by Susan Wiggs
The words came out in a rush. “Look, I want the transplant to happen sooner. I’m not willing to work around the surgeon’s ski trip or whatever’s holding it up. This morning my father—I saw—” She broke off, picturing Willard Temple at a Corian breakfast counter in his suburban tract mansion, drinking coffee and looking out over the golf course that backed up to his yard.
“Anyway, I can’t stand seeing him like this. Why can’t I do the rest of the tests today and the surgery tomorrow?”
A pause. An ominous, doctorlike pause. “Actually, Ms. Turner, I was going to recommend that your surgery be postponed until you and your father could go through some more counseling about the procedure.”
A silent scream echoed through Michelle. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the receiver. “Um, wait a minute. Run that by me again?”
“I don’t have your records in front of me at the moment, but there’s some concern that there are issues that need to be explored and resolved before we proceed.”
Devastation and rage had a taste, she realized. They tasted rusty and bitter, like blood.
“Just a goddamned minute.” She tried not to shout, but it wasn’t working. She didn’t care if her voice blasted him out of his brick McMansion onto his ass in the snow. “After all these weeks of testing, after meeting all those difficult physical criteria, you’re telling me we have ‘issues’?”
“Ms. Turner, your relationship with your father is unusual. You’ve spent very little time together—”
“What the hell do you want from me?” she raged. “Do you want me to have some big confrontation with him? Do you want me to accuse him of never being a daddy to me, for chrissakes? Should I accuse him of not seeing me as a daughter, but a donor? Not wanting anything from me except to harvest a few more years? Are those the sort of fucking ‘issues’ you’re getting at?”
His next silence was so long she started to get embarrassed.
“Very impressive, Ms. Turner.”
“I’m trying to impress you,” she forced out through her teeth. “I’m trying to impress you with the fact that we’ve waited too long already. I want the surgery now—”
“There is nothing simple about this surgery. It’s not a rare procedure, but it’s a serious one.”
“You’re damned right it is. Because—” She shut her mouth, realizing that she was about to threaten Willard T. Temple with death. Not a wise way to dazzle him with her sanity. “Listen. I’m calm now, Doctor. But I don’t want any further delays.”
As she turned off the phone, she checked the speedometer. Her speed had climbed way out of control. Easing her tense foot off the accelerator, she tried to force the rest of her to slow down, too. It was hard, though. She felt as if she was running from one crisis to another.
Natalie, her best friend, often told her the benefits of slowing down, of being “in the moment.” Easy for Natalie to say. She could live “in the moment” as much as she pleased. She flitted from one day to the next with nary a care in the world. She was Michelle’s polar opposite, yet they had been best friends for years.
“Okay, Nat. I’m trying to be in the moment.” Her breath fogged the air of the still-cold Range Rover. “I’m going to pick up Cody. I’ve got nothing else going on today, so I can bring him home and make him soup and mother him all day long. I’ll see if Sam can figure out a way to get the transplant done sooner. How does that sound?”
Like she was losing it, talking to herself while driving along the highway. But somehow, taking the day step by step calmed her. By the time she walked into the hospital, she had most of her sanity back.
She stopped at the desk, manned this morning by a different clerk. “I’m Cody Turner’s mother. He’s being discharged today.”
The clerk tamped a stack of file folders together and set them in a metal tray on the counter. “So he is. I think he’s getting dressed now. Here are a few forms for you to sign.”
“I’d like to see the bill, please.”
The clerk opened a folder and handed her a pen, then clicked at a keyboard. A long sheet drifted out of the printer. She studied the itemized bill and pointed to a line. “Does this mean the doctor waived his fee?”
The clerk nodded. “Appears so.”
For some reason, this made her mad. She turned the page, spotting the financial liability sheet. Another unwelcome bit of charity leaped out at her.
“It says here the balance has been paid in full.”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“By Gavin Slade.”
“I understand he’s the boy’s grandfather.” The clerk smiled with the dreamy admiration Michelle remembered from Gavin’s fans years ago. “Must be something, having him for a father.”
She scrawled her signature beside all the Xs. “Oh, it’s something, all right.” Be in the moment, she reminded herself. She would confront Gavin about the bill later. And Sam waiving his fee. Damn them both. She had a good job with benefits. She didn’t need either of them to come blasting into her life, taking over.
“Morning, Mrs. Turner.” Nurse O’Brien looked crisp and pretty in pink slacks and tunic, a cardigan draped over her shoulders. “Your son’s looking good.”
Michelle summoned a smile. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you yesterday. I appreciate everything you and Sam did for Cody.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. To make conversation, Michelle asked, “Have you worked with Sam long?”
She hesitated, giving Michelle the strangest look. The desk clerk stopped typing, and from the corner of her eye Michelle saw her lean forward. “Nearly five years, since he came on at County,” Alice O’Brien said.
Michelle sensed there was a lot more the nurse could tell her about those five years, but not now. Hiking her handbag strap securely on her shoulder, she hurried down the hallway. The door to Cody’s room stood slightly ajar. She knocked. “Cody? It’s Mom.”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
She was unprepared for the sight of him. The ponytail was gone. A thick white bandage covered the stitches. There was an actual, recognizable style to his hair. She remembered the way it used to grow when he was tiny, in gorgeous swirly waves as if his head had been licked all over by a friendly golden retriever.
