The Reason Page 28

  And now he had the one his son may need the most.

  Thank you, God, Macey thought.

  A WEEK LATER IAN JOINED PASTOR JIM AT THE WINDOW in the Lindy living room. It was starting to get dark, and the year’s first snow was fluttering straight down in thick, quarter-sized flakes.

  “It’s beautiful,” Pastor Jim said. “I haven’t seen snow in such a long time.”

  Brooke and Shirley entered the living room. They’d been with Alex.

  “How is he doing?” Ian asked.

  Shirley joined them and looked outside. “The chemotherapy seems to be hitting our little man a bit harder this week.”

  Charlie came into the living room, and Ian noticed that even the big guy seemed stressed.

  Ian turned and went down the hallway to the bedroom to check him out for himself. Alex was lying on his side, asleep. He looked milky and appeared thinner than he had a week earlier—for that matter, since just that morning. Ian quietly sat in the chair next to the bed, stared at him a moment, and then closed his eyes. It was hard to believe that less than a month ago, he’d been sitting in that little pub back in Milwaukee, swapping divorce horror stories with some bartender he’d never see again. They’d gotten into a big discussion. About important things. Topics he couldn’t remember now.

  About things I thought were important. Then.

  He ran his hand across the top of Alex’s head, wondering how his son had coped all this time without a dad. He’d had Pastor Jim, which made Ian thankful. But it’s not the same. It wasn’t fair for the kid to have to go through all of this, but that was going to change. He was going to help Brooke give Alex the life he was meant to have.

  “Fatherhood,” Pastor Jim said quietly, standing in the bedroom doorway, startling him. “It’s good stuff.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ian said.

  “He’s a little sicker than normal, eh?”

  “Looks that way,” Ian said, pulling the blanket up to Alex’s shoulders.

  “He’ll be made well,” Pastor Jim said. Ian liked the way he said it. It sounded like it was already done.

  “Pastor Jim,” Ian said, “can I talk to you about something?”

  “Sure. Anything.” The tall man took a seat on a kid-sized stool and Ian smiled at the sight of it. But Pastor Jim looked like there was no place he’d rather be.

  “I remember you from when I was eleven or twelve years old,” Ian said, keeping his voice down so he wouldn’t wake Alex. “And I certainly couldn’t forget Charlie.”

  Pastor Jim smiled. “He’s hard to forget, isn’t he? In more ways than one.”

  “I know a lot of people aren’t going to forget him at The Pilot Inn. It’s not too often that a grown man is picked off the ground by his throat.”

  Pastor Jim nodded disapprovingly. “I really don’t know why, but Mr. Shempner has never been too kind to Charlie. And obviously, Charlie never did anything about it . . . until then.”

  “He was just protecting Alex.”

  “Absolutely,” Pastor Jim said. “Though I don’t condone what happened, I suspect Mr. Shempner won’t be coming up to our table for a while.”

  “I think you’re right,” Ian said. He would never admit it to Pastor Jim, but a part of him—a really big part of him—got a nice charge out of the look on Tim Shempner’s face when Charlie was serving up some payback.

  “So on to what you wanted to talk about,” Pastor Jim said. “Is it about your situation?”

  “My situation?”

  Pastor Jim gave Ian a wise, fatherly look. “I’m guessing you feel a little morally awkward about your, ah, situation,” he said, waving between Alex and Ian, “particularly when you’re around me. Because of my profession. Is that right?” Ian could tell he was being cautious with his words in case Alex woke up and heard them.

  “Yeah,” Ian said. “That’s exactly it. I feel really awkward.”

  “And you’re wondering what a man of God thinks about your responsibilities as a father, especially when your son is living under his roof?”

  “Pastor Jim,” Ian said. “You’ve gotta know that I plan to do my best to help Brooke and Alex. And I know how this all must look, but believe it or not, I generally try to do the right thing and—”

  “The right thing?”

