The Best of Me (43 page)

A few of the committee members exchanged skeptical glances. He knew what they were thinking: Not only did this case lack precedent, but the time frame was too short. The odds were almost nonexistent that a donor could be found in time, which meant the patient was likely to die no matter what decision they made. What they didn’t mention was a colder calculation, though no one on the committee gave voice to it. It had to do with money. If Jared was added to the list, the patient would be counted as either a success or failure for the overall transplant program, and a higher success rate meant a better reputation for
the hospital. It meant additional funds for research and operations. It meant more money for transplants in the future. In the big picture, it meant more lives could be saved in the long run, even if one life had to be sacrificed now.

But Dr. Mills knew his colleagues well, and in his heart he knew they also understood that each patient and set of circumstances was unique. They understood that numbers didn’t always tell the whole story. They were the kind of professionals who sometimes took risks in order to help a patient now. For most of them, Dr. Mills guessed, it was the reason they’d gone into medicine in the first place, just as he had. They wanted to save people, and they decided to try again that day.

In the end, the recommendation from the transplant committee was unanimous. Within the hour, the patient was given 1A status, which awarded him the highest priority—if a donor could miraculously be found.

When Dr. Mills broke the news to them, Amanda jumped up and hugged him, clinging to him with desperate force.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you.” Over and over, she repeated the words. She was too afraid to say anything more, to hope aloud for the miracle of a donor.

When Evelyn entered the waiting room, one glimpse at the shell-shocked family was enough for her to know that someone had to assume control of their care. Someone who could support them, not someone who needed supporting.

She hugged each of them in turn, holding Amanda longest of all. Stepping back to inspect the group, she asked, “Now, who needs something to eat?”

Evelyn promptly herded Lynn and Annette off to the cafeteria, leaving Frank and Amanda alone. Amanda couldn’t fathom the thought of eating. As for Frank, she didn’t really care. All she could do was think about Jared.

And wait.

And pray.

When one of the ICU nurses passed by the waiting room, Amanda raced after her, catching her in the hallway. Voice trembling, she asked the obvious question.

“No,” the nurse answered, “I’m sorry. So far, there’s no word on a possible donor.”

Still standing in the hallway, Amanda brought her hands to her face.

Unbeknownst to her, Frank had emerged from the waiting room, reaching her side as the nurse hurried away.

“They’ll find a donor,” Frank said.

At his tentative touch, she wheeled around.

“They’ll find one,” he said again.

Her eyes flashed. “You of all people can’t
promise
me that.”

“No, of course not…”

“Then don’t say anything,” she said. “Don’t say things that are meaningless.”

Frank touched the swollen bridge of his nose. “I’m just trying to—”

“What?” she demanded. “Make me feel better? My son is dying!” Her voice rang out in the tiled hallway, turning heads.

“He’s my son, too,” Frank said, his voice quiet.

Amanda’s anger, so long suppressed, suddenly exploded to the surface. “Then why did you make him come and get you?” she cried. “Why were you too drunk to drive yourself?”

“Amanda…”

“You did this!” she screamed at him. Up and down the
corridor, patients craned to peer out their open doors, and nurses froze midstride. “He shouldn’t have been in the car! There was no reason for him to be there! But you got so damn drunk that you couldn’t take care of yourself! Again! Just like you always do!”

“It was an accident,” Frank tried to interject.

“But it wasn’t! Don’t you understand that? You bought the beer, you drank it—
you
set all this in motion. You put Jared in the path of that car!”

Amanda was breathing hard, oblivious to anyone in the hallway. “I’ve asked you to stop drinking,” she hissed. “I’ve begged you to stop. But you never stopped. You never cared about what I wanted, or what was best for the kids. The only thing you ever thought about was yourself and how much you hurt after Bea died.” She drew a harsh breath. “Well, you know what? I was crushed, too. I’m the one who gave birth to her. I’m the one who held her and fed her and changed her diapers while you were at work. I was the one who never left her side when she was sick. That was me, not you.
Me.
” She stabbed her own chest with her finger. “But somehow you became the one who couldn’t cope. And you know what happened? I ended up losing the husband I married, along with my baby. Yet even then I was somehow able to soldier on and make the best of things.” Amanda turned away from Frank, her face twisted with bitterness.

“My son is on life support and his time is running out because I never had the courage to leave you. But that’s what I should have done a long time ago.”

Halfway through her outburst, Frank had dropped his gaze, focusing instead on the floor. Spent, Amanda began to walk down the hall, away from him.

She stopped for a moment, turned, and added, “I know that it was an accident. I know you’re sorry. But being sorry isn’t enough. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here, and both of us know that.”

Her last words were a challenge that echoed through the hospital
ward, and she half-expected him to respond. But he said nothing, and Amanda finally walked away.

When family members were allowed to visit the ICU again, Amanda and the girls took turns sitting with Jared. She stayed with him for almost an hour. As soon as Frank arrived, she left. Evelyn went in to see Jared next, staying only a few minutes.

After the rest of the family was shepherded off by Evelyn, Amanda returned to Jared’s bedside alone, remaining there until after the nurses changed shifts.

There was still no word on a donor.

The dinner hour arrived and more time passed. Evelyn finally showed up and frog-marched Amanda out of the ICU, leading her down to the cafeteria. Although the thought of food made her feel almost nauseated, her mother personally supervised Amanda’s eating of a sandwich in silence. Swallowing each tasteless mouthful with mechanical effort, Amanda finally choked down the last bite and crumpled the cellophane wrapper.

With that, she stood and went back to the ICU.

By eight o’clock, when visiting hours were officially over, Evelyn determined that it would be best for the kids to go home for a while. Frank agreed to accompany them, but again Dr. Mills made an exception for Amanda, allowing her to stay in the ICU.