by Kim Watters
Her fingers tightened around her purse strap, rivaling the color of the tan leather. Ruth bit her lip. Noah’s reaction confirmed her earlier suspicions that someone close to him had been a donor. “I can understand your reaction, Noah, and I’m sorry. I think a lot of people have that misconception. I don’t want to hurt you, only help you. Can’t you see that?”
“You have no idea what I went through.”
Ruth reached out to touch Noah’s arm again. “No, I don’t know what you went through. But I know all about losing a close family member.” Images of Rachel flitted through her mind’s eye again, like a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. Rachel laughing. Rachel running. Rachel and Ruth curled up in bed as they read a book together. “My twin sister died a long time ago awaiting a transplant before they became really routine.”
Silence.
Ruth could almost feel Noah’s guilt and his hostility. “Why did you sign the contract with AeroFlight then if you felt this way?”
“I didn’t. Brad did. The only reason I’m doing it is because I can’t afford not to, not because of some misguided sense that it benefits humanity.” Noah lashed out at her, his words stinging like lemon juice on an open cut.
Ruth flinched. Noah hadn’t come to terms with his loss. Sorrow slipped down her cheeks. “One of these days I hope you’ll understand.”
She would never give up helping people in need, whether it was a recipient, a neighbor, a coworker or leading someone to God. But until Noah opened his eyes and his heart and accepted what she had to offer, there could be no future for them no matter how she suddenly wished there was.
An idea blossomed in her brain before she’d managed to get out of his truck. Maybe if Noah understood more about the process, things would somehow change between them. “Noah, would you like to see exactly what it is that I do for the Arizona Organ Donor Network sometime?
“Not interested.”
Ruth turned to face him, compassion lacing her steady voice. “I think you are interested, but you’re too afraid to know that what I do is create hope.”
His features twisted in pain. “You may think you know, but really you know nothing about me and my circumstances.”
“I know that you’re still grieving and in pain and only want to help you. Please. As a friend. God wants to help you, too.” She wanted to help him understand and accept God’s love into his life so that He could carry Noah’s burden for him. But unless Noah made the choice himself, there was nothing Ruth could do.
“God turned his back on me when I needed Him most. I’m not going back.”
Her voice softened as she kept herself from touching him again. Instead, Ruth dug inside her purse and pulled out a tiny pamphlet distributed by her company.
“Here’s some information that will explain the process.”
“Why are you showing me this? I don’t care. I don’t want to see it.” Noah grabbed the copy and crushed it without even looking at the words.
“I’m sorry my presence is causing you so much pain. I can handle it from here. I’ll see you around.”
Noah reached out, but Ruth had already opened the door and slipped away. He wanted to run after her and apologize, but his feet and tongue wouldn’t cooperate.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t follow her inside the gray stucco building and betray his memories of Michelle. Ruth was and always would be an organ donation coordinator just like the woman to whom he’d signed over Jeremy’s organs. He was a fool to think of her as anything else. He couldn’t cancel the contract because Brad, Seth and Hannah depended on him to keep the company operating. But he also couldn’t let Ruth go. It was as if his body had recognized what his mind couldn’t.
He’d work through his issues. But what would Ruth think if she ever found out about the truth he’d buried so deep inside that not even his partner knew about? He still blamed the doctors for not doing enough to save Jeremy. But ultimately, Noah had signed his son’s death warrant. And that guilt ate at his soul.
The trill ring of the phone forced Noah’s attention back to work Friday. He stopped pacing the tile. It wasn’t helping release his pent-up energy anyway. His gaze skimmed the perimeter of the lobby, which doubled as Hannah’s office, taking in the stack of payables that still needed to be filed. Not to mention the stack of unopened mail on his office manager’s desk. He pursed his lips. It was unusual for Hannah to leave work piled up.
The phone rang again. Maybe it was a last-minute request by an executive needing to fly out for a weekend getaway. Both Brad and Seth were available and only a call away. Anticipation surged through his veins at the thought of a pending flight. Before the phone could ring again, Noah picked up the phone normally answered by Hannah. “Desert Wings Aviation.”
“May I speak to Hannah Stevenson please?” A female voice inquired.
Disappointment at what he suspected now was a sales call lodged in his throat. His fingers strangled the black receiver. “She’s at lunch. Is there something I can help you with?”
A terse silence hung in the air. The sound of shuffling papers and muted voices in the background caught his attention. His grip tightened as if trying to reach through the line to draw out the person on the other end. Noah stared at the half-dead ivy pushed behind Hannah’s almost-empty tissue box. Something was going on with his office manager.
“No. I’ll try her at home. But please let her know that Dr. Lewis’s office called. It’s important she contact us immediately. Thanks.”
The click resounded in his ear.
A doctor’s office?
Noah yanked out Hannah’s faux leather chair and sat down. Not a pen or paper in sight. His stomach churning, he pulled open the drawer and rummaged for something to write the message on. Noah owned the office, but he still felt like he was invading Hannah’s territory as he peered through her things. Instead of finding a blank pad inside, his fingers pulled out a thick stack of papers. Some sort of medical research papers by the look of it. His gaze skimmed the top article.
