by LAURA GALE
Thinking again! But…he thought of them anyway, the women in his life. No doubt that Michaela was his daughter—he knew because he fully realized that Rachel wasn’t the kind to fool around. No, he admitted, Rachel wouldn’t have done that. And for some reason the knowledge comforted him.
“What do you think, boy?” his father’s voice interrupted Lucas’s thoughts.
“About the Mercado?” Lucas stalled for time, feeling like a seventh-grader caught sleeping during history class.
Deciding to be honest, for once, Lucas gave an answer he knew would not be well received. “Well, Dad, actually, I don’t like it. It’s an uninspired design in a location that doesn’t need another structure of that type. It has no personality, no style. Nothing to distinguish it from dozens of other shopping centers in the Phoenix area.” He took a deep breath, forging ahead with what he had started, mentally noting the stunned silence his remarks were producing. “It’s not a smart location for what you have in mind. It would be the fourth such center within a two-mile radius. I have to question who researched it, because the inappropriateness of the location should have screamed out.” Looking straight at his father, Lucas continued, “I can’t support it, Dad.”
“Well,” Arnold blustered, his face reddening by the second, “maybe you and I will need to talk. Your objections are duly noted. What commentary do you others have?”
Lucas had never publicly contradicted his father’s plans before. He’d tried offering his true opinions when he’d first come to work at the company, only to quickly discover that opinions other than Arnold Neuman’s were not welcome. Figuring that he had a lot to learn, Lucas had shut up and started learning. He kept his ideas to himself, even when he believed his father was making a mistake. However, he had not felt comfortable with his job at Neuman Industries in some time. It didn’t fit him any longer. Maybe it never did.
He knew his father wasn’t happy with him. There would be fallout. But, remarkably, Lucas found that he didn’t care.
On cue, Lucas’s colleagues rushed to stroke Arnold’s ego, assuring him that they supported his project. Lucas had known they would.
But soon Lucas’s thoughts returned to Rachel and how it had been when they first met, when they first got together.
He’d been in his second year at the university, involved in a dual-degree program that allowed him to obtain both a bachelors in business and an M.B.A. He hadn’t really minded doing a program in business, knowing it would be useful in some way. His father had refused to consider that he do anything else. Lucas hadn’t confronted him about it. Instead, he’d quietly added a minor in architecture to his program, despite the university’s distaste for minor concentrations.
Lucas had wanted to create and to restore. Architecture had been his dream. He’d expected to have the chance to design and develop buildings when he worked for his father. He hadn’t expected endless cookie-cutter work, where remarkably similar projects were stamped out as quickly as Arnold Neuman could arrange it. Lucas had said it about the Mercado: there was no style or personality in anything Neuman Industries produced. Maybe that wasn’t a problem when one was dealing in parking lots, as his grandfather had done, but with buildings…Lucas had just expected so much more.
Briefly Lucas thought of Diego Fuentes, whom he had met in school. Diego, Rachel and her brother, Rick, Lucas had discovered, considered themselves to be family—although Lucas knew better than to try to figure out the actual family ties. More than likely, there weren’t any. It was their perception that made them family—or familia, as he knew they called it. Nevertheless, they were close friends, and Lucas had become part of their group.
Lucas and Diego had met in an architecture course, quickly discovering that they shared views on what architecture should be, how it could enhance a community. They had worked together on numerous term projects, always earning top marks for incorporating community and environmental considerations in their plans. After graduation Diego had taken a risk. He had started his own company, Fuentes de la Juventud. Their work was so…renowned, Lucas supposed, that even the non-Spanish speakers in the industry knew that the company name meant Fountains of Youth, using Diego’s last name as a play on words.
Hell, Lucas thought, they even knew to pronounce the j like an h.
Diego’s first love, even during school, had been restoring old properties rather than designing original projects. Lucas remembered that Diego had actually been a history buff, at least where southwestern America was concerned. His company promptly established itself as the firm to enlist for restoration work. Gradually they had extended their expertise to designing and developing, too. Lucas couldn’t think of a single branch in the field that Fuentes de la Juventud didn’t cover these days, although they seemed to limit themselves to the southwestern states.
The company had earned a solid reputation for doing exactly the kinds of work Diego had envisioned as a university student. The kind of work that Lucas had also envisioned. Diego’s path hadn’t been as comfortable as the one Lucas had followed, but it was paying off in ways that Lucas could only dream of these days. No cookie-cutter designs for Diego Fuentes.
Something had prompted Lucas to call Diego several weeks back. It had been their first contact in years. Lucas had no idea, really, why he’d made the call. But he had. He hadn’t had anything in mind to talk about, either. Predictably, trying to talk had been rather awkward, and they had finished by scheduling a time to go golfing. That was neutral ground for both of them.
Lucas had missed Diego, although he balked at acknowledging it. They had taken such different paths. Now they would cross again. And now Lucas had a certain sense of anticipation about their outing.
I’d better check my schedule, Lucas thought urgently, see when that is exactly.
Fuentes de la Juventud, a company with a conscience.
