The Reason Page 33

  “I’m going to run down and get something to eat,” Kaitlyn said, frowning. “Do you want to go?”

  “No. You go ahead. I need some time.”

  “Want me to bring anything back up?”

  “I’ll take whatever you’re having, with a Coke,” Macey said. “Why don’t you bring yours up and we’ll both eat here?”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back,” Kaitlyn said, pointing at the office door. “Open or closed?”

  “Close it, if you don’t mind, Kait. Thanks.”

  Kaitlyn left, and Macey wandered distractedly back to the window. She felt like she had dipped her toe in the same pool that Ian had taken a few laps in earlier—helplessness. Her head cleared momentarily, and she found herself mechanically scanning a couple more rows of cars and pickups.

  “I know you’re out there,” she said. “I know it.”

  Newer truck—newer truck—car—car—car—vacant spot—newer truck with a huge dent in the driver’s side door.

  Down another couple of rows. And then a few more.

  Car—car—older truck—car—older truck—empty parking spot with a stack of wet cardboard surrounded by orange cones—newer truck—car—car—dumpster—back end of a truck.

  There. An older pickup truck.

  Macey squinted and pressed her forehead against the glass as she looked straight down and to her left at the rear of the older truck.

  The truck.

  A confusing flash of relief and fear rounded through her stomach. Part of her felt like she had just found a lost set of keys. The rest of her felt as if she had spotted the school bully from a distance and was desperately kidding herself that she had time to hide.

  A knock sounded at her door, three times. Kaitlyn? Back so fast?

  Macey went to open the door and gasped.

  Kenneth was standing in the hallway.

  Her shoulders flinched upward, and she felt like an ice-cold mallet had struck the side of her heart. Her mouth closed, muffling her shriek, and she instinctively stepped backward.

  “Hello, Macey,” he said gently, his eyes filled with compassion.

  She stood there, speechless, her heart hammering away.

  “Sorry to frighten you,” he said, hooking his thumbs casually into the tops of his front jean pockets. “I was just down the hall, talking with Zach, and thought I would pop in and see how you’re doing.”

  “You know how I’m doing,” she said, finding her voice. “Why bother?”

  Kenneth tilted his head. “Think so, eh?”

  Macey nodded. “Yeah, I do. And so far it looks like my best really isn’t good enough with Alex. What do I do now? Just quit on him?”

  “Why would you do that?” He gestured to the center of her office, and she waved him in. He quietly shut the door behind him.

  “I knew you were talking about Alex when you said what you did to me at the diner—about my best not being good enough.”

  “Tell me why you would quit on him.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” she asked, not really sure how comfortable she was with her own audacity. “You are the big man with the plan.”

  Kenneth smiled casually, and she didn’t like it.

  Macey crossed her arms and stepped even closer. “You are the big man with the plan, and the rest of us are nothing more than puppets on a stage, going through the motions.”

  He smiled again, but it seemed a little different to her. Their eyes met, and he said, “You make it sound like you have no free will. Like you really have no control over your actions.”

  “No,” she said, maintaining their eye contact as she took yet another step toward him. She lifted her hand and pointed at his chest. “What I’m saying is that I have no control over what you do.” “That’s true,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “What do I tell Alex’s people?” she asked, taking a step back. “What do I tell those good, Christian people? Maybe I will just tell them that I’m doing everything I can, but someone bigger and badder than us wants Alex dead.”

  He stood deadly still, as if her words had wounded him. Good, she thought. Good!

  “I’m not the enemy, Macey.”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked. “Aren’t you the one who basically told me my best wasn’t good enough?”

  “Does that make me your enemy?”

  She shook her head, pushing her hair from her face. “I’m telling you I’m going to fight you on this.”

  “Fight me?”

