Kitabı oku: «The Tie That Binds», sayfa 4

Rachel’s familia had watched her marry outside their circle, welcoming her young man because she had chosen him. He had been brought in unreservedly, had been granted a place within their group because of his connection with Rachel. They had watched the early happiness, shaking their heads in bewilderment over how such a fine young man could have sprung from such cold, overbearing, narrow-minded people as his parents.

They continued to watch as Lucas had veered away from life with Rachel. Rachel had never said anything, and, out of respect, they had never mentioned it to her. But they knew she knew.

When the day came that she appeared at her brother’s door, he knew exactly why she was there. Rick had been ready to help her, just as anyone in their circle would have been. Quickly news of her wounded status had spread, and family and friends had rallied around her. They had, in fact, circled the wagons—kept her safe until she was ready to face the world again. Because her state was regarded as unresolved, they remained on high alert where she was concerned. They knew she needed room to appear independent, to save face in public, but they also knew they had to be ready to support her.

In earlier times Lucas Neuman might well have found himself on the wrong end of violent vengeance. In the eyes of Rachel’s people, not only had he betrayed her—he had deceived the entire group. In doing so, he had demonstrated his lack of character. Instead of violence, however, they elected to monitor his activities. They talked amongst themselves, quietly, gradually spreading word of Lucas Neuman beyond Rachel’s immediate group. Of course, Arnold Neuman had already made a questionable name for himself. It was no great difficulty to suggest, with a shrug, De tal palo, tal astilla. An apple never falls far from the tree.

Rachel would have been surprised had anyone told her they kept tabs on Lucas and that they knew exactly what he’d been doing since she’d left him. She tried not to think of him at all.

She had loved him deeply and completely. He had loved her in return. Whatever she had questioned—and she’d had many questions—she had never doubted that he loved her. That’s why his behavior had been so hard to understand. He had just drifted away, following his parents and Alana, almost like a sleepwalker.

They had been happy together at first, she and Lucas. They had led a simple life, largely because they hadn’t had enough time or money for anything complicated. They had both been university students, living in a dumpy little apartment within walking distance of the campus. Others in the complex had “partied hearty,” staying up late, carrying on. But Lucas and Rachel had lived quietly. Sunsets had been nice for them. Ice cream on Saturday mornings had been nice. Spending Sundays in bed, or hurrying to make morning classes because lovemaking had gone into overtime—that had been nice, too. Grocery shopping and laundry duties had been times to spend together, not chores. Music had always been there; they’d enjoyed dancing, even when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Especially when it was only the two of them in the kitchen. They’d laughed together, they’d had private jokes. They’d been in love, but it had been more than that. They had matched each other. And there had always been a sense of a future together.

Rachel had believed she knew Lucas, knew who he really was, right to his core. Even when things had begun falling apart, she had been able to see the person he was. Deep inside. Down to his soul. Just as he had been able to see hers.

Maybe we were too young, Rachel considered, swishing the dregs of her tomato soup. She’d only been nineteen, Lucas, twenty, when they’d married. Too young was a possibility. It was a major objection offered by Lucas’s parents. But that, Rachel knew, was only because it was a socially acceptable thing to say. The real problem was that Rachel was not, and could never be, what the Neumans wanted for their son’s wife. Specifically, she was not Alana Winston—a woman who had been groomed for just that role. Or for a role just like it, anyway. And she’d had her sights set on Lucas for a long time.

Alana Winston was everything Rachel was not. Most importantly, in the Neumans’ opinion, her pedigree was impeccable. Rachel’s was not. After all, Rachel’s mother was Hispanic. She had been born in Mexico, and happily acknowledged that she had as much family living on the American side of the border as on the Mexican side. She spoke Spanish and she’d taught Rachel and her brother to speak Spanish, as well. Her father, a white man, had done nothing to discourage their ethnic tendencies—he even seemed proud of them. As far as the Neumans were concerned, that was nearly worse than the existence of the ethnicity in the first place.

To Arnold and Sophie Neuman, it didn’t matter that Rachel’s parents, Michael and Gloria Shannon, were well-educated, hard-working, caring individuals. In fact, that they had to work was another negative as far as the Neumans were concerned. Gloria was a teacher with a preference for teaching kindergarten. Michael was a veterinarian. Perhaps the Neumans would have been sufficiently impressed had he been a doctor who treated humans, rather than animals. But he wasn’t, so it was a moot point.

