LITMIR.BIZ

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muy felices.” Rachel finished her story, one she had created especially for Michaela. In this story, as in all of those Rachel told, everyone lived happily ever after.

      Rachel sighed, pulling her daughter into a more comfortable position on her lap, resting her own head lightly against Michaela’s.

      It was then that she saw him. Her eyes widened in recognition, her pulse quickened in a reaction she was powerless to stop.

      “Hello, Rachel,” he whispered, “Linda sent me.” He’d had no intention of explaining his presence that way. Somehow, unconsciously, he had known it was the right thing to do.

      “Hello, Lucas. We were just having our story time.”

      He came around in front of them, his eyes intent on the child, his heart thundering in his chest. He squatted down in front of them in the stance of a baseball catcher.

      “This is Michaela,” Rachel said, gently stroking the delicate fuzzy head that rested against her shoulder.

      “Hi, Michaela,” Lucas answered, his voice breaking, his mouth dry.

      “¿Quién es, Mamá?” The child looked at her mother, quietly curious, waiting for an explanation.

      “El se llama Lucas, Michaela, pero es su padre, mija,” Rachel replied gently.

      Lucas caught his breath. While his knowledge of Spanish was shaky at best, he knew he had just been introduced to his daughter. He didn’t speak, knowing he couldn’t trust his voice, knowing it wasn’t his turn to speak yet.

      Michaela regarded him solemnly, as only a child can. She took in every aspect of his appearance. “¿Por qué…” she began.

      “English, mija,” Rachel reminded her. “He doesn’t speak Spanish.”

      Michaela changed track, easily resuming in English. “Why is he here?” Again, the honesty of childhood sparkled.

      “He’s going to see if he can help you.” Michaela didn’t question what Rachel meant by this. Evidently, the little girl knew what kind of help she needed.

      “He looks like me on the outside, Mamá.” Lucas noticed that, although she spoke English, Michaela retained the Spanish pronunciation of Mamá. It was, of course, part of Michaela’s heritage. It was natural to her.

      “Yes, Michaela,” Rachel answered, “he does. We need to know if he’s like you on the inside, too.”

      It was that simple, Rachel thought. And that complicated.

      Lucas’s head was reeling. It was all so much to take in. Bone marrow transplants, which they abbreviated as BMT, were a new concept in his world.

      “We need to draw a blood sample,” Dr. Campbell advised Lucas. “Rachel tells me you would prefer a DNA-based test, which is my preference, as well. Without giving you all the boring details, I’ll just say that we tend to get more accurate information more quickly when we use the DNA test over the serology test. There are three levels of investigation we do on the sample. In your case—” he handed him a paper which Lucas recognized as a consent form “—we’d like permission to run all three levels straight away. We know our chances of a match are strong with you, and if we proceed this way, we’ll have the information that much sooner.”

      Lucas nodded, thinking it couldn’t really make any difference to him. He understood, however, that urgency was involved, that speed could make a difference to Michaela.

      “Furthermore, if you are a match, we’ll want to get you in as quickly as we can. There’s no point in dragging it out.” Dr. Campbell handed Lucas several brochures. “These have diagrams and such. I would recommend that you look at them. The donor procedure itself is not the worst thing you’ll ever experience, but it isn’t the most comfortable, either.”

      He went on to describe how the bone marrow would be extracted from Lucas’s hip under a local anesthetic. He would be able to stay in the hospital overnight if he wanted, but he should anticipate a certain degree of tenderness in the area afterward and should not plan to drive himself home.

      “How will Michaela get the transplant?” Lucas wanted to know.

      “Well, I’m not her doctor. You’ll want to talk to Dr. Graham for the specifics of Michaela’s case.” Dr. Campbell removed his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “That said, the recipient usually receives it through an IV. The chemo she’ll have prior to it will be worse for her than the actual BMT procedure. But she will be fragile for some time afterward. Essentially, she’ll have no immune system and she may very well have side effects from the chemo again.”

      “So,” Lucas pondered aloud, “this is what Rachel meant when she said it would get worse before it gets better.”

      “Probably,” Dr. Campbell agreed, reaching to push the buttons on his intercom. “Yes, Kristen, this is Evan. Is Paul Graham around?”

      A few seconds later he spoke into his phone again. “Yes, Paul. Evan here. Listen, Lucas Neuman is in my office, talking to me about the bone marrow transplant. Do you have a few minutes to talk about Michaela?”

      Scant minutes later another man let himself into Dr. Campbell’s office. Lucas found himself standing and shaking hands with Paul Graham. Paul was blond and blue-eyed and noticeably fit. He had a gentle manner, but Lucas felt himself squirm under the intensity of the man’s blue gaze. Lucas had no idea how old the man might be; his appearance gave nothing away.

      “I’ve got brochures for you, too,” he began, handing Lucas another handful of leaflets. “These give some general reference information, but as far as Michaela is concerned, well…hers has not been an easy case. She didn’t respond as quickly to chemotherapy as we might have hoped. AML, the kind of leukemia Michaela has, tends to spread to organs throughout the body. The longer it takes to get remission to occur, the more likely this kind of spread is. That’s why her BMT is so important. On the one hand, it’s not an unusual procedure at this point in treatment, but she needs it more than most. Without it…” He shrugged, letting his silence finish the sentence.

      They had talked for a few more minutes, Lucas understanding that either doctor would be available to discuss the situation with him again, if he felt the need. Lucas was also aware of their disapproval—a very sure knowledge that they didn’t like him, despite having just met him.

      The busyness outside Dr. Campbell’s office briefly dazzled Lucas and it took him a few minutes to get his bearings. Then he decided he wanted to look in on Michaela and maybe speak with Rachel again.

      His attention was diverted, however, by a cluster of people moving along a corridor and coming to a halt at the reception desk, a few feet away from him.

      “Muchas gracias, Doña Raquel, muchas gracias.”

      Lucas watched as a woman clutched Rachel’s hands, offering her thanks. She was Hispanic, her jet-black hair showing a few impressive streaks of white, her black eyes sharp and bright with unshed tears.

      “De nada, señora.” Rachel answered, continuing on in hushed Spanish tones that Lucas could neither follow nor understand.

      “What’s the commotion?” Dr. Graham’s voice came from behind him, followed quickly by a chortle of laughter.

      “Ah, yes,” Dr. Campbell said, smiling at Lucas, nodding his head toward the ruckus. “Today, Tómas goes home. He is a fan of Rachel’s, I’m afraid.”

      Lucas searched the cluster of people, seeking someone who might be considered a patient. He finally spotted a boy, perhaps thirteen years old, sitting in a wheelchair, a hand and a leg encased in plaster. Or fiberglass, or something, Lucas corrected. Whatever they make casts out of these days.

      The young boy, blushing furiously, clearly had eyes only for Rachel. She handed him a bouquet of balloons, speaking to him in Spanish, and posed for a picture with him. Lucas supposed the woman must be the boy’s mother.

      Lucas’s

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