Deciding there was a certain safety in numbers, Cathryn sat down at the kitchen phone to call Marge Schonhauser to see if she wanted a ride into Boston. If Tad was still in the hospital there was a good chance she would. The phone was picked up on the second ring. It was Nancy, the Schonhausers’ sixteen-year-old daughter.
“My mother’s already at the hospital.”
“Well, I just thought I’d try,” said Cathryn. “I’ll see if I can tell her while I’m there. But if I don’t get her, tell her I called.”
“Sure,” said Nancy. “I know she’d be glad to hear from you.”
“How’s Tad doing?” asked Cathryn. “Is he coming home soon?”
“He’s awfully sick, Mrs. Martel. He had to have a marrow transplant. They tested all us kids and little Lisa was the only one who matched. He’s living in a tent to protect him from germs.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” said Cathryn. She could feel a little of her strength drain away. She had no idea what a marrow transplant was, but it sounded serious and scary. She said good-bye to Nancy and hung up the phone. For a moment she sat thinking, dreading the emotional aspect of the confrontation with Merge, feeling the guilt of not having called sooner. Tad’s illness made her own fears about Michelle’s nosebleed seem petty by comparison. Taking a deep breath, Cathryn went into the living room.
Michelle was watching the Today show, propped up on the couch. After some orange juice and rest, she felt considerably better, but she was still upset. Although Charles had not said it, she was certain he was disappointed in her. The nosebleed had been the final aggravation.
“I called Dr. Wiley’s office,” said Cathryn as brightly as she could, “and the nurse said we should come as soon as possible. Otherwise we might have a long wait. So let’s get the show on the road.”
“I feel much better,” said Michelle. She forced a smile but her lips trembled.
“Good,” said Cathryn. “But you stay still. I’ll get your coat and stuff.” Cathryn started for the stairs.
“Cathryn, I think I’m all right now. I think I can go to school.” As if to substantiate her opinion, Michelle swung her legs to the floor and stood up. Her smile wavered through a flurry of weakness.
Cathryn turned and looked at her adopted daughter, feeling a rush of affection for his little girl whom Charles loved so dearly. Cathryn had no idea why Michelle would want to deny her illness unless she was afraid of the hospital like Cathryn was. She walked over and put her arms around the child, hugging her close. “You don’t have to be afraid, Michelle.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Michelle, resisting Cathryn’s embrace.
“You’re not?” asked Cathryn, more to have something to say. She was always taken by surprise to have her affection refused. Cathryn smiled self-consciously, her hands still resting on Michelle’s shoulders.
“I think I should go to school. I don’t have to take gym if you give me a note.”
“Michelle. You haven’t been feeling right for a month. You had a fever this morning. I think it’s time we did something.”
“But I feel fine now, and want to go to school.”
Taking her hands off Michelle’s shoulders, Cathryn examined the defiant face in front of her. In so many ways Michelle remained a mystery. She was such a precise, serious little girl who seemed mature for her age, but for some reason always kept Cathryn at arm’s length. Cathryn wondered how much of it was due to Michelle’s losing her mother at age three. Cathryn felt she knew something about growing up with only one parent because of her own father’s abandonment.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Cathryn, debating with herself the best way to handle the problem. “We’ll take your temperature again. If you still have a fever, we go. If you don’t, then we won’t.”
Michelle’s temperature was 100.8.
An hour and a half later, Cathryn pulled the old Dodge station wagon into the garage at Pediatric Hospital and took a ticket from the machine. Thankfully it had been an uneventful ride. Michelle had spoken very little during the trip, only answering direct questions. To Cathryn she seemed exhausted and her hands lay immobile in her lap like a puppet’s, waiting to be moved from above.
“What are you thinking?” asked Cathryn, breaking the silence. There were no parking spaces available and they kept driving from one level to the next.
“Nothing,” said Michelle without moving.
Cathryn watched Michelle out of the corner of her eye. She wanted so much to get Michelle to let down her guard, to let Cathryn’s love in.
“Don’t you like to share your thoughts?” persisted Cathryn.
“I don’t feel good, Cathryn. I feel really bad. I think you are going to have to help me out of the car.” Cathryn took one look at Michelle’s face, and abruptly stopped the car. She reached out and put her arms around the child. The little girl didn’t resist. She moved over and put her head on Cathryn’s breast. Cathryn felt warm tears touch her arm.
“I’ll be glad to help you, Michelle. I’ll help you whenever you need me. I promise.”
Cathryn had the feeling that she’d finally crossed some undefined threshold. It had taken two and a half years of patience, but it had paid off.
Blaring auto horns brought Cathryn back to the present. She put her car in gear and started forward, pleased that Michelle continued to hold on to her.
Cathryn felt more like a real mother than she ever had before. As they pushed through the revolving door, Michelle acted very weak and allowed Cathryn to help her. In the lobby a request for a wheelchair was promptly filled, and although Michelle initially resisted, she let Cathryn push her.
For Cathryn, the happiness in the new closeness to Michelle helped dull the specter of the hospital. The decor helped, too; the lobby was paved with a warm Mexican tile and the seating was done in bright oranges and yellows. There were even lots of plants. It was more like a luxury hotel than a big city hospital.
The pediatric offices were equally nonthreatening. There were five patients already in Dr. Wiley’s waiting room. To Michelle’s disgust, none was over two years of age. She would have complained except she glimpsed the examining rooms through an open door and remembered why she was there. Leaning toward Cathryn she whispered, “You don’t think I’ll get a shot, do you?”
“I have no idea,” said Cathryn. “But afterwards if you feel up to it, we can do something fun. Whatever you like.”
“Could we go visit my father?” Michelle’s eyes brightened.
“Sure,” said Cathryn. She parked Michelle next to an empty seat, then sat down herself.
A mother and a whimpering five-year-old boy emerged from the examining room. One of the mothers with a tiny baby got up and went in.
“I’m going to ask the nurse if I can use the phone,” said Cathryn. “I want to find out where Tad Schonhauser is. You’re okay, aren’t you?”
“I’m okay,” said Michelle. “In fact, I feel better again.”
“Good,” said Cathryn as she got up. Michelle watched Cathryn’s long brown hair bounce on her shoulders as she walked over to the nurse, then dialed the phone. Remembering her father say how much he liked it, Michelle wished hers were the same color. Suddenly she wished she were really old, like twenty, so she could be a doctor and talk to Charles and work in his lab. Charles had said that doctors didn’t have to give shots; the nurses do. Michelle hoped she didn’t have to get a shot. She hated them.
“Dr. Martel,” called Dr. Peter Morrison, standing at the doorway to Charles’s lab. “Didn’t you get my message?”
Straightening up from loading serum samples into an automatic radioactivity counter, Charles looked at Morrison, administrative head of the department of physiology. The man was leaning on the doorjamb, the fluorescent ceiling light reflecting off the lenses in his narrow tortoiseshell glasses. His face was taut, angry.