The thought brought Lucas back to Neuman Industries. He didn’t believe that his father allowed a conscience to influence his projects in any way. Arnold Neuman did whatever it took to get the result he wanted, often ignoring background research if it didn’t mesh with his desires. Lucas was sure this was the case with the Mercado.
In his cynical moments, which were frequent these days, Lucas had begun to wonder why they bothered to conduct the research, given that it did not appear to enter into the decision-making processes in any way. He knew certain legalities demanded background research—on paper, at least. Increasingly, Lucas had the uneasy feeling that his father would also ignore the legalities themselves, if they displeased him. Arnold liked to cut corners.
Lucas’s dreams had still been intact when he’d met Rachel. He had still believed he would do great things. She’d been an undecided major, working at the University Health Center. They’d dated for an entire year before they decided to marry. They had been young, but they had known they were right for each other.
Or at least, Lucas reflected, we believed we were right for each other.
His parents had desperately, frantically opposed the marriage. Despite all their dire warnings, Lucas had married Rachel. He had loved her. He had only felt complete when he was with her. And once she’d left him, he had never felt complete again.
Rachel’s family—her parents and brother—had been cautiously optimistic and supportive of their marriage. They had made Lucas feel welcome and had invited the couple to join them in various family activities. Lucas had learned how to fish with them, even how to clean the fish.
Now there’s a thing you haven’t done for a while, he mused.
They had been happy in their marriage at first. Rachel had continued to work, although she loved her position at the Health Center so much, it almost didn’t seem like a job. Lucas had never before considered that she was serious about her work, he could concede now. Clearly, she had made a career choice and he hadn’t noticed. Lucas had pursued school full-time, his father providing a living allowance that, when combined with Rachel’s meager income, had been enough for survival. L
ucas felt justified not working, knowing he could finish his degrees more quickly that way, and knowing that he would be able to pay his father back once he went to work at the office.
Their first home had been a small studio apartment, filled with old, secondhand furniture. They were living within walking distance of campus, and generally walked to and from their classes together. Public transportation was unreliable or nonexistent, so they had purchased an ancient used car for forays beyond campus. Their idea of a vacation had been to see how far they could go on one tank of gas.
So simple, he thought, smiling. We were so good together then.
School had been a serious commitment for them. They had both been driven to perform well, but had always made time for each other, always tried to support each other when studies became a heavy burden. They’d managed to turn to each other, sharing their love, sharing simple things and sharing exceptional sex.
She was so passionate and intense about everything, lovemaking included.
Lucas remembered very, very well.
“It isn’t just our bodies, Lucas,” Rachel would say. “It’s our souls joining, too.”
And he had believed her. It felt like that to him, too.
Yes, the marriage had started well enough. Then Lucas had finished school and everything had changed. In one year it had disintegrated.
Moving into the corporate world had had its effect on Lucas. He felt he owed his father…something, and Arnold started to collect at the graduation party. His father had called it a combined graduation and welcome-to-the-company party. That was his explanation for including Alana, and everyone else from the office, while excluding Rachel. Lucas had never explained that to Rachel. She’d never known just how many people his father had seen fit to invite while leaving her off the guest list.
Lucas had felt awkward about all that, maybe even a little ashamed. But explaining the details to Rachel just wasn’t something he’d felt capable of doing. He’d have needed to confront his father first, and he wasn’t about to do that.
So he’d followed his father’s wishes and gone to Cancún, with Alana and not Rachel. That trip set the pattern from then on. Alana was good company. The two of them had ended up staying in Cancún for a full week, while the others had returned home after a few days. Lucas couldn’t explain why; it just happened that way. Travel of that kind, staying at a resort where everything he could possibly want was readily available—it had been a new extravagance to him and he’d decided he’d earned it.
In the first rush of making “real” money, Lucas had found ways to spend it. Having money that was his, that he had earned, had opened up new possibilities. Upon his return from Cancún, without Rachel’s knowledge, Lucas had chosen a condo in Scottsdale. Alana had been with him the day he’d heard about it and she had gone with him to inspect it. She said it was exactly the sort of upscale place a young executive should be living in. Lucas signed the papers on the spot.
Later, when he told Rachel what he’d done, it was the first time he could remember that they actually argued about something. The graduation party had hurt her, but she had accepted it quietly. The condo had enraged her. She’d hated the place. Rachel hated that it was in Scottsdale, an impressive address Alana had said, but to Rachel, it meant she could no longer walk to campus. Instead, she would have to drive. In fact, she drove the old, battered car while Lucas tooled around in his new Lexus—a vehicle presented to him by his father to “polish his image.”
Reluctantly Lucas now acknowledged that he hadn’t considered Rachel’s needs or preferences in that decision. I should have known that anything Alana loved wouldn’t suit Rachel, he thought. And I should have known better than to let Alana choose a home I expected to share with Rachel.
Not that he had explained to Rachel who had helped him select it. No, Alana had made a point of telling her.