Polycystic kidney disease? He read on about the growth of cysts in the kidneys and how they affected kidney functions and end-stage renal disease. At the realization that Hannah’s health issues had nothing to do with a pregnancy as he’d first thought, he frowned.
Shadows shifted across the wood desk as a cloud passed in front of the sun. Houston sneezed, rose from his spot by the office door and then padded across the floor to sit at Noah’s feet.
Absently, Noah scratched his dog behind the ears as he continued to read. “Houston, we have a problem.”
He grimaced at how that phrase coined all those years ago slipped so easily from his lips. Forcing his gaze away from the papers in front of him, Noah slid the chair back, disgust and concern fighting for space inside his brain.
“Hannah’s sick.” His voice crowded out the silence. Houston cocked his head and raised his ears as if listening. “And she doesn’t have a lot of options.”
Everything all boiled down to one of them.
A transplant.
Nothing short of receiving a donor kidney could cure the disease raging inside her body. A lump formed in the back of his throat at the twist of fate. He forced his clenched fists to relax as he stood. He paced from Hannah’s desk to the window where he could see monsoonal clouds building to the east.
“Why didn’t Hannah tell us about her health problems?” Great. He was talking to his dog again.
The sound of the front door opening interrupted the silence and the turmoil of his thoughts. Houston ran to greet a tired-looking Hannah after she walked through and dumped her purse beneath her desk.
“Hannah, do you have a moment?” Noah motioned for her to follow him into the office he shared with Brad.
“Is there something wrong?” The office manager’s face paled further, but she trudged behind him. Noah wondered how she managed to hold herself together as he sat down. One glance at her trembling hands pulling at a loose thread on her sweater told him she just barely did
.
“No. Not really. Please have a seat.”
Jittery, like one of his new student pilots, Hannah took a seat in one of the leather chairs across from him. His fingers drummed the oak surface of his cluttered desk. With no easy way to approach the subject, he decided to be blunt. “How long have you been sick?”
Hannah hung her head as her fingers mangled the tissue she held. “How do you know?”
“Your doctor’s office called during lunch. I found the paperwork as I was rummaging around for paper to write you a note.” Noah rubbed his forehead and leaned forward. The chair squeaked in disapproval.
She lifted her chin and leveled her gaze on him. “It’s true. So what happens now? Are you going to fire me?”
A stunned Noah stared into the depths of Hannah’s green eyes. Did he really present that image to the world? Did Hannah honestly think this would make a difference in their working relationship?
“No, Hannah. I’m not going to fire you. You’re too valuable. I just want to know what’s going on. How can Brad, Seth and I help you through this?”
Tears crested her lower lashes, and she reached over to pull another tissue from the box on his desk. “I’m not sure you can unless you’ve got a spare kidney lying around. I’ve got polycystic kidney disease.”
Noah nodded for her to continue.
“It’s genetic. I’ve known about it since I was old enough to understand. It’s only gotten worse these past few years.”
“For a while I thought you were pregnant.”
A tiny smile curved her lips. “That would be simpler, wouldn’t it? No, the cysts are huge. The doctor thinks my kidneys weigh about ten pounds each.”
Noah didn’t like the sound of that. “So you’re close to the end stage. Does your son have it, too?”
“Yes, and no. Dylan tested negative. The doctor’s office called to set up my surgery. They want to take my kidneys out next week.” A fresh batch of tears spilled. “I have two options. Dialysis or transplantation. But I don’t want to be tied to a machine for the rest of my life. I’ve been on the waiting list for two years though, and nothing’s come available. The doctors can’t wait any longer. Phoenix is a terrible place to be on a waiting list. I’ve been told my options are better in Florida because there are more donors there, but I won’t uproot my son. He’s been through too much as it is.”
“I’m sorry.” Stepping around his desk in a daze, Noah moved next to Hannah and awkwardly patted her back. He never knew what to say at times like this and sorry seemed pretty lame. He’d heard it too often after Michelle and Jeremy died to put much stock in it. “If you need me to do anything for you, just ask.”
His mind had a hard time trying to wrap around the concept of what Hannah needed. He’d only seen one side of the process. But now, by some ugly twist of karma, he was about to find out about the other.
“Really?” Hannah grasped his hand. Her pale skin blended in with the white of the walls behind her. “I do need you to do something for me then.”
“What is it?”
“Pray for me? And if anything happens to me, I want you and Brad to take care of Dylan.”
Pain radiated from Noah’s heart. Hannah had no idea what she was asking. Not that it was her fault. His office manager didn’t know about Jeremy or that he hadn’t prayed since his death. Noah squeezed her hand back. “Where is he going to stay while you’re in the hospital?”
“With a friend. Their number is on the sticky note on my computer. But that’s only a temporary solution.”
“What about his father?” Stupid question. If the man who fathered Dylan had any sense, he’d be an important part of the young boy’s life.
Hannah hiccoughed. “He doesn’t want anything to do with his son.”
Noah closed his eyes briefly. If something happened to Hannah and she had no one to look after Dylan, the boy would either go to his father if they could find him or into foster care. Neither option was very appealing for the small, sensitive boy Noah had met those few times. He wouldn’t wish that scenario on anyone.
