The You I Never Knew (14 page)
He glared at her, but the truth echoed through him. He wasn’t sure Cody was something he wanted or needed or was ready for right now, but one thing was certain—if he wanted a place in the boy’s heart, in his life, he’d have to earn it. And he sure as hell couldn’t do that in a few weeks.
W
hen the phone rang, Michelle jerked herself out of the restless half sleep that had tormented her all night. Fumbling for the receiver by the bed, she felt a swift revival of every fear and nightmare that had plagued her since leaving her injured son in the hospital.
hen the phone rang, Michelle jerked herself out of the restless half sleep that had tormented her all night. Fumbling for the receiver by the bed, she felt a swift revival of every fear and nightmare that had plagued her since leaving her injured son in the hospital.
She clutched the receiver with both hands. “Yes?”
“Mom?”
“Cody!” Her heart shot straight to her throat. “What’s the matter? Are you all right? Did something—”
“Hey, Mom, slow down. I’m okay. Sam said I should call and let you know.”
Her chest sagged like a deflating balloon. She felt as if she had been holding her breath, bracing herself, for hours. “Wow, Cody. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Sam says I’ll be discharged today. No sign of concussion.”
She glanced at the clock: 6:45
A
.
M
. For all his teenage bravado, Cody probably hadn’t had a great night, either.
A
.
M
. For all his teenage bravado, Cody probably hadn’t had a great night, either.
“I’ll come right away.” She sat up against the headboard.
“Okay. Sam wants to talk to you for a minute. See you, Mom.”
During the pause while she waited for Sam, she let her mouth form a tremulous smile of relief. Nothing, absolutely nothing in the entire universe matched the terror of a mother’s fear for her child. When the fear was alleviated, it left in its wake a powerful euphoria, almost a giddiness.
“Hi, Michelle.” Sam’s voice raised the giddiness to a windstorm in her chest.
Get a grip, she told herself. This is Cody’s doctor.
Doctor
.
Doctor
.
“Thanks for letting him call. I earned another four hundred new gray hairs last night.”
“So wear a hat.”
Not even a smart remark could dim her mood. “As soon as I let my dad know what’s going on, I’ll be there.”
A scant ten minutes later, Michelle had put on wool leggings and an oversize Irish sweater, and she was considering the array of hats on the hall tree. She knew she should take the time to call Brad and fill him in on all the drama, not to mention letting him know how the appointment in Missoula had gone.
But she couldn’t phone him yet. It was too early in the morning, and Cody was waiting.
There was another reason she was reluctant to phone Brad, but she refused to ponder it right now. Feeling guilty was just something she had learned to do—must be a mother thing. Or a woman thing.
She snatched a heather wool cap from the hall tree, jammed on her boots, and trudged outside. Faint dawn veined the mountaintops in the east, drawing a stark, fiery line over the highest peaks and sending shadows of pink down the ridges and valleys. Snow had dusted the area in the night, and it was cold enough to squeak beneath her boots as she walked across the compound to the main house. Steam wafted gently from the pool on the patio.
A single light burned in the kitchen, sending a fan of gold across the new-fallen snow in the yard. Before mounting the steps to the front porch, she stopped, spying her father inside.
He stood at the counter with the robe half open as he did something with the dialysis apparatus he’d been so reluctant to discuss. It was a private moment, and she couldn’t intrude; she knew she mustn’t. She took a step back. Gavin turned his head slightly, and she saw him in profile.
Just for a second or two he fell still, bringing his hand to his forehead and leaning the other hand on the counter.
Her throat constricted as she forced her gaze away. For the first time since learning of his illness, she felt the thudding reality of the disease, and it was strange to feel the truth while standing out in the cold fire of dawn, looking in at a scene so painful and private that she nearly choked on her own breath.
Her father was sick, dying, desperately in need of the operation. Urgency pumped through her like adrenaline. She wanted to have the surgery
now,
not next week. Dear God, if she could pluck out the organ with her own hand and give it to him right this moment, she’d do it.
now,
not next week. Dear God, if she could pluck out the organ with her own hand and give it to him right this moment, she’d do it.