  “I know I can’t win, but I’ll still fight.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  She wasn’t about to give up. She had a feeling she’d already crossed a line with him, so she figured she might as well stay there. “I can beat the cancer, and I can beat whatever caused that seizure yesterday. But I can’t beat destiny. I can’t beat you and your will, but I’m going to try.”

  “I believe you.”

  Macey turned and shook her head as she walked toward her desk. She spun back around. She wanted just one answer and knew there would never be a better time to ask. “Why a little boy? Why Alex?” She thought about Zach and the age-old question. “That’s the least you can do for me. Tell me why God lets children suffer and die? Why the little ones, Kenneth?”

  “You are all little ones. Every one of you.”

  She clenched her fists and banged them at her sides. “But he is five years old! He is only five, for Pete’s sake. He will be six in only a few days.”

  Kenneth went to the window and looked out, saying nothing for the span of a minute. “Macey, you said you can’t win. Win is an interesting word, don’t you think?”

  “I know I can’t win,” she muttered. “Deep down, I know that.” She rose and walked away, wanting some distance from him. He was just too . . . close.

  Kenneth turned around and didn’t say anything.

  “The odds have been stacked against this kid from the get-go,” she said. “Right?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared at her.

  “I’ve studied case after case,” Macey said. “I’ve prepared for every possible situation. I’ve done things with kids that other doctors call miracles. I want to help. I want to make a difference, but with Alex, it’s all about you, Kenneth. All about that mystery plan of yours. Cancer doesn’t move this fast, and that seizure you gave him—and I want to reiterate the fact that you gave it to him— knocked three-quarters of the wind out of that kid’s sail yesterday. Why don’t you squeeze his kidneys a little today and make sure he suffers some more? And don’t kid yourself. He is suffering.”

  Kenneth crossed his arms and let her words hang in the air between them. “Let’s say I am who you think I am.”

  “You are who I think you are!” she snapped.

  “Let’s say that is the case,” he said, stepping around the desk, leaning against it. “If that’s true, tomorrow morning a beautiful little boy will be without suffering, without pain, in that proverbial perfect world—a perfect paradise—and he will be there forever. How do you lose in that, Macey? How is that not winning?”

  “He is a little boy!” she shouted. “And you can save him!” This wasn’t going how she’d envisioned. She wanted his help, and she wanted it right away. “The cross. Mary Springsted. Pastor Jim’s sight. Zach’s faith. And my faith. These are all miracles. I’m asking you for one more—just one more.”

  He remained where he was, still, listening, and she took a few steps toward him.

  “I see what you wanted me to learn. That it’s not all up to me. That people’s lives are ultimately in God’s hands alone. If you’d only stop now,” she pleaded. “The way Alex is right now, I can fix him. I can make him better. I know I can. Please, Kenneth.”

  The carpenter uncrossed his arms and lowered them to his sides. “I’m sorry, Macey.”

  She stepped back from him, fighting tears. “Why this little boy?” she asked. “You know it all. You’ve already seen it all. You have all the answers. Tell me why. Why Alex?”

&
nbsp; “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Kaitlyn knocked on the door behind the carpenter and then opened it, holding a white paper bag in her left hand and a cup holder in her right. Her eyes widened. “Whoops. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Kaitlyn,” Kenneth said, “I’ve gotta get back to work now.”

  “Why’d you even come?” Macey asked, sinking to a chair as defeat washed through her. “Seriously . . . why’d you even bother coming?”

  Kenneth approached and looked down at her. “Because you wanted me to.”

  She paused and then reluctantly looked up into his face, hating the fact that he was right. “I’m still going to fight you on this.”

  “I know you’ll do your best,” he said, turning and heading back to the door. He looked over his shoulder. “But don’t prolong it.”

  Kenneth nodded at Kaitlyn, who quickly stepped aside as he went out the door.

  The nurse peeked curiously back down the hallway and then turned to Macey. “Whoa. What was that about?”

  Macey stared blankly at the open door.

  “C’mon,” Kaitlyn said, setting the bag and drinks on the table. “Out with it. What’d the magic carpet man want?”

