by A W Hartoin
“I heard. Your kidney will show up any day now.”
“I hate the thought of someone dying so I can live,” Arthur said.
“It’s the only way, so let’s concentrate on you living,” I said.
“Will you be here when it happens?”
“If I’m in town I will.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Good.”
I grabbed my backpack, slipped out, and closed Arthur’s door quietly.
“Mercy.”
I jumped and turned. Odetta was standing in the corridor, clasping her hands.
“You scared me.” I patted my heaving chest.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
“What about?”
Just then two women came running down the corridor. The first was Philippa, my friend and fellow nurse, and the second I didn’t recognize. Philippa was still in her favorite pink polka-dotted scrubs from the night shift, but her companion wore grey sweats, a battered bubble coat, and a pair of worn-out Nikes.
“She’s gone,” gasped Philippa. “I saw her leave the garage.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Raptor.” She glanced at the other woman. “I’m sorry. Raquel.”
“It’s okay. I know how she is,” the other woman said and that’s when I recognized her. It was Raquel’s older sister, Cecile. She was a senior in nursing school when I was a freshman.
The three of them stood together looking at me, but none seemed inclined to say anything.
“So…you wanted to talk to me,” I said.
“Yes.” Odetta glanced around like she was expecting someone to sneak up on us. “Let’s go in an empty room.”
She led us down to the next vacancy and closed the door. Cecile was shaking and Philippa put her arm around her shoulders.
“Okay. Now you’re just freaking me out. What’s going on?” I asked.
“Do you know about my son?” asked Cecile in a quavering voice. She pulled a snapshot out of her pocket and handed it to me. In the center was a brown-haired little boy clutching a teddy. He looked up at the camera with an impossibly wide grin and gapped teeth.
“Keegan?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t look like that anymore. You know his diagnosis?”
“Not the particulars. He has Dravet syndrome. Philippa told me.”
“Do you know what the diagnosis means?”
I swallowed and tried to think what to say to this mother shaking before me. She knew what it meant. Was it any good to pretend that it was something else?
“It means he’ll never have a life,” I said softly.
Odetta began crying and turned away, but Cecile looked me right in the eye. “That’s right.”
“I’m so sorry. How old is he now?” I asked.
“He just turned four.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but I was afraid of the answers. Cecile wasn’t there because Keegan was doing well. Dravet syndrome was a kind of walking death. Children were diagnosed usually in their first year of life and it was all downhill from there. The afflicted could suffer hundreds of seizures a day. It affected every part of their lives and the lives around them. There was no cure and no approved treatment.
“He’s gone into status,” said Philippa.
I nodded like I truly understood what that meant for Keegan, for Cecile. It varied from patient to patient.
“They can’t stop the seizures,” said Cecile. “They go on for over an hour now and they happen almost constantly. He’s lost his ability to speak and to stand or walk.”
“The neurologist thinks it’s beginning to affect his cognitive abilities,” said Odetta, turning around and wiping her eyes.
I waited, but no one continued. Tears rolled down their faces and they watched me. I wasn’t crying yet, but I was on the edge.
“I get the feeling that you want something from me,” I said.
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t absolutely desperate,” said Cecile. “It’s so bad. I think…I think he’s going to die.”
“What can I do?”
“You’re going to Colorado,” said Odetta. “When you told me, we came up with a plan, but it won’t work without you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Whenever someone came up with a plan for me, it was a bad thing.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Have you heard of Alice’s Answer?” asked Cecile.
Now I had it. Alice’s Answer was a cannabis oil being used to treat seizure disorders. It was only made in Colorado where it was legal.
“You want it for Keegan,” I said.
“It’s his only hope,” she said.
“I guess it is. What exactly do you want me to do?”
“It’s still illegal in Missouri. No one can import. It would take forever to get special approval, and we don’t have that kind of time. I can’t afford to move to Colorado. Keegan’s father, he left. He couldn’t handle it. The insurance isn’t covering Keegan’s care completely. There’s just no money, and I have two other kids to think of.”
“And bringing it across state lines is a crime, state and federal,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s his only hope. I don’t want to ask you, but…” Tears flowed out of Cecile’s eyes in a continuous stream.
“Why me?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Cecile broke down and Philippa answered, “You’re going to Colorado. You’ll be right there.”
“And my dad is Tommy Watts.”
“If you were caught, he could get you out of it.”
“My dad’s a retired cop, that doesn’t make him the all-powerful Oz, although he thinks so.”
Cecile straightened up. “I can’t get caught. I’m the only parent they have left.”
“I’d do it,” said Odetta. “But I’ve got kids of my own. We need my income.”
“I offered,” said Philippa.
Cecile shook her head. “No. If you went to jail your mother couldn’t handle it.”
Philippa’s mom had early onset Alzheimer’s. When she was coherent, Philippa was the light of her life.
“And…you have the Bleds,” said Philippa.
I’d known Philippa since high school. She’d never once tried to use my connection to the Bled family for her own purposes and that was saying something. A lot of people had no such scruples. Myrtle and Millicent Bled were my godmothers and wealthy to the extent that most people couldn’t imagine. People were always contacting me trying to get to them. I knew how desperate the situation was if Philippa was willing to do it. I would’ve asked about other family members, but I imagined they would be in the same boat. Incomes were needed. Mothers and fathers were required. I, on the other hand, was single with an influential father and connected to one of the most powerful families in the state, if not the country. It had to be me. Plus, when Raptor found out, she would lose her damn mind. Raptor would owe me. It might be worth a stint in jail just for that alone. I didn’t know what my parents would say if I got caught, but I decided I didn’t care. Keegan wasn’t going to get brain damage, if I could help it. My parents would just have to deal.
“I’ll do it.”
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A.W. Hartoin is the author of the Mercy Watts mystery series and the Away From Whipplethorn fantasy series. She lives in Colorado with her husband, two children, and six bad chickens.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Also by A.W. Hartoin
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13<
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Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Double Black Diamond
About the Author