As for their opinion of Rachel, nothing could win her an objective audience with them. Not her natural beauty. Not her quiet intelligence. Not her zest for life. Not her gentle competence, her genuine compassion or inner strength—the very qualities sustaining her as a single mother and as head pediatric nurse.

They held inflexible ideas about her correct place in society and it wasn’t as Lucas’s wife. She was suitable mistress material.

Alana, as Lucas’s wife, would have understood a mistress. She’d been raised to understand that.

According to the Neumans, as a minority, Rachel should have been appreciative of such a desirable position. The Neumans had tried very hard to instruct Rachel on her “proper place.” Rachel had rejected their reasoning, had found their demands unacceptable. Yet she had felt pressure to somehow get along with them. They were her in-laws after all.

Lucas had never understood why Rachel didn’t want to be around his parents. He’d been confident that if she’d spend time with them, she’d come to like them. She just needed to give them a chance. If she would do that, he had said, his parents would come around and like her, too. Lucas did not understand prejudice, having never been on the receiving end of it. Rachel had been incapable of making him understand, had eventually quit trying.

Eventually Rachel had quietly tried to avoid Lucas’s parents more and more, whenever possible. To manage this, she had begun to withdraw from the social life she shared with Lucas. She had hoped to nourish their private life. Except that their private life, their relationship, had begun to disintegrate slowly, bit by bit.

“Well, I’m not withdrawing now,” she stated, clattering her spoon into her now-empty soup mug. “This isn’t about me, about whether or not I’m comfortable. This is about Michaela. And if that makes Lucas uncomfortable, well, that will make two of us. It’s about time.”

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Answering its summons, Rachel found herself confronted by the dazzling smile and click of beaded braids that accompanied Tanisha Davis everywhere she went.

“Hey, there,” Tanisha said in greeting.

“Hey,” Rachel answered. “What brings you here?”

“Are you kidding?” Tanisha’s eyebrows descended in mock disapproval as she breezed into Rachel’s home. “I’ve been in this house lately, more than you I might add, and I know what the food supply looks like.” Holding up a grocery bag that Rachel hadn’t noticed, Tanisha continued, “I’ve brought tostada stuff. It’s quick and it will be better than anything lurking in this house. And you a nurse.” Tanisha tsk-tsked at Rachel. “You should know better. When food starts to come back to life, when it can move all by itself—you really shouldn’t be eating it. It’s a basic rule.”

Rachel laughed and followed her friend into the kitchen, acknowledging that Tanisha spoke the truth. Or very nearly the truth, anyway.

Within minutes, busily filled with chopping vegetables and warming refried beans, the table was spread. Rachel couldn’t help noticing how much more appetizing this meal was than her tomato soup had been. Not to mention that being with Tanisha always relaxed Rachel, since she knew she could drop her guard and be herself.

Of course, Rachel thought, smiling to herself, the person who can fool Tanisha has not been born, so there’s really no point in trying to be anything less than open with her.

“Why are you home today?” Rachel asked, conversation rolling naturally and comfortably between them.

“Oh, well, it’s my weekend, you know,” Tanisha answered.

Tanisha, in order to avoid working off-shifts, had elected to take a schedule with rotating weekends. Therefore, rather than a Saturday-Sunday weekend, she sometimes had other combinations. In this case, it looked like Tuesday-Wednesday.

“And Vanessa is with Wayne?”

“Yeah,” Tanisha agreed, nodding her head, her beads rustling in her hair. “I have to admit, once we worked it out, he’s pretty sympathetic about the weekend time. He has alternating shifts, too, so we try to give Vanessa time with each of us on our weekends, but we try to give each other a free weekend now and then. We’ve been able to reduce day-care time for Vanessa, which is great. Not that it was easy to get it worked out.” Tanisha was shaking her head vehemently now, lending emphasis to her words, the beads increasing their gentle rhythm.

Rachel had never pressed Tanisha for the details of the situations, grateful that Tanisha had never pressed her either. Frankly, she was reluctant to risk asking anything that would change that. Rachel had never been inclined to complain about what life had thrown her—living it was all she could do. She assumed Tanisha had a similar philosophy.

Always, it had been enough that they were both single mothers of young daughters, doing their best. In that, they had much in common.

