“The transplant went smoothly, and she’s in intensive care now. The next forty-eight hours are critical. If she hangs on and doesn’t have a serious rejection episode, I think she’ll make it. I’m hoping we’ll hit on the best combination of immune-suppressant drugs right off the bat.” For the first time, he noticed the wheelchair. “Going for a stroll?”
“I promised Donovan I’d take him outside.”
“That’s nice of you. The nurses are so busy, we’re always shorthanded. And the patients need these extra touches.”
His approval pleased Meg more than she cared to admit. “Will he ever be well enough to go home and wait for his transplant?” she asked.
“We’re trying to stabilize him. He’s much better than he was when he checked in a week ago. Even if he does leave, he must stay close to the hospital. He’ll wear a beeper so that we can page him if a suitable donor is found. Dr. Rosenthal, his primary physician, and I aren’t ready to release him quite yet, but I will give him a pass.”
“A pass?”
“I’ll let him check out of the hospital for a few hours to go have some fun. Unfortunately, there’s not too much for kids his age to do up here. Too bad his mother doesn’t have a car. I’d release him for an afternoon to her care.”
“I met her and Brett this morning.” Meg hesitated, then asked what had been on her mind most of the day. “They don’t have much money, do they?”
“No.”
“Then how can they afford a liver transplant?”
“Money, or lack of it, isn’t a criterion for transplant consideration. Need is. There’re federal funding programs for those who can’t afford a transplant. It’s complicated, and the paperwork’s a headache, but I saw to it that Donovan would be covered financially.”
“You did?”
Her father gave her a tired smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I do it frequently. I want to save him, Meg. I want him to get the transplant and live a long time. I want to save everybody who needs a new organ. Unfortunately, sometimes the money’s easier to get than the organ.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’d better get going. I know Donovan well enough to know he’s sitting on his bed, dressed and ready to get outdoors.”
Megan hurried off to Donovan’s room and went right in. “Notice anything different?” he asked. Donovan was wearing jeans, a shirt, and a baseball cap.
“You’re a Braves fan?”
His smile lit up. “True, but also I’ve lost my lingering attachment to my IV.” He held up his arms. “See—no lines.” He scooted off the bed, but even though he tried to act as if all was well, she could see his unhealthy, sallow coloring and the slow, painful way he bent over. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “This place depresses me.”
Meg couldn’t agree with him more.
Five
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL was a large complex, located near the Beltway, an expressway that circled DC. Gardens with winding paths had been created off a patio area next to the cafeteria in an attempt to build a more restful environment for patients and personnel. Shrubs, flowers, and gurgling fountains lent the area a serene, peaceful atmosphere, in spite of rush-hour traffic that moved beyond the complex.
As Meg pushed Donovan’s wheelchair along one of the paths, she recalled how the gardens had been one of her mother’s Junior League projects. Meg had been only ten at the time the League had raised the money to create them, but she could still remember the day the gardens had been dedicated. She and Cindy had raced throughout the looping trails, pretending they were lost in Alice’s wonderland.
“You’re quiet,” Donovan said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Sorry. I was thinking how pretty it is here.” She pushed aside memories of Cindy. “Do you like it?”
“Yes. There was a park near the house where I grew up in southern Virginia. When Brett was a baby, Mom and I would take him and have picnics on the grass in the summer. I used to play on a Little League team there. Why, that park was sort of the social center of our town. Everyone spent time there.”
“You sound like you miss it.”
“I miss everything about home.”
“Brett sounds as if he misses it a lot too.”
“The apartment is really small, and it’s up on the fifth floor, so he can’t just run outside and play with his friends the way he used to. Plus, Mom works such long hours. It’s usually dark before her bus gets to our stop.” He sighed and stretched back in the chair. “Everything’s changed because of me.”
Meg stopped pushing and walked around to the front of the chair. “It’s not your fault you got sick,” she said.
“I know that up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “But why does it bother me so much down here?” He put his hand over his heart. “I used to get boiling mad about it, but I don’t have the energy to be angry anymore.”
Meg understood just what he was saying. Hadn’t she been angry about what happened to Cindy after the shock had worn off? She still got angry sometimes. It was so unfair! “So, if you’re not mad anymore, what are you?” she asked.
“Tired. And scared.”
Meg remembered what her father had told her about Donovan’s not realizing that he was dying. Had he figured it out? “Scared that I’ll bump you into a tree while I’m pushing you?”
“You’re not that bad a driver. No … I’m scared because I don’t know what will become of Mom and Brett if something happens to me. All we have is each other. It’s especially hard for Brett. He was just a baby when Dad left, and he looks to me to be his dad as well as his brother. Mom depends on me too.”
Meg thought Donovan seemed too young to have so much responsibility on his shoulders. Although she had often resented her circumstances because of her dad’s medical obligations, she had had two parents and a beautiful home to grow up in. And she’d been basically happy until Cindy … “What about your friends back home? Do you hear from them?” she asked abruptly.