  “Yes,” Ian said. “I try to do the right thing. But knowing I have Alex changes so many things. I just arrived and I feel like I’m supposed to be Dad of the Year or something.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s happening too fast.”

  Pastor Jim smiled. “I already know you’re going to do the right thing.”

  Ian looked at him. The old-fashioned and morally right thing to do was marry the mother of his child. “So you think I ought to marry Brooke?” he whispered, soft enough that he was sure Alex couldn’t hear.

  “Are you serious?” Pastor Jim asked, arching a brow.

  “I figured you wanted me to . . . you know . . . the whole ‘having a child out of wedlock’ thing . . .” He thought back to meeting up with Brooke again. And thinking about anything but a wedding . . . It seemed like a lifetime ago. Was he even the same man?

  “Little late for the dance on that one, don’t you think?” Pastor Jim said.

  Ian stole a quick look at him, then let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I guess so. In fact, we aren’t even planning on dating.” He dared to look at him again.

  Pastor Jim leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Ian, always seek God’s guidance for your life. And be the best father you can be to Alex. That’s the right thing to do. I’m just thankful you’re here now. Our little guy is happier than I’ve ever seen him, even sick as he is.”

  Ian looked over at his son and thought about what Pastor Jim said. If he only did what the minister said, he’d be doing the right thing.

  Seek God’s guidance. Be a good dad. I can do that, he thought with relief. That, I can do.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Macey leaned against the windowsill in her office as she waited for the results of Alex’s weekly blood test. Despite the eleven inches of snow that blanketed the Detroit area, the construction of the hospital’s new wing was moving along swiftly, finally nearing its much-anticipated completion.

  She glanced down to the parking lot, once again seeking out the old F-150. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew it was out there. She knew he was there—whoever he was.

  She stepped back to her desk to open her e-mail and read the test results.

  Flat. She was surprised. Alex’s white blood cell count had not gone up or down much at all. She closed the screen, grabbed Alex’s chart, and headed toward the consultation room, where she knocked quickly on the door before entering.

  Ian and Brooke were on either side of Alex, whose appearance suggested that he had gone through a rough week. The balance of his hair was nothing but a sparse collection of short orange threads; he appeared exhausted and pale, with purplish-blue circles under his eyes. He’d obviously lost weight.

  “What if you couldn’t help him? What if your best wasn’t good enough?”

  As Kenneth’s words from The Pilot Inn flitted in and out of her head, another voice—this time her own—told her that a race had begun, and they were beginning to fall behind.

  She shook it off. Alex wasn’t going to lose. She wasn’t going to lose. They weren’t going to lose. She was Macey Lewis, and her best had always worked—always.

  She just needed full control. 24/7 control. Admit him.

  “Hello, everybody,” Macey said confidently. “How are we doing?”

  “Not so great. Alex’s appetite has been way off,” Brooke said without preamble. “And what he has eaten, he’s had a hard time keeping down.”

  “Add to that a week of diarrhea,” Ian said, “and the poor kid is miserable. I thought you said he’d be feeling better by now.”

  Macey was used to this stage with parents—they felt the weight of the treatment too. They often got mad at the doctors and nurs
es, wanting to cast blame. It was just part of the process. She lowered herself to one knee. “Not feeling too well, Alex?”

  Alex lifted his head off Brooke’s shoulder barely long enough to shake it.

  “We’re going to make you better, okay?” Macey said. She straightened. “He’s pretty dehydrated.”

  “Well, yeah,” Brooke said. Alex looked at her with almost sad eyes and nodded listlessly before dropping his head again on Brooke’s shoulder. “Sorry,” Brooke said. “It’s been . . .”

  “I know,” Macey said. “It’s a lot. Hang in there.” She opened Alex’s file. “We got the test results. Alex’s numbers were relatively unchanged.”

  “Is that bad?” Brooke asked.

