lay, his tiny head bald from chemo, his face pale, his lips pallid. He was on oxygen, the nasal cannula threaded around his face, an I.V. in his arm. The lights were low, but the general area was still well-lit so it wasn't too dark to see him.
Drake followed Maureen inside and stood beside the bed. The two adults said and did nothing but stand and watch the boy as he slept. I felt so bad for both of them and for Liam – he never knew his namesake, Maureen didn't know that Liam was Drake's son, and Liam never knew his biological father.
I went back to the tiny waiting room and sat on a chair, watching Liam's room from down the hallway. Then, a man got off the elevator with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black turtleneck. He look
ed a lot like Drake, with black hair and fair skin. It had to be Chris – Maureen's husband. Liam's 'father'.
He smiled at me and sat down across from my chair, sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes.
"Are you Chris?" I said, clearing my throat, unsure how I'd be received.
He raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he said. "How did you know?"
"Maureen described you. You look quite a lot like Drake. I'm with Drake." I paused, not knowing if I should identify myself as his girlfriend. "He's with Maureen in Liam's room."
Chris nodded and glanced at me up and down as if I wasn't quite what he expected.
"You're the new… what do I call you? Submissive?"
"I'm his partner," I said, using the word Drake had used.
"His business partner?"
"No, his girlfriend."
"Sorry," he said and shrugged. "I didn't think he had those. How long have you been with him?"
"We met in October."
He nodded. "So how's he taking it?"
I turned to glance at Drake and Maureen in the isolation room, standing over Liam.
"As well as can be expected. He said he'd do anything to help."
"I hope he's a match," he said, his voice weary.
I sighed and watched as Drake bent over Liam and stroked his forehead. The boy stirred briefly, but his eyes remained shut. I thought about Drake's relationship with the small African boy who received the deep brain stimulation. Despite his belief that he could never be a father, I thought Drake was wrong. He'd probably make a wonderful father. His care and concern for the young patient went above and beyond the call of duty as a surgeon.
Drake had learned some hard lessons in life – about why his marriage failed. About himself as a man. Maybe, he could be the kind of father he wished he had for himself.
"So what do you do?" Chris said to me after slurping his coffee and exhaling in satisfaction. "You a nurse, too?"
I shook my head. "Grad student in journalism at Columbia."
"Grad student? How old are you?"
I frowned. He was awfully prying for a complete stranger. Perhaps he was exceptionally curious about Drake, seeing as he was Maureen's first husband.
"I'm going to be twenty-five."
He raised his eyebrows and glanced away. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Pardon me?"
He couldn't hold back a smile. "He likes them young, or so Maureen tells me. He was after her when she was still a nursing student."
"She obviously liked them older," I replied, noting the bit of grey in his hair.
"Touché."
I sat and fumed for a moment, insulted by his rudeness. Finally, I couldn't hold back.
"Do you treat all strangers like this?" I said, my voice wavering a bit from anger. "Making comments about their private lives?"
He cracked a grin and shrugged one shoulder. "No," he said. "But, you know… Drake's not your average neurosurgeon. You have to understand I've heard Maureen's side of things. You haven't."
"Drake's a wonderful man and one of the best neurosurgeons in his area. He presented research on pediatric neuro-electrophysiology at a conference. He volunteers his services in Africa for poor—"
"Oh, I have no doubt about Drake's abilities as a surgeon," Chris said, his tone impatient. "It’s his interests as a man…" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
"Which is none of your or anyone else's business…"
"He's my wife's ex. He's the father of the boy I consider my own son. It's my business, sweetheart."
He took a sip of his coffee, turned away and that was that. We sat in silence until Drake and Maureen exited Liam's room and returned to the waiting area. They walked up and Chris stood. I followed suit and stood up, smoothing my clothes.
Drake and Chris eyed each other, doing nothing more than nodding in each other's direction.
Maureen turned to us. "I see you two have met," she said, her voice clipped.
"We did." Chris leaned over and kissed Maureen on the cheek.
Drake took my hand and pulled me into an embrace. He pressed his face into my neck and squeezed me so hard, it felt like he was going to smother me. I ran my hands up his strong back, rubbing his shoulders to comfort him. He was obviously overwhelmed.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, his emotions making mine swell as well.
He finally pulled back, his eyes wet, and kissed me briefly. "Thank you for being here." Then he ended the embrace and his hand slid down my arm to my hand, which he clasped in his, our fingers entwining. He wiped his eyes briefly and turned to Maureen.
"Call me when the arrangements are made," he said to her. "I'll come whenever his doctors need me."
