From The Dead (35 page)

Disappointed by the bed-rest scenario but too worn
out to complain, Drew slept.

When evening arrived, before he headed back to Eden’s
house for the night, Jesse stopped by Drew’s bedroom. Curtains
closed and lamps turned off, the furniture looked like small, dark
hills. Jesse sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Drew’s hair
before he realized Drew was awake.

Jesse offered a smile, still frightened on his son’s
behalf. “Feeling better, buddy?” he whispered.

“I’m okay.”

Drew sounded thirsty, so Jesse reached nearby for
Drew’s glass of water, which the boy sipped before he reclined back
into the pillow. Drew uttered more words before Jesse coaxed him
back to sleep.

Jesse found Caitlyn on the living-room sofa and sat
beside her. She drummed her fingers on her lap as she stared at
Jesse.

“This whole situation makes me nervous,” she said.
“The mom in me says this isn’t good.”

“Would it help if I move in? That way, whatever comes
down the pike, you won’t need to face it alone.”

She considered his proposal and replied, “I think it
would help Drew if you live here. It would provide more stability
for him; he’d have a male role model—his dad—in the house.”

Jesse pulled her toward himself, kissed her on the
cheek, and together they rocked.

“I’ll move in this weekend,” he said. He would need
to strategize an explanation for when Chuck heard he’d moved out of
Eden’s house. Maybe he could tell Chuck he’d moved into a friend’s
apartment. Too tired to think about it at the moment, Jesse
continued to cuddle with Caitlyn.

The pieces would come together. Right now, his son
needed him, and Jesse assigned priority to that. All other issues
and concerns, Chuck-related or otherwise, seemed miniscule by
comparison.

CHAPTER 57

After he’d examined the test results in detail, Dr.
Higgins informed Jesse and Caitlyn that a more serious medical
issue had come into play, which necessitated further steps. He
referred Drew to a specialist, Dr. Bernstein, who kept an office at
the same hospital.

Drew underwent numerous tests over the next month and
grew weaker in the interim.

Afterward Dr. Bernstein requested a meeting with the
parents, but without Drew.

“We’ve done what we can to try to determine Drew’s
condition,” Dr. Bernstein said, “and, unfortunately, I’m concerned
by the results.”

“Were you able to diagnose what’s wrong?” asked
Jesse.

A solemn man, Dr. Bernstein peered through small
glasses, his forehead crinkled. “It’s a blood disorder, but it’s
unidentified.”

“More tests are needed?”

“I mean it’s unidentified, Mr. Barlow. We’ve ruled
out all known blood disorders. At first I leaned toward a diagnosis
of multiple myeloma in an early stage, but when we studied the
tests further, I became less convinced because we found a low Bence
Jones protein factor. We’re convinced it’s a less common illness,
one for which we don’t have an official name. We’ve seen a limited
number of cases, primarily concentrated in industrialized
countries—the United States, Britain, Ireland.”

As the news soaked in, Jesse and Caitlyn sat stunned.
Jesse conjured a mental picture of Drew in declining health and
wondered if his son underwent internal pain. When the image became
gruesome, he didn’t even want to think about it any longer. Jesse
wished he could take his son’s pain upon himself.

The doctor continued, “As I said, the illness is
unidentified. We recognize its symptoms, but we’re still learning
about it, still compiling data. From the few cases that exist, we
know the condition progresses rapidly, and it’s considered severe.
But due to that limited number of cases, we don’t know how to
determine its severity on a per-patient basis.”

Caitlyn bit her knuckle. “How could the severity vary
across patients? Isn’t the illness the same illness for
everyone?”

“The condition ranges from treatable to fatal—but we
don’t yet know if the determining factor is the severity level or
just a matter of catching the illness early enough for effective
treatment. In the cases experts have studied, the mortality rate is
greater than 50 percent.”

Caitlyn turned her face away from the doctor. Jesse
held her close.

“What happens next? What do we do?” Jesse asked.

“Where possible, patients received bone marrow
transplants, and in those cases, doctors documented a 100-percent
success rate. All of those patients survived and appear to live
standard lives after recovery,” Dr. Bernstein explained. “Because
we are unable to predict fatality risk at the patient level, and
considering Drew’s young age, I recommend an aggressive approach.
And as mentioned, the success rate with a bone marrow transplant
runs at 100 percent.”