Lucas compressed his lips, years of training guiding his thoughts, leading him to tell himself what he had been repeatedly told—that Rachel could have tried to fit in with his new life. He’d only been asking for her support, and she had refused to give it. She wasn’t cut out to be a corporate wife, just as his parents had said.
“Well, Luke, what do you think?” Alana’s voice startled Lucas so that he jumped. Her hand rested on his thigh, suggestively close to his crotch yet hidden from view by the table. “Maybe you and I can share a cabin, hmm?”
“Share a cabin?”
“Yes, silly,” she purred, easing her fingers up his leg. “Weren’t you listening? Our corporate retreat this year is a Caribbean cruise. Ten days, nine nights. We could have a very good time, don’t you think? We’ve never done a cruise before.”
“And we won’t be doing one now, Alana,” he responded, removing her hand from his body, pleased that her effort was leaving him cold.
“Dad,” he called out above the excited chatter. “I won’t be attending this year. In fact, this is a good time to announce that I’m going to take some personal time off, starting immediately. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away—” he rose to his feet, briefcase in hand “—but I will let you know as soon as I know.”
Suddenly Lucas understood he would be devoting time to his daughter. Getting to know her. Maybe there’d be a way to get to know his wife again, too. His decision made, he walked to the door.
“Son—” his father’s voice bounced off the walls “—you’ll be explaining yourself to me.”
“Yes, Dad, sometime I will.”
Sitting at home, Lucas felt the truth begin to sink in.
“Cancer. Leukemia is a kind of cancer.” Lucas said the words aloud, remembering that Rachel had said that very thing—but somehow the seriousness of her statement hadn’t reached him. He understood it now.
After his father’s status meeting, Lucas had left the office. He had stopped to bring home a three-meat submarine sandwich and now sat planted on his couch, sandwich remnants and bits of information packet scattered around him.
He had begun reading somewhat distractedly, part of his mind thinking about his lunch. The brochure had his full attention now, however. Words like chemotherapy and radiation kept jumping up at him. They weren’t new words to him, of course. He was sharp enough to know they had something to do with cancer treatment. They had just never applied to someone he cared for before.
Over the next hour, he began to understand a little of what was really going on. He came to understand the critical role of bone marrow therapy in treating leukemia. He also came to understand how significant a suitable donor was in order for the procedure to be conducted.
He pored through the pages of explanations on tissue typing and donor matching. The brochure spelled it out: once BMT was determined to be possible, the patient would undergo intensive chemotherapy in an effort to kill the diseased bone marrow, after which the healthy donated bone marrow would be administered through an IV. In time, as the new bone marrow took hold, her immune system would recover and the leukemia would be cleared from her body.
Michaela would lose her hair again, what little delicate fuzz she had. And until the BMT took effect, she would be very fragile. She would need protection of the most intensive sort.
As he continued to read, he came to the section on AML where he was reminded of something else, something that both Rachel and Dr. Paul Graham had mentioned briefly. AML, he saw, tended to spread to major organs. He didn’t want to contemplate this possibility with Michaela. The BMT just had to work.
Running a shaky hand through his hair, Lucas leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He felt utterly drained and powerless.
“No,” he spoke aloud, “I may not be powerless. If I’m a donor match, there is something I’ll be able to do.”
Suddenly he caught an image of Rachel. The air zipped out of his lungs.
She would have received the diagnosis alone. She had coped alone and withstood what must have seemed like an onslaught of bad news. She had been tissue typed, only to learn she wasn’t a ma
tch. She’d had her family typed and not found a good candidate in the bunch. She’d registered with donor registries. She’d arranged a donor drive. And she’d done all this, watching her child weaken due to the illness and also due to its treatment. All the while she’d known about the risk of the cancer spreading.
Lucas had always known Rachel was strong, but this was proof. As if he needed it.
She’d received the diagnosis alone. She had coped alone.
Until now. He was in the picture now and he could share this.
He had a responsibility—the word he hated, but the truth nevertheless. He could do better. He could start acting like a father, being there for his child the way he always should have been, making sure she had the support of two parents.
I can do this. I want to do it. I can be good at it, dammit.
Loving his daughter, loving Michaela, had come to him easily—quickly. Immediately, really, upon seeing her photograph and the obvious truth it reflected.
Lucas felt sure that Rachel wouldn’t keep him from Michaela, not now. She had wanted him to know his daughter, had seen to it that their daughter knew who her father was. Rachel wouldn’t hinder a father-daughter relationship, she would encourage it.
But what about Rachel herself? What about things between the two of them?
Clearly, the physical side of their relationship could still work. Had Rachel not shown reluctance at a key moment, Lucas was sure they would have consummated their relationship. Again.
And it would have been extraordinary.
Lucas couldn’t remember the last time the scent of a woman had spawned desire within him. He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had left him desperate for more. Or when burying himself in a woman had seemed like the most necessary thing in the world.
It hadn’t just been him, either. Rachel had wanted it, too. He knew it. He knew Rachel too well. She couldn’t hide it from him. He’d felt the fire in her kiss, dammit. The longing in her body the minute he’d touched her.
It was natural, what happened between them. It always had been.