However, Rachel now considered the possibility that knowing how someone else had coped might be valuable information. Comforting, even. It was the reason for support groups, she reasoned.

Suddenly Rachel wanted to know more about Tanisha’s details. “How did you work it out?”

“Well—” Tanisha pondered a minute “—first, I had to let go of Wayne, I guess. I had to accept that he didn’t want to be married, or at least not to me. But he did want to be a father. Once I got used to those basic facts, things went a lot better.”

“He didn’t want to be married?”

“No. Well…I mean, I didn’t either, exactly. We were just, you know, seriously seeing each other, not dating anyone else. But we sure were not thinking about making babies. Then, when I realized that we were making a baby, whether or not we planned to be, well, that’s when we got married. No argument on that. But after a couple years, it was pretty obvious that Wayne really didn’t want to be married. I fought that. I didn’t want to give up, you know? I thought a marriage, no matter how bad, was better than no marriage. And I didn’t think ours was that bad. So, eventually he was moving out and filing for divorce and I was a nutcase over it. I was not—” she emphasized the word with a severely arched eyebrow “—very nice about it.” Tanisha shrugged, exchanging her harsh expression for a relaxed one. “But eventually I admitted to myself that it was losing the marriage that upset me, not losing Wayne. I liked him well enough, but—” she shrugged again “—I was not consumed with love for the man. Passion, oh, yeah. That part we did right, which is what got us together in the first place.”

She punctuated her story with a laugh. “But I wasn’t in love with him. He wasn’t in love with me. That was never really part of our marriage. So I finally let go. And now Wayne and me, we’re friends. I would have never believed it, but we are. And that’s the best we can do for Vanessa, which is the important thing, anyway.”

“Do you ever miss it? Being married, I mean?” Rachel wasn’t sure where the questions were coming from.

“Lord, yes, I miss it. I don’t miss Wayne, mind you, not anymore. But I miss being part of a couple. I’d like to have that again. You know what I’m saying?”

“Sí, sí, I think I do know.” Rachel nodded. “I’d say I miss being part of a couple, too. I guess some people see freedom in being single, but for me, to always be making decisions by myself, to never have anyone to share things with, good or bad…that gets old.”

“I hear that,” Tanisha said in agreement, her ebony eyes watching Rachel, missing nothing. “And that’s the weird thing with Wayne now. We are both so much parents. If it has to do with Vanessa, I’m not alone. We are totally, completely partners as parents. I just can’t believe it sometimes.” Tanisha raised her eyebrow meaningfully, signaling her upcoming questions. “What about you? Do you have someone to parent with you now?”

Rachel gave a start, surprised by Tanisha’s inquiry. “You mean…Lucas?”

“Is that the man’s name? I always wondered.” Tanisha was nodding, her hair beads rustling again.

“Sí, his name is Lucas.” Rachel sighed deeply.

“And how did your meeting go?”

“You know about that?” Rachel had told very few people about this morning’s meeting. She couldn’t remember discussing it with Tanisha. It had been arranged quite suddenly.

“Oh, yeah. Your mamá and me, we talk.”

“Ah, bueno. I see.” Rachel smiled, then sighed again. “I guess it went well.”

“He’s going to help?”

“Mmm-hmm. At least, he’s going to be tested. This afternoon. I just have to hope he’ll be compatible. And then that he won’t chicken out, once he knows what he’ll have to do.”

Tanisha regarded her friend, noticing how pale she looked, seeing the signs of strain in her face. “And how is the mamá—you, that is—how are you doing?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Tanisha laughed, pointing her index finger at Rachel, her sparkling burgundy fingernail the perfect complement to her mahogany skin. “I have to think it was not the easiest way to spend your morning.”

“That’s true enough,” Rachel said, a weak smile touching her lips. “I’m okay, I guess. Very anxious about the testing. And, yeah, as you said, I have definitely had more fun.”

“Was he nasty to you?”

Tanisha’s insight startled Rachel into honesty. “Sí. At first. Then again, this was the first he’s ever heard of us having a daughter, so he was bound to have a strong reaction.”

Tanisha raised her eyebrow again, Rachel’s admission not being what she had expected. “So…Lucas, is that his name? He didn’t know about Michaela?”

Rachel shook her head.