  “Tomorrow,” Macey muttered, looking out the window.

  “What’s tomorrow?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “Alex,” she said sadly. “Kenneth just told me he will be dead in the morning.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  If you need anything at all, just let one of us know.”

  “Thanks,” Brooke said, unable to remember the nurse’s name. There had been so many different ones in and out of the room that day. She pointed at Alex as he slept. “As long as he is okay, I’m okay.”

  The nurse’s cheeks lifted above the top corners of her mask as she smiled. Brooke recognized the smile as a fellow mom’s. The nurse clicked her pen closed and hooked it over the upper edge of what Brooke and Ian had labeled the manila folder. Alex’s file. His chart. It had been passed back and forth between them like a medical baton in a relay race that Brooke desperately wanted to end—in a good way.

  The nurse glanced over at Pastor Jim, who was seated at the foot of the bed, and then back at Brooke. “Kaitlyn will be back in a few minutes.”

  “Very good,” Pastor Jim said as the nurse made her way out of the room. “Thank you.”

  “Pastor Jim,” Brooke said, “I can’t remember what that nurse said her name was.”

  “Diane,” he said.

  “I like her.”

  “They’re all doing a fine job.”

  “But there are so many of them today. Even before you got here, since around two this afternoon, there have been all kinds of extra nurses taking turns coming in and out of here. Even Macey and Kaitlyn have been in here ten times more than usual.”

  “Our boy’s in good hands,” Pastor Jim said, scratching at his left ear and adjusting his surgical cap. He leaned forward on his chair and dropped his elbows on top of his knees as he stared at Alex. “I’m thankful for all of the help he’s getting.”

  “Me too, but I don’t like the idea of an infectious disease specialist, or whatever he was called, being here either.”

  “They just want to be sure nothing else caused his seizure,” Pastor Jim said. “And from what you said, the results of that first culture they took looked pretty good.”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t understand how it’s possible for whatever they are looking for—the bacteria, or whatever it is—to not be there after twenty-four hours, but to still be able to show up after forty-eight or seventy-two hours. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Me either,” Pastor Jim said. “But whatever they’re doing is all part of how he will be made well. That I know.”

  “Why can’t he be well now? How much more does he have to endure?” Brooke asked.

  “I’m really not sure,” he said, speaking softly. He waved his hand in a small circle above the bed. “But I would like to tell you how I feel about some of this, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” Brooke said. “I always want to know what you think, Pastor Jim.”

  Pastor Jim’s eyes stayed fixed on Alex. “You know, Brooke, I sit here and look at Alex, and I remember the day he was born. He’s made such a difference in all of our lives—your life, Charlie’s, and of course, mine and Shirley’s.” His head never moved, but his eyes shifted to Brooke, and they stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “You’re gonna make me cry, Pastor Jim.”

  “Go ahead and cry, then, sweetie. I may join you.”

  “I’ve never seen you cry,” she said, swallowing hard around a ball in her throat.

  Pastor Jim looked back at Alex and rested his hands on the edge of the bed. “It’s hard for me to describe the way I feel, Brooke. All that I’m thinking.”

  “Go ahead and try. I’ll listen.”

  Pastor Jim turned to Brooke and lowered his voice. “We have an enemy with us, honey. We live in a very fallen world and still experience so many consequences like sickness and even death, but I look at Alex—”

  “Don’t say death, Pastor Jim,” she whispered, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Please, God, no . . .

  “Don’t get ahead of me. Just hear me out,” Pastor Jim said, his hands lifting back off the bed. “I look at Alex right now—I look at him the way he is right this second—all of those things hooked up to him, how pale he is, how thin he is, and how his hair has fallen out. As hard as I look, I just can’t see his spark right now—you know, that spark of his that lights up every room he goes in?”

  “Yeah,” Brooke whispered, her heart pounding. She knew exactly what he meant.