He squeezed her hand again as if he could force the illness from her body.
“Look, Hannah. I’m sure nothing is going to happen to you. But if it makes you feel better, I’d be happy to take care of him. I’m sure Brad would, too. Now go home and start your weekend early. Rest and psych yourself up for surgery.”
“Thank you. I don’t know where else to turn.” Another tear slid down Hannah’s cheek after she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m so scared.”
I’m scared, too. But Noah knew better than to vocalize his thoughts. He’d read the stack of information Hannah had hidden in her desk. He knew without a transplant that her only other option was dialysis for the rest of her life, and she’d just said she didn’t want that. So that left one option.
A transplant.
From a donor.
How could the God he’d forsaken be so cruel to take another young life? A single mother with a child?
Thankfully, Hannah had returned to her desk before she saw the confusion he knew had to be in his eyes. Long after her departure, he paced the tiled floor, stopping occasionally to stare at the picture of his plane on the wall. The sun shifted, its rays streaming in through the slated blinds, catching the dust particles in a macabre dance on their way to the floor. At the side of Noah’s desk, Houston snored as his foot twitched.
A transplant. Noah should go to Ruth. He knew she’d help him understand the process. She’d already offered. His neck muscles bunched, and he pounded his fists against the wall waking his dog. A guttural cry burst through his lips. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that Hannah needed someone to die so she could live.
Someone like that boy on that first flight with Ruth.
Or Jeremy.
He turned around and slid down the wall. An agitated Houston licked his hand. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.
Chapter Eight
“Come on, boy. Let’s get out of here and go to the park. I’ll even let you chase a duck or two.” Noah climbed into the driver’s seat late Saturday morning and started the truck. He couldn’t stay confined inside the walls of his condo anymore. Everywhere he turned, memories of Jeremy hovered. So did the image of Ruth trying to reach out to him.
A tiredness crept over him, courtesy of the sleepless night, but Noah knew it was from more than that as he pulled out of the condo complex. It was the three years of numbness, anger and guilt that wore his emotions thin.
At the park in central Scottsdale, Noah leashed Houston and pulled out a well-used tennis ball from underneath the passenger seat. Then he jumped down after his dog, the warm pavement hard underneath his feet. Inhaling the scent of the city and the aroma of grilling meat, they made their way to the grass lawn. Towering palm trees lined the parking lot while Palo Verde and eucalyptus trees created shade over picnic tables and benches.
Kids screamed and ran around and over the huge jungle gym play area and swings as he walked past. Mothers, both with and without strollers, stood guard over their children as they talked about whatever women talked about these days. Michelle used to bring Jeremy to a smaller park closer to their home. Sometimes Noah would join them. Most of the time not. He’d been gone a lot during his son’s youth and spent the rest of his time fixing up their old home. Sorrow gripped him again.
Noah finally settled himself under an old ironwood tree as far away from the play area and the section blocked off for the half dozen or so kids’ soccer games. He unleashed Houston in the designated dog area. To his right, just past the slight crest of a small hill, a swollen man-made lake glistened in the sun while ducks preened themselves on the grassy shores or paddled around in the water.
He threw the small ball to Houston in the opposite direction to keep the dog’s attention from the wildlife. Noah really didn’t have any intention of letting Houston chase the ducks, regardless of what he’d said
earlier. The poor ducks had enough trouble with the little kids teasing them with breadcrumbs and chasing them around.
Houston ran back to him, his tail wagging, his entire body shaking in anticipation as he dropped the soggy ball at Noah’s feet. With a grimace, Noah picked it up again and threw it a little farther this time, his dog bounding after it at top speed.
A family with a toddler and a baby in a stroller passed by, the little boy squealing in delight at Houston’s antics of playing keep-away with the ball. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Houston barked. The dog nudged the ball toward him, but when Noah bent to retrieve it, Houston grabbed it with his mouth.
The boy approached, holding out his pudgy hands. Noah judged him to be about the same age as Jeremy was when they welcomed Houston into the family. Despite the warm sunshine and beautiful fall day, everything seemed to be reminding him of his son these days. Since Ruth, that job of hers and the contract came into his life. Somehow, the pain right now didn’t seem as bad as it had been this morning. Or maybe he was just kidding himself.
“Looks like we’ve got a visitor, Houston.” Noah motioned the boy over, nodding to his parents that it was okay. “He’s friendly. Come say ‘hi.’”
“Ball.” The boy made a beeline for the wet tennis ball. After picking it up, he looked up at Noah with wide brown eyes. “Ball?”
Houston barked again and sniffed at the boy’s hand, his wagging tail creating a breeze over Noah’s bare arm.
“Sure you can throw him the ball.” Noah smiled.
With Houston occupied, he sat back and tried to relax against the smooth bark of the tree. His mind refused to unwind. Ruth’s anguished face hovered behind his eyelids, unwelcome and welcome at the same time. He hadn’t really meant to hurt her with his words the other day. He had no excuse to allow the three years of bitterness and disappointment to overrule his professionalism. Everyone had a job to do. Even the tax auditor.