“Lord, girl, you did drop a bomb on the man,” Tanisha said, chuckling briefly. “Does that mean…the two of you haven’t seen each since…how long?”

“Five years, basically.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tanisha pondered this, then looked directly into Rachel’s face. “So, how are you, then? Really?”

Another long sigh escaped Rachel. “I’ve been better. It wasn’t exactly my best day.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I came over and gave you a decent meal. You have to go back in and face this man, right?”

“¡Dios mio!” Rachel exclaimed, standing abruptly. “What time is it? He’s got a three-o’clock appointment. I’ve got to get back to the hospital! I need to spend some time with Michaela!”

“It’s two, Rachel, you’ve got plenty of time if you go now.”

“Are you sure? This—” she motioned toward the kitchen table “—needs cleaning up.”

“Go, you,” Tanisha said smiling. “I’ve been here more than you lately anyway. Your house knows me. I’ll clean up, lock your door. Take any decent food home with me. You just go.”

And Rachel did. Before she got to the part where she had to acknowledge that her husband’s touch still made her melt. That his touch could make her think of things other than helping Michaela. She could have never lied to Tanisha about that, she was certain.

Indeed, it had not been her best day. And it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter 4

Lucas Neuman was completely, utterly out of his element. And he was not happy about it.

He’d had a vague idea of where the Phoenix Children’s Hospital was located. Didn’t everybody? So, without checking the address or consulting a map, he’d driven to the area he had in mind, only to find himself facing the Samaritan Medical Center. Eventually, putting his faith in the posted signs, he came to suspect that the children’s hospital was on the same grounds as the medical center. Hadn’t Rachel said something like that? He thought so. And he eventually discovered it was true. But the damage had been done—his mood was turning ugly fast.

He had parked where indicated, then taken the elevator to the appropriate floor. At least, he hoped it was the right one. He certainly didn’t want to stop and ask for directions, but he didn’t relish the idea of wandering through the hospital hoping to eventually find his way.

Stepping into the corridor as the elevator doors opened, Lucas felt a momentary rush of something close to…panic. He didn’t like hospitals, anyway. Who did, right? But he couldn’t control what went on in a hospital, he probably couldn’t even understand what went on in a hospital. And today’s visit wasn’t a social call.

He was nervous about that, too. How should he present himself? Charming or aggressive? Aggressive or charming? He tried to decide on a plan of attack. Selecting a strategy might afford him some degree of control. He knew full well that his control was slipping, that he was about to teeter into the discomfort—okay, hysteria—that hospitals engendered in him. He had to find an advantage for dealing in this foreign place.

As he moved down the corridor, toward a large reception desk, he was startled at the comfortable environment he encountered. Soft lighting kept the area bright, but not overbright. Flower arrangements and painted murals added subtle, cheerful color. Silently bubbling aquariums full of colorful, slow-moving fish served as focal points in the various seating areas. Seating areas, Lucas noted, where the chairs looked like something a person could actually sit in.

Glass partitions marked off patients’ rooms, allowing for privacy without sacrificing the open feeling. Lucas could see that miniblinds would be pulled when full privacy was required. Yet somehow, despite the low-key and easy atmosphere, Lucas also felt the efficiency and sharp attention that permeated the air. He felt it keenly.

Charming or aggressive? He smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his impeccably tailored clothing, forced the frown from his forehead. And his mouth. This time, to hide his discomfiture, he chose charm. Confident charm. That—and his professional aura—should do the trick.

“Hello,” he said, flashing a smile of even white teeth at the nurse’s assistant sitting behind the reception counter. “I’m to see Evan Campbell at three. I’m early. I would like to look in on Michaela Neuman.” Saying the name was bizarre in its newness. Even Rachel hadn’t put the two names together. It shook him.

“Well, sir,” the young woman sputtered, “Michaela…she’s…she’s not in her room right now. She’s with her mother.” She was clearly torn between her sense of duty to Lucas and that which she owed to Rachel and her daughter. She pointed toward a nearby corridor. “You could wait over there if you like, so you’ll see them when they get back.”

Lucas glanced in the direction she’d indicated, feeling the annoyance rising. He didn’t find these answers acceptable. What the hell does she mean, Michaela is not in her room? How could she be off somewhere with her mother?