He looked at her and his cheeks colored up, and all she could think was thank God. The pallor was gone. He actually had blood flowing to his face. A good sign.
And even though she felt like crying, she forced her mouth into a momlike smile.
“Love the haircut, son.”
“Some guy came in at the crack of dawn and said he’d just even it out, and look what he did.”
“It’s fine, Cody. Really.”
“It sucks.”
It was creeping back over him, she saw. The attitude. After an injury or a bad sickness, a kid usually had a period of perfect sweetness. Cody had been that way yesterday while Sam was stitching him up. He’d been that way on the phone with her. But now things were getting back to normal.
Did he do that on purpose? she wondered.
He held up a white plastic bag with MERIDIAN COUNTY HOSPITAL printed on the side. “Here’s all my stuff. Can we go now?”
“I have to see Sam first,” she said, her mouth tasting the name, tasting wonder. “I’ve got some questions for him.”
Cody handed her a pink slip. “He already gave me this prescription.”
“Watch two hours of MTV and call me in the morning,” said a voice from the doorway.
Michelle turned, and there he was, leaning with one shoulder propped against the doorframe. Sam McPhee in scrubs. Yesterday she’d been too worried about Cody to appreciate the sight. It was so different from the way she remembered him, the way she’d always imagined him.
This was the man who wanted to barge his way into Cody’s life, she reminded herself.
“Take that prescription for the pain.” Sam came into the room. The photo ID tag hangi
ng from his pocket—not to mention the stethoscope and drug-company pocket protector—gave him an air of authority that made her feel strange. “Use as directed, and he should be all right.” He propped some films in a lighted display box on the wall. “He checked out fine this morning.” With a pencil, he pointed out some areas that reminded her of Rorschach figures, symmetrical paint blobs that shrinks used to see how the mind works.
“This one’s from yesterday, and here it is this morning. Head trauma was minimal.”
For some reason, she felt like crying. She studied the film. Did it show where the sweetness was hiding? Did it tell you why Cody was so hateful all the time? She bit her tongue against asking.
Sam grinned at Cody. “You’ve got a thick skull, kid.”
“You’ve got a lame barber,” Cody grumbled.
“Hazlett? We’re lucky we’ve got someone who makes house calls.”
Cody shuffled toward the door, his jeans dragging at the heels. “I’ll be in the car, Mom.”
“All right.” She waited, biting down on her lower lip, because she knew what she wanted him to do, but she didn’t want to tell him to do it, because it wouldn’t be the same. Turn around, you little shit. Turn around and tell Dr. McPhee thank you.
He didn’t. She was not surprised. She didn’t think Sam was, either. After only a couple of days, Sam knew good and well that Cody was a surly kid, dancing on the edge, too cool for his oversize jeans.
“Anything else I should know?” she asked.
“The usual. Take it easy for the next couple of days. Stitches come out on Friday or Saturday.”
She nodded, looking down at her hands. She was suddenly and unpleasantly conscious that she’d barely slept all night, and here she was unshowered, no makeup, in clothes she threw on in five minutes.
“You waived your fee,” she blurted out.
“The kid was in my care when he got kicked in the head. You’ve got a dandy lawsuit here if you care to pursue it.”
Oh, that would be fun, thought Michelle. She could see the tabloids now. Celeb Mom Sues Dad for Injury to Love Child. “Don’t even think about a lawsuit, Sam.”
“I wish everyone had that attitude.”
“I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
“It’s about Gavin and the transplant.” Her insides twisted into knots. “Um, there might be a glitch.”
“A glitch?”
“A postponement.”
His face didn’t change, but something about the quality of the light in his eyes did.
“Is Gavin having trouble?”
She shifted from foot to foot. The room felt overly warm. “Well, not specifically. It’s just that… I got up this morning and saw… I realized this has gone on too long already, the stuff with the dialysis and all the meds. So I spoke with Dr. Temple, the psychologist from the transplant team. I told him that every single moment of waiting is cruelty.” She took a deep breath, feeling tears of exhaustion and frustration pressing to get out. She willed them away. “And the son of a bitch said he’s not sure we’re ready.”
“Ready. You mean they need to order more tests, or—”
“No, the renal angiogram’s the only thing left. He’s playing head games, Sam. He doesn’t think Gavin and I are ready psychologically.”
“And you think you are?”
“I know I am, goddammit. My life has stopped, and nothing can start again until this is done. And he wants me to determine whether I’m acting out of guilt or loyalty or God-knows-what? How can that matter, Sam?”
He was quiet for a long time. Too long. She was starting to think it was a doctor thing. A conspiracy. Torture the patient until she’s over the edge, then collect your fee.
Finally he said, “I’ll offer a personal reference.”
The bones in her legs turned to water. “Oh, Sam. Would you? Please?”
“I’ll do what I can. I’ve met Maggie Kehr. I could give her a call.” Her business card said “Dr. Margaret Kehr,” but Sam called her Maggie. “She’s the best,” he added.
