Mother's Promise (28 page)

“It's GVHD—chronic.”

“Oh.” Rachel knew enough to know that the chronic form of the disease could be far worse than the acute form that came usually within the first hundred days following a transplant and could in most cases be treated successfully. Chronic GVHD could go on for months—even years.

“Her blood tests were always within the normal range,” Ben was saying as if going over the data for the hundredth time. “But there were other signs—lately she's complained of something in her eye but it was always when we were at the park or outside and I thought …”

The disease could attack any one or several of the body's systems—skin, eyes, mouth, liver, stomach, or intestines. “You believe it to be ocular, then?”

Ben shrugged. “I'm not going to guess. She's on her way to Tampa. Let the team there make the diagnosis. It's pretty clear that I missed it big-time.”

“Sharon and Malcolm must be—”

“They flew up with her.” He nodded toward his phone lying next to him. “I was waiting for their call.”

“Can I wait with you?”

His gratitude for her offer was reflected in his eyes, but then he shook his head and picked up the phone, perhaps willing the call to come. “That's okay. You should get home. Justin's there alone, right?”

“Yes, but …”

“I'll be fine, Rachel. Thanks.”

“Is there anything I can do for Sharon and Malcolm? I mean, at the house?”

“I'll ask when they call and let you know.” He stood up, and then he did the oddest thing. He lightly fingered one of the ties of her prayer covering. “Get some rest,” he said.

“And you as well. Please tell Sharon that I will pray for Sally.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She was outside dialing the number for the taxi dispatcher when Ben called out to her. “Need a ride?”

“I can call a cab.”

“I'll drive you. Sharon called and she wants me to check the house, be sure they locked up, and gather some things she'll need while she's in Tampa with Sally.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said and walked with him to the parking garage where his was the only car still parked in the area reserved for doctors.

He held the door for her then got in and started the engine. That's when she called Justin to let him know she was on her way home.

“They'll know more tomorrow,” Ben said as soon as she hung up. “I expect they'll get her started on the steroid cocktail right away. She's going to hate that. She's already sensitive about her weight and that stuff will make her blow up like the Pillsbury Doughboy.” He glanced over at Rachel. “You know that reference? Pillsbury Doughboy?”

“I do. We see the commercials when we watch the news.” She studied him for a moment. “Are you going to drive up to Tampa tonight?”

“No. I have patients here that need me. We'll know more tomorrow,” he repeated, as if that alone gave him some measure of comfort.

The streets were fairly deserted, and the traffic lights were with them. Added to the fact that Ben drove fast and handled turns as if they were no more than a slight curve in the road, it took less time than usual to reach the Shepherd home.

“Go ahead and park at their house,” Rachel said as they approached the turn that would take them to the cottage. “I can walk from there.”

He did as she suggested, and she did not wait for him to come around to open her car door. “Thank you for the ride, Ben.” She started walking on the path that ran through the gardens connecting the main house to the cottage.

“Thanks,” he called out. When she glanced back at him, he added, “For … just thanks, okay?”

He looked so lost, standing there alone, the light from the empty house washing over him. She almost retraced her steps. Her instinct was to go to him, hold him as she had longed for someone—man or woman—to hold her after James had died. But Sally hadn't died. There was still the possibility that she would be all right. Rachel thought about the woman she had ministered to earlier and understood that the entire night had been too full of emotional valleys.

Ben would be all right once he received an update on Sally's condition and conferred with his colleagues in Tampa about her treatment. The best thing she could do right now was to go home, hug Justin, and thank God for their many blessings.

Chapter 17

I
t was almost midnight by the time Ben had found the items Sharon had asked him to bring her; then he turned off the lights and made sure the house was secure—alarm set, garage door that Sharon and Malcolm had left open in their rush to get to the hospital closed. Restless and knowing he would get little sleep tonight, Ben walked around to the back of the house and checked the doors that led into the lanai and the pool. They were locked.

The night was still as beautiful as it had been earlier when they had been out on the bay. Had that only been a few hours ago? It seemed ages. There was a full moon—“Harvest moon,” Rachel had called it as they cruised into the marina to return the boat to its slip.

The trip had been something of a disaster with Justin sullen and ornery and Sally withdrawn and depressed. And yet Rachel had found the one thing of beauty to focus on—the moon rising, a large golden ball that put the rest of the Sarasota skyline to shame. She was like that, he realized, always focusing on the good in people, the wonder of her surroundings. Whenever Ben was around her he felt such a sense of peace, as if no matter what happened, in the end everything would be all right.

He looked toward the cottage and saw a single light burning in the kitchen. He was halfway down the path before he realized that he needed a good strong dose of Rachel's composure—the quality that she wore on the inside the way she wore that silly little hat on the outside.

Sitting at the small kitchen table surrounded by books and papers, she was writing something on a yellow legal pad. She was still dressed in her traditional garb, and Ben suddenly found himself wondering what she might look like with her hair down.