“Where is Michaela? I thought she was too sick to go anywhere.” He injected sufficient sneer into his voice to suggest that he was questioning the young woman’s competence. Or honesty. Or someone else’s—like Rachel’s.

“I’ve tried to explain, sir….” Her voice trailed off.

“Excuse me, Kristen,” came another voice, “do you need some help?”

“Thank you, Nurse Linda,” the assistant responded, her relief evident. “This gentleman has an appointment with Dr. Campbell, but he is asking to see Michaela Neuman as well. I’ve tried to explain.”

“That’s all right. I’ll talk to him.”

Lucas noticed he was being discussed as if he weren’t there, a treatment he found supremely insulting. Any effort at charm was abandoned.

“Yes.” He directed himself toward this newly arrived woman, assuming she had some degree of authority. “I want to see Michaela Neuman, but I’m told she isn’t here. How can that be? Where would she go? If she really is so sick—”

“Don’t doubt that for a second, Mr. Neuman,” the woman said sharply. That she used his name surprised Lucas; he knew he hadn’t yet revealed that bit of information.

Seeing that he was taken aback, Nurse Linda continued, “Oh, yes, I know who you are. Furthermore, I know why you’re here. I’ll answer your questions. But make no mistake, Mr. Neuman—Michaela’s welfare is my first concern. I don’t know that you and I share that bond. Now, come with me.”

Lucas struggled to maintain his stern exterior and prevent his genuine, warring emotions from taking over. He couldn’t swallow his sense that Rachel had played him for a fool—and yet, that didn’t seem like Rachel.

Not seeing any other option, he did as he was told. He followed the nurse to a seating area off to the side of the reception counter.

“Your explanation?” he prompted, aggression in full swing, rudeness fast approaching.

She turned to face him. “I’m Linda Tafoya, head nurse during the day. I won’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you because that would be a lie. You see, Mr. Neuman, I really do know who you are.”

Folding her arms across her body, she said, “I consider myself Rachel’s friend. And Michaela’s, too. I know how important your visit today is, no doubt better than you do. Of course Michaela is here, in the hospital. She hasn’t been anywhere else for longer than I care to consider. She is too sick to go very far and you need to realize that right now, before you stay one second longer. She isn’t in her room right now because, every afternoon, Rachel takes her from the ward—just down the hall—in order to spend some personal time with her. We support what she’s doing and we go out of our way to grant her that privacy, to respect that privacy.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But you will. She usually comes back by about two-thirty, which would be any minute now. Because I know they’re wrapping it up, anyway, and because I know why you’re here, I will let you in on their private retreat. Respect it for what it is.”

Lucas was sure that Linda Tafoya was very nearly the same age as he, she was not particularly tall, she was attractive in a neat, organized way. Nothing about her was imposing, but he couldn’t ignore the note of command in her voice. She was in charge. “Okay.”

She stared at him a moment longer, sizing him up, Lucas could tell. “Right,” she said, pointing toward another corridor. “There’s a lounge area, three doors down on the right. It’s a bit like an atrium—you can see into from the hallway. You’ll know it when you see it. Tell Rachel that Linda sent you.”

She nodded in the designated direction and left him alone. He stood then, noticing a sign posted by the door next to him. It read, “Rachel Neuman, RN Head, Pediatric Nursing.”

Lucas was stunned. His eyebrows returned to their frown position. Rachel had not explained what she did for a living and he hadn’t exactly explored the question deeply. Now he had the answer.

Recovering from this revelation, he began to move down the corridor.

He counted the doors, stopping when he reached a glass enclosure. The area was pleasantly lit—possibly by skylights. He could hear—and now see—birds playing in the fountain that sat outside the glass, in the enclosed courtyard. He pushed open the door, scanning the seats. He spotted Rachel immediately. She sat with her back to him, her mane of chocolate-colored hair still caught in that morning’s ponytail. He could hear her voice, murmuring softly, not able to distinguish the words but suspecting she was telling a story.

She held a child on her lap—Michaela, he knew. He couldn’t see her from where he stood. He could only see part of a shoulder, a typical looking shoulder except for the IV pole positioned behind it. He could see that the pole was actually attached to what looked like a child’s stroller, rather than to a wheelchair. But the child was definitely on Rachel’s lap.