Hurrying back to the guesthouse, she scribbled a note of explanation to her father and left it at the front door. On the porch she hesitated. Maybe she should go in, say good morning, ask him if he needed anything. What if he wanted Michelle, her company, the comfort she could offer?
But she couldn’t go do it. Couldn’t go in there, intrude. Couldn’t be the daughter he needed. They were strangers in too many ways.
As she drove into town, she grabbed the cell phone and punched in the renal specialist’s number. The doctor’s answering service asked if there was an emergency. When she admitted there was not, she was advised to call during regular office hours.
“I need to speak to her now,” she said.
“Ma’am, I’d be happy to take your number—”
“My father is sick now, not during office hours.”
“The emergency number is—”
“I know the emergency number.” She dragged in a long breath. “What about Donna Roberts, the transplant nurse. Is she in?”
“She’s on duty at nine o’clock.”
“Temple, then. Damn it, is he taking calls?”
“I’ll forward the call, ma’am.”
Simple as that. Temple, the psychologist, knew people didn’t get neurotic on a schedule.
“This is Dr. Temple.” He sounded crisp and alert, considering the hour.
“It’s Michelle Turner, remember?”
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
The words came out in a rush. “Look, I want the transplant to happen sooner. I’m not willing to work around the surgeon’s ski trip or whatever’s holding it up. This morning my father—I saw—” She broke off, picturing Willard Temple at a Corian breakfast counter in his suburban tract mansion, drinking coffee and looking out over the golf course that backed up to his yard.
“Anyway, I can’t stand seeing him like this. Why can’t I do the rest of the tests today and the surgery tomorrow?”
A pause. An ominous, doctorlike pause. “Actually, Ms. Turner, I was going to recommend that your surgery be postponed until you and your father could go through some more counseling about the procedure.”
A silent scream echoed through Michelle. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the receiver. “Um, wait a minute. Run that by me again?”
“I don’t have your records in front of me at the moment, but there’s some concern that there are issues that need to be explored and resolved before we proceed.”
Devastation and rage had a taste, she realized. They tasted rusty and bitter, like blood.
“Just a goddamned minute.” She tried not to shout, but it wasn’t working. She didn’t care if her voice blasted him out of his brick McMansion onto his ass in the snow. “After all these weeks of testing, after meeting all those difficult physical criteria, you’re telling me we have ‘issues’?”
“Ms. Turner, your relationship with your father is unusual. You’ve spent very little time together—”
“What the hell do you want from me?” she raged. “Do you want me to have some big confrontation with him? Do you want me to accuse him of never being a daddy to me, for chrissakes? Should I accuse him of not seeing me as a daughter, but a donor? Not wanting anything from me except to harvest a few more years? Are those the sort of fucking ‘issues’ you’re getting at?”
His next silence was so long she started to get embarrassed.
“Very impressive, Ms. Turner.”
“I’m trying to impress you,” she forced out through her teeth. “I’m trying to impress you with the fact that we’ve waited too long already. I want the surgery now—”
“There is nothing simple about this surgery. It’s not a rare procedure, but it’s a serious one.”
“You’re damned right it is. Because—” She shut her mouth, realizing that she was about to threaten Willard T. Temple with death. Not a wise way to dazzle him with her sanity. “Listen. I’m calm now, Doctor. But I don’t want any further delays.”
As she turned off the phone, she checked the speedometer. Her speed had climbed way out of control. Easing her tense foot off the accelerator, she tried to force the rest of her to slow down, too. It was hard, though. She felt as if she was running from one crisis to another.
Natalie, her best friend, often told her the benefits of slowing down, of being “in the moment.” Easy for Natalie to say. She could live “in the moment” as much as she pleased. She flitted from one day to the next with nary a care in the world. She was Michelle’s polar opposite, yet they had been best friends for years.