“And what happens without a transplant?” Jesse
asked.

“Fatality is more likely than not,” the doctor
replied.

“How much more likely?” Caitlyn chimed in.

“All factors considered, we need to regard the
possibility that this is indeed fatal, and in such cases … the
patient had an average of eighteen months.”

Caitlyn’s eyes watered. “To live?”

“To live. I’m sorry.”

Restless, Caitlyn gazed around the room as if in
search of respite. At last, she said, “Okay, let’s do it. How soon
can we move forward with a transplant?”

“Before we take that step, I want to try less
invasive measures first, to see if we can hinder the progress of
the disease. Based on past cases, we have at least that much time,
and it could prove successful. But in a couple of months, if we
haven’t made progress, the bone-marrow scenario would become our
best option. And if the situation unfolds that way, we can proceed
with the transplant as soon as we locate a marrow match—
if
we can locate a match. To be safe, we’ll begin the search process
immediately.”

“Where would we look?” Jesse asked.

“First we’d need to draw a sample from Drew. We can
compare it to a bone-marrow-donor database. But the chances of a
match decrease outside the family, plus time is of the essence. The
best chances are a sibling or parent.”

Jesse began to open his mouth to volunteer—but then
simply nodded in agreement. He recalled his conversation with Dale
in L.A.

Baer’s Disease.

Don’t make a blood donation—that could be fatal with
the condition.

Jada’s phone call—they’re convinced something’s
wrong with Jesse.

Regardless of whether he were a perfect match, given
his own symptoms and suspicions of the condition he himself faced,
no one would allow Jesse to donate. Not if it meant a risk to his
own life. Not even for his son’s sake.

Jesse’s heart wrenched for Drew.

And a wrench of heart, it appeared, was all he could
do for his son. That, and hope the less invasive options proved
successful—or that someone else would prove a marrow match for
Drew.

CHAPTER 58

Later that week, Jesse stopped by Eden’s house for
dinner, just the two of them. He had offered to cook dinner but
couldn’t think straight. Eden retrieved a ready-made meatloaf from
the freezer, and while the microwave thawed it, they sat at the
kitchen table. He relayed the details of the latest visit to Dr.
Bernstein.

“Is Drew aware of what’s ahead for him?” she
asked.

“Cait and I told him yesterday.”

“How’d he handle it?”

“As usual, he didn’t say much. I don’t think it’s
fully sunken in for him yet.” Jesse put his face in his hands to
relieve the pressure. “I can’t stand the thought of that kid going
through more tests; the kid’s spirit is broken.” Jesse explained
the prospects of a bone marrow transplant and mentioned the best
chances of a match resided with Drew’s parents.

Jesse explained the marrow process as Eden
watched—and then Eden eyed him closer. The stress of watching his
son endure a tragedy would strike anyone as understandable, as
would the pressure of how to pay the medical expenses that would
mount. Even with Caitlyn’s insurance, the copayments themselves
would deal a hefty hit to their finances. But Jesse also forgot to
maintain eye contact with Eden.

Eden’s eyes narrowed. “Are you facing something
yourself? Beyond Drew?”

He’d let his guard down. Jesse maintained his facial
composure and guarded against other abrupt movements. He had to
remain calm. “Of course not. Just worried about Drew—he’s my
kid.”

“I think it’s time you told Dad about Drew,” she
said, and Jesse hoped this meant she figured she’d overreacted with
her question. Eden added, “It’s none of my business and it’s not my
life, so I don’t have a clue how Drew’s situation must feel to you.
But you’re bearing this on your own shoulders, and you don’t need
to—not when you’re surrounded by people who support you.”

Jesse could sense his resilience crumble. Wary at the
idea of telling Chuck the truth—though he couldn’t explain why he
felt that way—Jesse had to admit, the prospect appealed to him. By
this time, he’d hidden Caitlyn’s pregnancy for just shy of twelve
years. Jesse had no reason not to tell Chuck. After all, Drew was
Chuck’s grandson, his flesh and blood. And it would help Drew to
have the additional support.