  “I was looking for a bit of a decrease,” Macey admitted. “But now I’m hesitant to ramp up his regimen because he’s struggling. I think we should do another week of the same treatment, but this time in-house. That way we can monitor him more closely. As well as keep this dehydration business in line.”

  “You want to check him in?” Ian asked, casting an alarmed look at Brooke. Macey recognized the sound of parental fear.

  “It’s simply precautionary,” she said. “We need to make sure he is getting proper rest and nutrition, and I can also monitor him a bit more closely.”

  “Was there something we should have done differently?” Brooke asked.

  “Not at all,” Macey said, holding her hand up. “You guys are doing an excellent job.”

  “How long?” Brooke asked, giving Macey a panicked look that the doctor had seen hundreds—maybe thousands—of times from parents before.

  “Let’s plan on a week and see how he responds,” Macey said. “It’s where he needs to be, and you can be here 24/7 if you want.”

  “Okay,” Brooke said quietly. She poked lightly at Alex’s leg. “You want to stay at the hospital tonight, buddy?”

  Alex hunched his shoulders indifferently.

  “Mr. Brave will stop by almost every day,” Macey promised, prompting a tiny smile from Alex.

  “When do you want him?” Ian asked.

  Macey stood, opened the manila folder she had been holding, and then jotted something quickly on its inside cover. She looked at Alex, then collectively at all three of them. She snapped the folder closed. “Right now.”

  “I SEE THAT ALEX HAS JOINED US,” ZACH SAID, STICKING his head into Macey’s office. “It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?”

  Macey turned around and looked blankly at the other doctor. She couldn’t tell him how she felt. She had conditioned herself. I don’t get nervous, I don’t get worried, and I certainly don’t show fear. I have all the answers. I’ve been told I’m the best because I am.

  Then why am I freaking out?

  Zach stepped into the office. “Macey? We see kids this sick in treatment every week of the year. What’s up? You need to talk?”

  She knew he was sincere. For starters, he’d never asked her if she needed to talk, but again, she’d never really needed to before. Now she did—not just about Alex, but about a lot of things. She didn’t know where to begin. All she could do was stare at him.

  He gave her a compassionate look and then quietly closed the door. “May I?” Zach asked, pointing at the couch.

  “Please,” she muttered, putting her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands.

  He sat on the arm of the couch. He leaned forward with his left elbow on his left knee and his fist under his chin. “As Kaitlyn would say, ‘You look like your dog is missing, Dr. Lewis.’”

  “Something’s missing,” Macey said. She looked down, bit gently on her lip, and then sheepishly raised her head to him. “I’m concerned.”

  “About Alex?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I believe it’s aggressive—extremely aggressive.”

  “Okay,” Zach said softly. “You know what to do. You’ve seen this before.”

  “Not like this, Zach. Regardless of what I do, he’s not responding as expected.”

  “Macey, you know how this goes. You take your best stab at the regimen, adjust, and try again. It’s what we do, week in and week out.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it, Zach. There’s just something . . . different.”

  “Different in the numbers?”

  “In the numbers, in his appearance . . .”

  “Every kid is different,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

  Zach stood up and walked around the desk, grabbed a chair, turned it around, and sat down on it backward. He perched his elbows up on the back of the seat and looked at her with the quiet understanding of a big brother. “Macey. Are you too close to this one?”

  “No,” she said, right away.

  “With you getting close to Brooke, the Lindys—”

  “No, Zach. I’m okay. Really.” It would be the worst if he forced her to give up the case. “I mean, obviously, it makes it trickier, knowing them. Coming to love them. But I’m not doing anything for Alex that I wouldn’t do for any other patient.”

  “Except admitting him a good two months before most other patients.”

  She sighed heavily. “It’s my gut, Zach. My gut tells me he should be here.”

  “Then you know you have my support,” he said. “With all that’s been going on around here lately, I’m beginning to understand following the lead of a power higher than mere medicine.”

  “Thanks, Zach.”