“That’s good to hear.” So what’s this about you and Maggie?
“Anyway, I’m sure she told you how complicated this procedure is. It’s got to be orchestrated down to the last second. Everything’s got to come together at the right moment. The scheduling can be a nightmare.”
“I’m trying to be patient. But it’s so damned hard.”
“A few more days aren’t going to matter, not with Gavin. Like I told you before, he’s in great shape. That’s not likely to change.”
Michelle caught herself putting her hands on her hips. No, not on her hips. At the back of her waist, in the vicinity of the kidneys. She had been doing that a lot lately.
“All right,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ll take the reference. Just tell them I’m not a psycho trying to earn cosmic brownie points by giving my dad a kidney.”
His eyes twinkled. “I can do that.”
“Thanks.”
“And Michelle, I meant what I said last night. About Cody.”
He couldn’t have planned his stealth attack better. He’d waived his fee, offered to intervene on her behalf with the transplant team—and now this. “Are you blackmailing me?” she asked. “A personal reference if I say it’s okay for you to steal my son?”
“I don’t aim to steal a damned thing from you, Michelle. Do you think it’ll damage him to hear the truth? That knowing who I am could harm him?”
She slumped against the doorframe. “I don’t know what I think. I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee yet.”
Eerily lit by the glow from the light boxes behind the films, he was both strange and painfully familiar to her. The white of the light accentuated his features—the fine nose and high cheekbones and Val Kilmer mouth she remembered from so long ago. Yet she also saw the lost years imprinted on his brow, the maturity put there by Lord-knew-what, and somehow he looked totally alone.
“Sam, I’m going to tell him.”
“When?” His response was instantaneous, as if it had been balanced on the tip of his tongue during the entire conversation.
She made herself hide the fear. “I’ll do it today.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?”
Lord, but she wanted to touch him, right now. Take his hand and give it a squeeze. Because for the first time, she finally realized that he was scared, too. Knowing the vulnerability that lay at the heart of this mysterious, familiar man made him so much more to her than a memory.
“I couldn’t say, Sam. Really. Cody is… unpredictable lately. I never know if something’s going to please him, annoy him, anger him.”
“Doesn’t he still ask?”
Michelle felt as if she was balanced on the blade of a knife. Did it matter what she told this man? Sam was not in their lives now. But… how could she lie? What would it serve?
“He used to every once in a while after he started school.” Before that he had no idea a two-parent family was the norm.
“And… ?” Sam held himself stiffly. She could see the taut cords in his neck and part of her exulted in his suffering, because she had struggled, too, raising her son alone. But another, softer part of her still wanted to touch him.
“I said you were someone I met when I was too young to make good decisions. I told him you were a cowboy, following the PRCA. I explained that I never heard from you again after a brief… affair.” She almost said love affair.
A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Made me out to be a real prince, did you?”
“There was no point in telling him more. It was dangerous because of the press. Because I’ll always be Gavin’s daughter. I didn’t want them writing things… about us, about Cody. If I’d told him your name, given him details, some snoopy reporter would have found out. That’s not fair to a kid.”
She wished Sam would say something, but he just kept looking at her, and suddenly she was remembering how it used to be between them. His silences, her r
amblings. How he’d pretend to be mad at little things, like when she wore his chambray work shirts, but she could tell he was secretly pleased. How those shirts smelled exactly like him.
She had taken one with her the day she’d left Blue Rock Ranch in disgrace. When she was pregnant, she used to take it out and hold it wadded up against her chest, letting the texture of soft faded cotton soothe her skin as she inhaled the scent of him. She had never laundered that shirt, because she was terrified the smell would wear off and it would just be a shirt. When that happened, she told herself, Sam would be gone from her life, finally and irrevocably.
Something very unexpected happened with that old blue shirt. She might tell him about it some time, but not now.
“All Cody knows about the past,” she said, “is that I was a statistic, an unwed mother who had to grow up too fast.” A shadow crossed his face, and she hurried on. “I didn’t tell him in those words. I’d never make Cody feel guilty simply for being born. He is the greatest blessing in my life.” There was a little hitch in her throat, because that part was true. “I would lie down and die for that child, and he knows it. I’ve loved him more than I ever thought possible. I’ve given him the best life I could. Kept him out of the camera’s eye and kept him in school. And… that’s about it.” She was running out of steam, and the thought teased a wry smile from her.
His beeper went off, startling her. He checked the number. “We’ll talk later. I’ll see Cody later in the week about the stitches.”
“All right.”
As he walked away, long tails of his surgical coat belling out behind him like a cape, she thought about the task ahead, and she shivered. Not with cold, but with fear. Some small, icebound part of her lived in terror that Cody—her angry, beautiful, troubled boy—would leave her if he had a place to run.
Chapter 15
Sam and his partner, Karl, each spent one day a week at the reservation about twenty miles from Crystal City. They served as medical advisors for the Confederated Salish-Kootenai tribes. There, in a trailer adjacent to the tribal elementary school, he practiced the type of medicine he was best at—direct, hands-on care. The doctoring was frustrating, often sad, sometimes infuriating, and every once in a while, rewarding.