Not wanting to startle her, he made noise as he walked, clearing his throat and scuffling his feet along the crushed-shell path. He tapped at the open screen door, calling her name at the same time. “Rachel? Sorry to bother you,” he added when she looked up without the slightest hint of alarm.

“Not at all. Come in. I was going to make some tea. Will you have some?” She busied herself preparing the tea while he took the only other chair at the table. “Is everything all right at the house?”

“It's fine. I just saw your light and …” He shrugged, unable to form more words as he fought the combination of exhaustion and fear for Sally that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know. Sometimes as my minister says, ‘The world is too much with us.' ”

She set mugs and spoons for each of them and brought sugar and sliced lemon to the table while she waited for the kettle to boil.

Ben considered her white prayer covering and remembered how she had explained to Sally that she wore it all the time because she never knew when she might need to turn to God in prayer. “That works for you?” He pointed to her kapp. “The religion thing?”

She reached for the whistling kettle at the same time she glanced at him over her shoulder. “It works for everyone who has faith,” she said quietly. She filled a china teapot with the boiling water and carried it to the table. “Do you not have faith, Ben?”

It was a fair question, especially coming from her. After all he'd been the one to bring the whole thing up. “I've kind of let things slide in that department,” he said with a half smile and realized that it was the truth. There had been a time….

“Sharon relies heavily on the comforts of prayer and scripture,” she said. “More than once I have seen her sitting in the garden, her Bible open next to her.”

“Our father was a minister, of the fire and brimstone variety. I struggled with that, and he struggled with me. In the end it was pretty much a standoff. Maybe if we had been able to talk calmly about things but it was his way or the highway.” He took a sip of the tea she'd poured for him then added, “I chose the highway and went off to med school. I got distracted with studies, and well, it's been a while since I darkened the door of a church.”

The confession made him suddenly shy with her. To this woman a strong faith was everything. He turned his attention to the papers and books spread across the table. “What's all this?”

He knew she was watching him over the rim of her mug. If she had wanted to preach to him, she apparently thought better of it and set her tea on the table. “I have a paper due Tuesday for my certification.” She reached for the yellow legal pad. “It's nearly finished—except of course, for the typing of it into the computer.” She sighed. “I'm afraid I am not very good at that.”

“Ah, but I am.” Ben took the pad and flipped through the pages. “Ever since medical documentation went electronic I have become one super typist.” He grinned at her. “I'd be happy to type it up for you.”

“I could not ask such a thing of you, Ben.”

“Why not?”

“You are so busy.”

“And you aren't? Let's consider busy. You have your work….”

“As do you,” she reminded him.

“Noted, although I seem to see you at the hospital almost as often as I'm there, and you have your course work to earn the required certification.”

“That will be finished soon.”

“You have Justin.”

The shadow that dulled her always clear violet eyes was brief but unmistakable. She sighed. “He was sorry to learn of the return of Sally's illness especially after he had behaved so badly on the boat tonight.”

“You're worried about him.”

“Ja.” She drank her tea, lowering her eyes so that all he could see was the thick fan of black lashes that touched her cheeks. And then he realized that her lashes were wet.

“Rachel?” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“May I ask you a question?” She looked up at him.

“Of course.”

“When you were a boy and you and your father were having your differences, how did you find your way?”

“It's not the same thing, Rachel. Justin's father died. You moved here. Justin had no choice but to start over. I had choices with my dad. It's not the same thing at all.”

“I know, but …” She shook off the thought. “You did not come here to listen to my worries. Will it help to talk about Sally?”

“It will help if you tell me why you are so worried about Justin. At least I might be able to make some small suggestion for that. I certainly have no power to help Sally.”

Rachel smiled and pulled her hand free of his to refill their mugs. “And so we are back to our previous discussion on faith, or rather, your lack of it when it comes to God's power to heal Sally.”

Ben lifted his mug in a mock toast. “Touché.” He took a swallow and let the warm liquid soothe him. “Talk about Justin. I'm a good listener.” He grinned. “Part of the job description of being a doctor.”

When she described the call from Justin's teacher, Ben was tempted to shrug it off as boys will be boys. But it was clear to him that she was deeply troubled by the very idea that her son might do anything dishonest—even unknowingly, which Ben very much doubted was the case.

“It's times like these when I miss his father so very much,” she admitted. “James would know what to say to Justin—and to the teacher. I have no clue how best to handle this with either of them.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “What do you think is really going on here?”

“I don't know. I have not met any of Justin's new friends, and it's evident to me that Sally doesn't care for them. Oh, she hasn't said anything directly, but on the one occasion when I did mention this Derek boy, it was clear that she had serious reservations about him.”

“Is this kid Justin's only friend? I mean, what about other boys he's met, perhaps at church?”