  They shared a smile, then Zach grew more serious. “Listen, Macey. Any way you dice it, if my son was sick, I’d trust him to no one but you.”

  Macey nodded thankfully, because she knew he meant it. And because it was the first time that they’d ever had this kind of conversation. “I appreciate it, Zach. That means a lot to me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now just do your best. And say a few prayers.”

  She smiled. “That’s exactly what I was doing when you came here.”

  “That’s good,” Zach said, rising. He set the chair back in place and moved toward the door.

  “Listen to us,” she said. “Can you believe you and I are talking about praying? It’s weird, huh?”

  “Bizarre.” He put his hand on the knob. “But what’s more weird is that I think I like it.” He gave her a wink.

  “Zach,” she said as he opened the door. “One more thing, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. Shoot.”

  Macey stood and walked halfway across the office. She stopped and lifted her hands to the sides of her face as Zach stood in the doorway. “I know this may sound strange, but something has me concerned.” She lowered her hands from her cheeks and crossed her arms. “He asked me what I would do if my best wasn’t good enough.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Him,” Macey answered, lifting a brow.

  Zach ran his hand across his chin. “Kenneth?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And if he meant what I think he meant, I almost feel like it’s an uphill battle—like he knows something is going to go wrong with Alex.”

  “Kenneth asked you what you would do if your best wasn’t good enough?” Zach repeated, obviously thinking it through, giving it weight.

  “Yeah,” Macey said. “And if it were anyone but him saying that—I mean, anyone—it wouldn’t bother me.” She could see he agreed. It made her heartbeat speed up.

  Zach looked away, then back to her. “Are you sure he was talking about Alex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s hope you’re wrong,” he said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The little girl’s long, brown hair dipped down her back as she tilted her head up. Her eyes rounded in amazement, as if she were looking up at a living skyscraper. “How tall are you, mister?” she asked in a small but curious voice.

  Charlie just smiled at the girl and ducked out of the elevator onto the third floor at East Shore. Ian followed be
hind, smiling. He turned around as the doors slid shut. “Almost seven feet,” he whispered.

  The little girl’s eyes widened.

  Charlie and Ian made their way past the visiting room and then past the nurses’ station before taking the first left down a brightly lit hallway to Room 364.

  “Knock, knock,” Ian said, tapping on the door and pressing it open.

  He and Charlie each stepped around a navy blue curtain with a three-foot SpongeBob SquarePants embroidered in the middle. Alex was curled up on the bed, sleeping with his mouth slightly open. He had an IV in his arm, and his head was propped up on a pillow that had been folded carefully in two. His small right foot stuck out the end of his blanket.

  Brooke was also asleep. She was lying on a reclining chair to Alex’s right, and like her son, she had dark circles under her eyes.

  Charlie walked up to Alex’s left and removed a portable lunch tray that held a Styrofoam cup of water and a barely touched plastic container of Lucky Charms beside the little boy. He reached over and touched Alex’s forehead lightly with the palm of his hand. Alex’s eyes opened and were little more than a tired pair of slits. They widened when he saw Charlie. He looked at Charlie’s hand and then at the Tic Tac it held. He barely shook his head and then struggled to clear his throat. “I’m not allowed, Charlie.”

  Charlie gave Alex a puzzled look and then popped it into his own mouth.

  “Hey, partner,” Ian said quietly from the foot of the bed.

  “Hi, Dad,” Alex said. Spoken at full throttle, the words only came out as a weak whisper. “We missed church today.”

  “I know. We missed you there.”

  Brooke’s eyes opened and she stretched.

  “Hello, sleeping beauty,” Ian said. “Why don’t you go home and let us take over? You need a break.”

  Brooke yawned. “Did you call Clippers for me?”

  “Carla did,” Ian said. “They said to take as much time as you need and that you and pip-squeak here are in their prayers. It didn’t hurt that she offered to cover a bunch of your shifts for you.”