“Not much. When I first got sick, in high school, kids were pretty sympathetic, but the sicker I got and the more school I missed, the harder it was to keep up with the old crowd. Some of them tried to understand what I was going through, but unless you’ve been really sick …” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“I’ve never been sick,” Meg said, “but I really do know what you’re talking about.”
He tipped his head and stared deeply into her eyes. “I believe you do.”
She felt her face flush. Except for Dr. Miller, this was the closest she’d come to discussing her feelings of loneliness and of being outside life’s mainstream. “I guess people get so involved with their own lives, they sometimes forget there’s a whole world of people who don’t quite fit in for one reason or another.”
Donovan nodded. “You said it. Even my girl dumped me.”
Meg felt a pinprick of jealousy over the girl he’d liked, whoever she was. “That was nasty of her.”
He shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t all her fault. I was pretty hard to live with when the doctors told me my liver was shot. I was rude and mean. I helped push her away.”
Meg could remember acting hateful herself during the past several months. She even had stopped studying, and for the first time in her life, her grades plummeted. That had been another reason her parents had insisted she see a therapist. “What’s the old saying? You only hurt the ones you love?” Meg said.
Donovan grinned. “I’ve heard that before. Truthfully, Lauren is better off without me. She started dating another guy right away, so I guess she thought so too.”
“Maybe things will get back to normal for you after you have your transplant,” Meg suggested.
“Maybe. Listen, I didn’t mean to sit here having a pity party. I really appreciate your taking time to bring me outside.”
“I don’t mind listening, and besides, it’s been fun seeing the gardens again. For the record, I don’t think you’re feeling overly sorry for yourself. What’s happened to you hasn’t been any picnic.
”
He reached out and plucked a flower from a nearby bush. “Don’t ever have your liver crash. It leads to weirdness.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’d be weird even if your liver was healthy?”
“I guess I can’t fool you.” His eyes glowed, and for a moment, Meg saw him as he must have looked before he got sick. A real heartbreaker, she thought. “Here.” He handed her the flower. “A token of my gratitude.”
She accepted the flower and tucked it into a buttonhole on her uniform. “Do you know we’ve been out here for an hour?” she asked, glancing at her watch. “I’ll bet they’re bringing the supper trays to your floor by now. I’ll take you back to your room.”
“Are you trying to punish me?”
Meg laughed. “The food’s not that bad.”
“Why don’t you try it sometime.”
“Like when?”
“Like tonight.”
Meg felt her heart beat a little faster. He seemed to like being with her. The notion pleased her immensely. “I can’t tonight. My kid sister is leaving for gymnastic camp, and Mom wants me to come to the airport to see her off. Dad can’t make it.”
“No problem.” He looked away, and Meg realized that he thought she was making up an excuse to put him off.
“How about Saturday?” She remembered that his mom couldn’t come for a visit on Saturday.
“I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays.”
“I don’t, but I promised the hospital librarian I’d help catalog some books. I could come see you when I finish. Maybe I could bring along some videos and we could order in a pizza. I have a car. I could pick one up and bring it back to the hospital whenever we get hungry. Can you eat pizza?”
“My doctor says there are no restrictions on my diet right now. I think he’d like me to gain some weight.”
“You can have some of my weight,” she said. “I’ve been looking for a place to dump it for years.”
“I think you look terrific.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. Honest. It’s just that being overweight is something I’ve always struggled with.” Meg wished she hadn’t brought it up. She didn’t want him knowing how inadequate and inept she felt around guys her own age.
“You don’t have to fish,” he said. “I wouldn’t have told you so if I didn’t mean it.”
Feeling inordinately pleased, Meg pushed him back to his room, chattering enthusiastically all the way. After making sure he was settled and comfortable, she gave him the C. S. Lewis books. “Until Saturday,” she said, and hurried home to put her sister on a plane for gymnastic camp. More than ever, she wished she could call Cindy and talk to her, but of course, that was impossible.
“You’re certainly dressed up just to help in the hospital library,” Meg’s mother said as Megan started out the door early Saturday morning.
Meg felt her cheeks turning red. “I’m sick of wearing my uniform. Can’t I wear something different for a change?”
“I’m not complaining,” her mother added hastily. “I think you look nice. It’s good to see you take an interest in your looks again.”
Meg wondered if she should go change. If her mother thought she looked nice, maybe she had overdressed. She had wanted to look good for Donovan, wanted his approval. “I’ll be at the hospital until tonight if you want me,” Meg told her mother, then hurried out the door.
At the hospital library, Meg worked quickly while the librarian talked about how much she appreciated Meg’s extra effort. She seemed so grateful that Meg promised to bring in more books and help on other Saturdays. Meg began to realize just how valuable volunteer help was to the place, and was sorry she’d resisted the idea of volunteering when her father had first mentioned it.
It was noon when she got to Donovan’s room. He was dressed and sitting in a chair, flipping through TV channels. “I’ve got two games, a deck of cards, and a video for us,” she said, breezing into his room. “What’s your pleasure?”