“Okay, Nat. I’m trying to be in the moment.” Her breath fogged the air of the still-cold Range Rover. “I’m going to pick up Cody. I’ve got nothing else going on today, so I can bring him home and make him soup and mother him all day long. I’ll see if Sam can figure out a way to get the transplant done sooner. How does that sound?”
Like she was losing it, talking to herself while driving along the highway. But somehow, taking the day step by step calmed her. By the time she walked into the hospital, she had most of her sanity back.
She stopped at the desk, manned this morning by a different clerk. “I’m Cody Turner’s mother. He’s being discharged today.”
The clerk tamped a stack of file folders together and set them in a metal tray on the counter. “So he is. I think he’s getting dressed now. Here are a few forms for you to sign.”
“I’d like to see the bill, please.”
The clerk opened a folder and handed her a pen, then clicked at a keyboard. A long sheet drifted out of the printer. She studied the itemized bill and pointed to a line. “Does this mean the doctor waived his fee?”
The clerk nodded. “Appears so.”
For some reason, this made her mad. She turned the page, spotting the financial liability sheet. Another unwelcome bit of charity leaped out at her.
“It says here the balance has been paid in full.”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“By Gavin Slade.”
“I understand he’s the boy’s grandfather.” The clerk smiled with the dreamy admiration Michelle remembered from Gavin’s fans years ago. “Must be something, having him for a father.”
She scrawled her signature beside all the Xs. “Oh, it’s something, all right.” Be in the moment, she reminded herself. She would confront Gavin about the bill later. And Sam waiving his fee. Damn them both. She had a good job with benefits. She didn’t need either of them to come blasting into her life, taking over.
“Morning, Mrs. Turner.” Nurse O’Brien looked crisp and pretty in pink slacks and tunic, a cardigan draped over her shoulders. “Your son’s looking good.”
Michelle summoned a smile. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you yesterday. I appreciate everything you and Sam did for Cody.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. To make conversation, Michelle asked, “Have you worked with Sam long?”
She hesitated, giving Michelle the strangest look. The desk clerk stopped typing, and from the corner of her eye Michelle saw her lean forward. “Nearly five years, since he came on at County,” Alice O’Brien said.
Michelle sensed there was a lot more the nurse could tell her about those five years, but not now. Hiking her handbag strap securely on her shoulder, she hurried down the hallway. The door to Cody’s room stood slightly ajar. She knocked. “Cody? It’s Mom.”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
She was unprepared for the sight of him. The ponytail was gone. A thick white bandage covered the stitches. There was an actual, recognizable style to his hair. She remembered the way it used to grow when he was tiny, in gorgeous swirly waves as if his head had been licked all over by a friendly golden retriever.
He looked at her and his cheeks colored up, and all she could think was
thank God
. The pallor was gone. He actually had blood flowing to his face. A good sign.
thank God
. The pallor was gone. He actually had blood flowing to his face. A good sign.
And even though she felt like crying, she forced her mouth into a momlike smile.
“Love the haircut, son.”
“Some guy came in at the crack of dawn and said he’d just even it out, and look what he did.”
“It’s fine, Cody. Really.”
“It sucks.”
It was creeping back over him, she saw. The attitude. After an injury or a bad sickness, a kid usually had a period of perfect sweetness. Cody had been that way yesterday while Sam was stitching him up. He’d been that way on the phone with her. But now things were getting back to normal.
Did he do that on purpose? she wondered.
He held up a white plastic bag with
MERIDIAN COUNTY HOSPITAL
printed on the side. “Here’s all my stuff. Can we go now?”
MERIDIAN COUNTY HOSPITAL
printed on the side. “Here’s all my stuff. Can we go now?”
“I have to see Sam first,” she said, her mouth tasting the name, tasting wonder. “I’ve got some questions for him.”
Cody handed her a pink slip. “He already gave me this prescription.”
“Watch two hours of MTV and call me in the morning,” said a voice from the doorway.
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