Maureen nodded and we left them, walking down the hallway to the elevators. Drake pushed the button and we waited in silence. I glanced back and the two of them were watching us, leaning in together as if discussing me. Of course, I'd be a curiosity. Drake's girlfriend. He wasn't supposed to have them, or so Chris thought.
We entered the elevator and once the doors closed, he leaned against the wall and pulled me into his arms for the short ride down to the lobby.
"Christ, what a day…" he said. He ran his hand over my hair as I leaned my cheek against his shoulder. "I'm so glad you were here with me. I don't know what I'd do if I were alone through this."
"What a shock for you," I said, squeezing him. "To find out you have a son and that he's sick."
"At least he has a good father."
I glanced up at him. "I hope so. He was rather rude to me."
Drake frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He made comments that were suggestive. About you and about me."
Drake shook his head. "I can't imagine what Maureen told him about me. Probably thinks I'm Hannibal Lecter."
"He only knows Maureen's side of the story, Drake."
He sighed and released me when the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened. "I was a dick, Kate," he said, taking my hand as we left the elevator and walked through the lobby to the street. "I freely admit that. She had every right to divorce me. I was an absent husband."
I took in a deep breath and nodded. "You did as well as you knew how at the time."
"I promise I won't be absent with you," he said and squeezed my hand. "I've learned about myself and about relationships since then. I don't want to be that man anymore."
"You aren't."
He smiled softly at that and stopped. "Sweet sweet Ms. Bennet," he said and brushed his fingers over my lips. "How lucky I am to have found you."
We embraced once more and went out into a cold Manhattan winter's night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We drove down the snowy streets in silence. I took Drake's hand, waiting until he felt like talking. As I watched the passing scenery, I noticed that we weren't going back towards his apartment in Chelsea, but instead down 8th Avenue.
It was 'our place'. Where we first really became a couple.
"You want to go to 8th Avenue?"
He nodded but didn't say anything. I bit my lip, not wanting to question him about it. He'd say why if he felt like it. Still, I was curious. I liked his apartment and planned on using it as a studio of sorts before we left for Africa. It felt as if he was really letting me 'in' by taking me there – into his life.
"I think of 8th Avenue as our place," he said quietly, mirroring my own thoughts. "My apartment is me as I was before you. I'm different now. Frankly, I'd like to sell the Chelsea apartment and for us to move into 8th Avenue or get our own place when we come back from Africa."
"Will you still be able to go? I mean, with the transplant…"
He shook his head. "I'll contact the head of the Neurosurgery program and let him know what's up. I may not be a match, but if I am, the procedures will take about four weeks. I'll have to cancel my slate, have someone else do my surgeries, but we can still go once I know Liam's OK, if I am a match. I wouldn’t start teaching until March anyway." He pulled into a park and lock parking ga
rage and found a spot. When he got out, he came around to my side and opened the door for me. I'd become used to his gentlemanly ways and let him.
He took my arm and we walked down the stairs to the ground level.
"I hope to hell that I'm a match. He's so young and frail and this cancer is very aggressive."
I cleared my throat, a bit overcome with emotion. "You'll have to stay for a while, see how he does."
He nodded. "I hope you don't mind. We just may have time to get your malaria meds all up to date before we go."
"Of course I don't mind." We entered the street, arm in arm, and we walked the block and a half to his building. "What's involved in the transplant?"
He opened the front entry door for me and held it as I went through. "Testing to see if my HLA is a match for Liam's, and then if I'm a match, they'll have two options. They can give me a drug called Filgrastim to increase my blood stem cells and then harvest them from my blood using a machine that separates white from red blood cells, or they can go into my marrow surgically and take it out."
"Is it painful?"
"Filgrastim makes you really achy and tired for a few days before the donation because your marrow is producing more stem cells than normal. There's a recovery time after they harvest your cells. A week or so. Taking marrow directly out of the bone causes discomfort, but it's bearable with painkillers."
"How do they decide?" I asked as we climbed the stairs to his apartment.
"That's up to the oncologist but it's easier to do the peripheral collection."
He opened the door to the apartment and I was taken once more by the scent of the place and how much it made me think of the happy times we'd spent there together. Tonight would not be one of those times, but I'd try to comfort Drake as best I could, however he wanted me to comfort him.
"How do they do the procedure?"
He took my coat and hung it in the closet while I shucked off my boots. "They'll have me lie on a bed, cover me with warm blankets. They take blood out of one arm, run it through a machine that separates out the stem cells, and then re-infuse it in the other arm."