He clicked off the set with the remote control device and turned toward her. “Can you get me a wheelchair and take me outside?” He sounded distracted and preoccupied.
“Sure, if that’s what you want. Why?”
“Please, just do it. Do it right now.”
Six
MEG GOT THE wheelchair, and Donovan climbed in it, clutching a small leather shaving kit in his lap. “Am I taking you out for a shave and a haircut?” she asked, trying to joke with him. He looked tense and nervous.
“We’ll talk outside,” he said.
Bewildered, she pushed him down the corridor, into the elevator, and out into the garden area. The sun beat down, wrapping the afternoon in a blanket of humid summer heat. Many other patients and their visitors were out too, and finding a spot alone was difficult, but Meg finally parked the wheelchair beneath a willow tree that was off the beaten path. The tree’s filmy leaves grazed a pond, where dragonflies flitted above the motionless water.
“I think this is as alone as we can get today,” Meg said. She settled herself at the foot of his chair and gazed up at him anxiously. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Donovan fingered the leather kit and glanced about. “I … um … guess I must be acting pretty strange.”
“Not at all. How exciting can games and a video movie be to a guy who has a death grip on his shaving kit?”
For the first time since she’d seen him that day, a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Now that we’re out here, I’m not sure where to start.”
“Start at the beginning. Take your time, we’re in no hurry.”
“I admit I’ve been hogging your time,” Donovan said. “I’ll bet you’ve got other things to do on Saturdays. I don’t mean to crowd you or put something on you you might not want.”
“I don’t mind,” Meg said, suddenly realizing that it was true. How had she become so involved with him in so brief a time? Yet, she knew that she had. “I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”
“It’s a phenomenon,” he remarked.
“What is?”
“The way sickness makes you close to people you’d never meet or be with in the regular world.”
Had Donovan felt the uniqueness of their relationship too? Had he sensed the curious bonding that had seemed to sweep away barriers of awkwardness that usually accompanied the initial stages getting to know someone?
“Your dad calls the phenomenon ‘intimate strangers’,” Donovan said. “He says that people will tell a stranger sitting next to them on an airplane the secrets of their soul, when they won’t tell their closest family member the same thing.”
“ ‘Intimate strangers’ … interesting,” Meg said.
“It explained some things to me. You see, I had a roommate in the hospital back in my hometown, and I talked to him about everything. He was what the guys in my school would classify as a nerd, but he was sick also, and we got real close over the weeks we were hospitalized together.”
“What happened to him?”
“He got well and left the hospital. He came to visit me, but over time, the bond between us weakened. Maybe I was jealous because he got well and I didn’t. Maybe it was because we never had a true friendship, just the intimate stranger business.” Donovan shook his head, as if to clear out the memories.
“So, is that what we are?” Meg asked. “Intimate strangers? When you’re well, will you forget all about me?” Meg couldn’t believe she’d ever forget him.
“I think we’re friends, don’t you?” A smile lit up his face, causing Meg’s heart to skip. She hadn’t had a really close friend since Cindy. “Because if we’re friends—and not strangers—I can tell you something and make it our secret.”
“Is it something to do with your transplant?” Meg was genuinely puzzled by the odd direction of his conversation.
“In a way.”
“What is it? Have they found you a donor?”
“If they had, I’d be throwing a party. No … it?
??s something else.” He chewed his bottom lip. “It has something to do with your father in a roundabout way.”
“My father?”
“I’m confusing you.” He raked his hand through his hair. “It’s just that I want to tell you something … show something to you … that might affect our friendship. I mean, once you see it, you might have to tell your father about it.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to. Doctors are asked to keep confidences all the time. My dad will understand.”
Donovan appeared hesitant for a moment longer, then he zipped open his shaving kit and pulled out a folded envelope. “I can’t keep this a secret any longer. If I do, I’ll bust. I’m going to trust you to keep it between us.” He thrust the envelope at her. “Read this. I woke up yesterday morning with it on my pillow and not a clue as to how it got there.”
Gingerly, Meg took the envelope. Donovan’s name had been written on the front in beautiful, flowing calligraphy. Red sealing wax, stamped with the initials OLW and broken when the envelope had been opened, covered the flap. She pulled out a handsome calligraphed letter and began to read.
Dear Donovan,
You don’t know me, but I know about you, and because I do, I want to give you a special gift. Accompanying this letter is a certified check, my gift to you with no strings attached to spend on anything you want. No one knows about this gift except you, and you are free to tell anyone you want.
Who I am isn’t really important, only that you and I have much in common. Through no fault of our own, we have endured pain and isolation and have spent many days in a hospital feeling lonely and scared. I hoped for a miracle, but most of all, I hoped for someone to truly understand what I was going through.
I can’t make you live longer. I can’t stop you from hurting, but I can give you one wish, as someone did for me. My wish helped me find purpose, faith, and courage.
Friendship reaches beyond time, and the true miracle is in giving, not receiving. Use my gift to fulfill your wish.Your Forever Friend,
JWC