He approached them quietly, almost reverently, finally understanding that he was violating something personal—something that, until now, had never had anything to do with him. His bravado collapsed. He couldn’t breathe—again. He was pulled toward the scene, toward Rachel and Michaela, by a force he wouldn’t contemplate.

“Y todos vivieron muy felices.” Rachel finished her story, one she had created especially for Michaela. In this story, as in all of those Rachel told, everyone lived happily ever after.

Rachel sighed, pulling her daughter into a more comfortable position on her lap, resting her own head lightly against Michaela’s.

It was then that she saw him. Her eyes widened in recognition, her pulse quickened in a reaction she was powerless to stop.

“Hello, Rachel,” he whispered, “Linda sent me.” He’d had no intention of explaining his presence that way. Somehow, unconsciously, he had known it was the right thing to do.

“Hello, Lucas. We were just having our story time.”

He came around in front of them, his eyes intent on the child, his heart thundering in his chest. He squatted down in front of them in the stance of a baseball catcher.

“This is Michaela,” Rachel said, gently stroking the delicate fuzzy head that rested against her shoulder.

“Hi, Michaela,” Lucas answered, his voice breaking, his mouth dry.

“¿Quién es, Mamá?” The child looked at her mother, quietly curious, waiting for an explanation.

“El se llama Lucas, Michaela, pero es su padre, mija,” Rachel replied gently.

Lucas caught his breath. While his knowledge of Spanish was shaky at best, he knew he had just been introduced to his daughter. He didn’t speak, knowing he couldn’t trust his voice, knowing it wasn’t his turn to speak yet.

Michaela regarded him solemnly, as only a child can. She took in every aspect of his appearance. “¿Por qué…” she began.

“English, mija,” Rachel reminded her. “He doesn’t speak Spanish.”

Michaela changed track, easily resuming in English. “Why is he here?” Again, the honesty of childhood sparkled.

“He’s going to see if he can help you.” Michaela didn’t question what Rachel meant by this. Evidently, the little girl knew what kind of help she needed.

“He looks like me on the outside, Mamá.” Lucas noticed that, although she spoke English, Michaela retained the Spanish pronunciation of Mamá. It was, of course, part of Michaela’s heritage. It was natural to her.

“Yes, Michaela,” Rachel answered, “he does. We need to know if he’s like you on the inside, too.”

It was that simple, Rachel thought. And that complicated.

Lucas’s head was reeling. It was all so much to take in. Bone marrow transplants, which they abbreviated as BMT, were a new concept in his world.

“We need to draw a blood sample,” Dr. Campbell advised Lucas. “Rachel tells me you would prefer a DNA-based test, which is my preference, as well. Without giving you all the boring details, I’ll just say that we tend to get more accurate information more quickly when we use the DNA test over the serology test. There are three levels of investigation we do on the sample. In your case—” he handed him a paper which Lucas recognized as a consent form “—we’d like permission to run all three levels straight away. We know our chances of a match are strong with you, and if we proceed this way, we’ll have the information that much sooner.”

Lucas nodded, thinking it couldn’t really make any difference to him. He understood, however, that urgency was involved, that speed could make a difference to Michaela.

“Furthermore, if you are a match, we’ll want to get you in as quickly as we can. There’s no point in dragging it out.” Dr. Campbell handed Lucas several brochures. “These have diagrams and such. I would recommend that you look at them. The donor procedure itself is not the worst thing you’ll ever experience, but it isn’t the most comfortable, either.”

He went on to describe how the bone marrow would be extracted from Lucas’s hip under a local anesthetic. He would be able to stay in the hospital overnight if he wanted, but he should anticipate a certain degree of tenderness in the area afterward and should not plan to drive himself home.

“How will Michaela get the transplant?” Lucas wanted to know.

“Well, I’m not her doctor. You’ll want to talk to Dr. Graham for the specifics of Michaela’s case.” Dr. Campbell removed his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “That said, the recipient usually receives it through an IV. The chemo she’ll have prior to it will be worse for her than the actual BMT procedure. But she will be fragile for some time afterward. Essentially, she’ll have no immune system and she may very well have side effects from the chemo again.”

“So,” Lucas pondered aloud, “this is what Rachel meant when she said it would get worse before it gets better.”

“Probably,” Dr. Campbell agreed, reaching to push the buttons on his intercom. “Yes, Kristen, this is Evan. Is Paul Graham around?”