It would be difficult to take such a step. Then
again, Jesse had hidden the truth for so long, maybe it wasn’t fear
he battled, but stubbornness.

Jesse had denied Drew of a father. How could he deny
him a grandfather too?

* * *

Jesse stalled the entire next day. His
church-maintenance tasks provided a convenient excuse.

When his workday ended, he took an indirect route to
Chuck’s office, wound through corridors and stairwells, anything to
kill time. Jesse felt nervous, a sensation reminiscent of when he’d
first walked into Chuck’s office months ago, but more severe this
time. For today he wouldn’t simply appear before his father—he
would reveal a secret and admit he was a liar.

Jesse wouldn’t have imagined this scenario a year
ago. His greatest fear didn’t rest in the revelation he would
unveil, but in its aftermath. After months spent rebuilding his
father’s trust, today he would risk destruction of that bond. In a
matter of minutes, Jesse would admit he was not who his father
believed him to be; Jesse was, in actuality, a father himself.

But this step would help Drew, Jesse reminded
himself. After all, Jesse felt weak, whereas Chuck’s life abounded
with faith. Drew needed his grandfather’s prayers.

A quiet tap on the door. Chuck looked up and invited
Jesse in. Jesse closed the door behind him and sat down, not at the
opposite side of the desk, but beside his father, eye to eye.

Jesse inhaled and exhaled in staccato, the way he
breathed amid freezing temperatures.

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you all right?
Son?”

Son.
That word sounded precious to Jesse, who
held newfound appreciation for its meaning and flavor.

Son: a term of love, nearness and acceptance.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jesse said.

Chuck removed his reading glasses and scooted closer.
“Do what?”

“I can’t lie to you anymore.” Jesse felt his face
grow flushed and heated. “Caitlyn and I—when we were eighteen
…”

Concern washed over Chuck’s face. He placed his hand
on Jesse’s knee. “Jess?”

“We have a son. His name is Drew.”

At first, Chuck’s face paled from shock; he tried to
speak. Instead, he sighed and rubbed his eyes in frustration.
“Jesse.” And then Chuck’s shoulders froze. He uncovered his eyes.
“Wait a minute. You have a child and you were gone for—are you
telling me you
left
him?”

This was the part Jesse dreaded. “I didn’t know she’d
given birth.”

“How come?”

Jesse hesitated. “We’d agreed to get an
abortion—”

Chuck shook his head. Jesse was a teenager again.
Jesse startled at the sound of Chuck’s hands hitting his own knees
in anger.

Jesse held his hands out. “She didn’t go through with
it. She said she couldn’t do it. But I was already gone by the time
she changed her mind. Listen to me.” Chuck’s lips tightened almost
to the point of disappearance. “I’ve taken responsibility now.”

Neither man spoke for a while.

Jesse had pierced his father with the truth. Chuck,
who must have tried to determine whether to blow up or restrain
himself, glared from one corner of the room to the other. Though
these revelations occur, what parent
expects
a day like this
to come, one in which your son tells you he got his girlfriend
pregnant? At this point, Jesse could think of nothing else to do
except bear his heart. So he did.

“I’ve been an awful person,” Jesse said. His tears
burned his cheeks as they rolled down. “I didn’t know what else to
do or where else to go, so I ran. Back then. To California. And
that’s the reason I came back—I ran out of steam. I couldn’t ignore
the guilt anymore.

“I’m a liar and a coward, Dad. I hid the pregnancy.
And then, when I found out Drew was alive, I hid him from you and
begged Eden not to tell. It’s not her fault; it’s mine.” Jesse’s
hands and voice shuddered from lack of emotional control. His heart
palpitated with thumps he swore were audible. “I’m so sorry for the
pain I’ve put my own family through—you, Eden. And Drew. I’ve tried
to put things together—honest, I have. But I’m too screwed up to
make it happen by myself. Please forgive me for what I did to all
of you. I hate myself, the person I’ve become.”

While Jesse spoke, Chuck’s glare softened, and then
transitioned to a look of compassion. As Chuck drew his son into
his arms, Jesse couldn’t resist; he leaned into his father’s
shoulder. And together, the two wept.