  Pastor Jim pointed back at Alex. “And there he is, exactly where I would never want him to be, looking the way he is, and still . . . there is absolutely no doubt in my mind . . . I really can’t explain it, but I am certain, Brooke.”

  The growing strength of his tone encouraged her. “Certain of what?” she whispered, wiping her eyes.

  “That God is going to make him better.”

  “I like when you say that, Pastor Jim.”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. The Lord has never given me so much confidence about anything in my life, Brooke. I’m not talking about wishful thinking here. To me, it’s a certainty. I have no doubt at all. Not a shred.”

  “Not a shred?” Brooke repeated.

  “None,” he said. “And I want God to give it to you. I want you to be the one without any doubt that Alexander will be made well.”

  “How about both of us having it?” Brooke said.

  “Only believe,” Pastor Jim said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Never forget that,” he said, nodding at Alex, who had just opened his eyes. “Let them do their work here, and the Lord will do his.”

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Brooke said to Alex. “That was another short nap, mister.”

  Alex’s left eye was only half as open as his right. He licked his lips and then closed his eyes again.

  “They are bringing you some more ice chips for your mouth, Alex.”

  Alex squinted at the food tray on the side of the bed and then fell back asleep. Brooke wondered if the lining of his mouth and the area behind his eyes still hurt him, or if his stomach still felt funny. She wanted to know what he was thinking about. Maybe it was about his new baseball mitt and how his dad had promised to show him how to play when the snow melted. Ian had even given him a hint about a new bike for his birthday—one that Alex insisted not have baby wheels on it.

  Kaitlyn slid the curtain open, and Alex’s eyes opened a bit again.

  “Here you go, Mr. Alex,” she said, stepping to the side of the bed and handing Brooke a Styrofoam cup of ice chips. “Feeling a little warm still?”

  Alex’s eyelids bobbed up and down, and then he nodded sadly.

  “He keeps falling asleep and waking up,” Brooke said. “He hasn’t stayed awake longer tha
n a few minutes all day long.”

  “He’s wiped,” Kaitlyn said. “Not unusual after what he’s gone through.”

  “He falls asleep even with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on,” Brooke said, scooping a few ice chips to the tip of a small plastic spoon and holding it out in front of Alex. “Even with Willy Wonka on, huh, buddy?”

  “He’s still running a low-grade fever,” Kaitlyn said, glancing at Alex’s food tray that had been basically untouched.

  Alex’s bottom lip dropped, and Brooke tipped a pair of ice chips off the spoon into his mouth. He dabbed at the ice with his tongue, and his bloodshot eyes watered. He tried to say something, but Brooke could only make out a couple of the words.

  “What, buddy?” she asked, lowering her head within a few inches of his mouth. “See Charlie what?”

  “See Charlie,” he whispered.

  Brooke forced a smile. “Maybe when you wake up next time, Charlie will be here with those caps on his hands.”

  Alex had trapped a few ice chips between his tongue and the inside of his cheek. As they dissolved against the roof of his mouth, he fell back asleep.

  “There he goes,” Brooke said. “There he goes again.”

  “Let him rest,” Kaitlyn said, glancing at a monitor behind Alex. “He needs it.”

  “There’s blood on the spoon, Kaitlyn,” she said, trying not to panic as she looked at the bright-red against the bright-white plastic.

  “Low platelets,” the nurse said. “I want all three of you to try to relax, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Brooke lifted her feet up to the edge of her seat as Kaitlyn left. She crouched forward and rested her arms across her knees.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and take a little nap?” Pastor Jim said. “You look exhausted, Brooke. I’ll do nothing but stare at our boy and pray over him.”

  “Thanks, Pastor Jim. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  Brooke watched as Pastor Jim pulled out a pocket-sized New Testament. St. Thomas had been fortunate enough to recently receive two hundred of them from the Gideons, and he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of keeping one for himself.