From The Dead (37 page)

Moreover, Jesse’s last recreational use of marijuana
had occurred a year ago, so he didn’t expect the hospital staff to
discover any remnants. Thankfully, he hadn’t slipped in that area
during his regretful incident at Sanders’s apartment.

Jesse’s research also warned the Ashwaganda herb
would not constitute a long-term remedy for Baer’s Disease; in
fact, its use could cause the condition to worsen. But Jesse
already faced a fatal risk with a marrow donation—an aggravated
sickness of his own was the least of his concerns.

And perhaps, in the end, staff couldn’t use his
donation at all if Baer’s Disease would cause harm to Drew. But if
Jesse never received the chance to donate,
Drew’s
chance of
harm appeared to stand at 100 percent through an early death. To
Jesse, the logic was clear.

The overhead bell rang when Jesse entered Naturally!,
but he knew Blake wouldn’t greet him. Blake had plans to meet with
a real-estate agent that day to look at possible site locations for
his foray into expansion.

As Jesse wandered aisle by aisle, each container
blended into the next. The labels looked similar, a representation
of three different natural-herb companies, with details found only
when he read the plain text on each label. After the first two
aisles, the names congealed in a mental blur, and aside from the
vitamins grouped together, he couldn’t determine the layout of the
store. Was it based on root herb or intended consequence?

Jesse startled when a store employee offered
assistance. Before Jesse could answer, the teenager pointed at
him.

“Hey, aren’t you Blake’s friend from L.A.? I met you
months ago when you stopped by. I think you’d just gotten into
town.”

Jesse’s heart pounced. “Yeah. You’re Matt?”

“Good memory. Blake mentioned you guys went to shoot
hoops that afternoon. Said he killed you on the court.”

Nervous at the kid’s detailed recollection, Jesse
hoped a casual comment about today’s visit wouldn’t make its way to
Blake. But Jesse remained calm so he wouldn’t arouse Matt’s
suspicions. “I’ve gotten rusty when it comes to basketball, I’ll
admit.”

“Can I help you find something?”

“Ashwaganda? Or something with a heavy amount in
it?”

Matt appeared confused. He clucked his tongue and
waved for Jesse to follow him. “Sure, this way.” Halfway across the
store, Matt led Jesse to a shelf that looked the same as the
others. “We don’t get many requests for that product.”

“Yeah, thought I’d try it out. I’m not big on
medicine.”

“Something going on?”

Nosy high-school kid. Didn’t Blake train his staff
not to trample people’s privacy? Then again, Matt saw Jesse as an
acquaintance, not a passerby.

Jesse maintained his composure, played down the need.
“Not a big deal. Had some nosebleeds lately and thought this might
help. But for all I know, nosebleeds could just be due to
humidity.”

“In the middle of winter?”

Just ring up the purchase, kid.
“We keep our
house well heated. My girlfriend’s always cold.” Casual. No big
deal. Jesse willed him to hurry.

Jesse’s rescue arrived in the form of a man who
sought a jar of St. John’s Wort. Matt processed Jesse’s purchase.
Relieved he’d kept his interaction with Matt and his memory to a
minimum, Jesse paid cash and left the store.

As he climbed into his car, Jesse noticed his own
hands shook. He had just purchased a product that could send his
life into turmoil—or perhaps termination. The entire way home, his
stomach churned bittersweet, the sugary sense of preserving Drew’s
life rinsed with an acidic foreboding of imminent death—a tug-of
war between gladness of a new family versus the ache of knowing
they would part again through a tragedy. Jesse didn’t want to
sacrifice his life and would have done anything to avoid it—but his
son was in bad shape. And Jesse’s love for Drew prevented him from
backing down. At least this time around, his departure would
benefit, rather than harm, his son. A gift.

From this point on, a slight yet relentless anxiety
made its home in Jesse’s gut.

When Jesse pulled into the driveway at Caitlyn’s
house, where he now lived, he turned off the engine and sat in the
car, overwhelmed with the emotion of the end to come. Less than a
year after his reunion with Caitlyn, Drew and Chuck, he would
prepare his departure. Without words, Jesse would need to say
good-bye in other ways. He would exhibit joy and normalcy, all
while he covered the pang that soured his stomach whenever he
pictured separation from his loved ones.

He’d cried a lot lately; after all, he’d been through
much in the past year. But each tear was worth it—his opportunities
to do so continued to diminish. And here in the car, Jesse’s eyes
watered again, a short spell, and he wiped them. As soon as he
entered the house, he made a beeline for the bathroom, an excuse to
splash cold water on his eyes before Caitlyn or Drew noticed
redness from the tears.

Yes, he would suppress a lot in the weeks ahead.

But today he had another opportunity to indulge his
family.

Jesse headed toward the kitchen, where he heard
Caitlyn and Drew chat. With Drew at the kitchen table engrossed in
homework, his back to the entryway, Jesse sneaked up and squeezed a
hefty hug from behind.

Surprised by the unusual entrance, Drew joked, “Are
you going psycho?”

Next Jesse proceeded to Caitlyn. In a tight embrace,
he planted a kiss on her temple.

If indeed he didn’t wake up following his donation,
Jesse determined to make his final days count.

CHAPTER 62

As expected, his bone-marrow test boiled down to a
finger prick and a few drops of blood. He could have undergone the
test sooner but decided to wait at least a week to allow the herbs
to take full effect in his system.

With each step, the end loomed closer.

When his appointment ended, he called Eden and found
her schedule open, so he drove to her office to lift his spirits.
They sat together behind closed doors.

“How’d the test go?” she asked.

“As simple as yours did.”

“I wish I could’ve helped him. Hopefully you’re a
match.”

Eden caught Jesse as he lulled into deep reflection,
which he explained away as concern for his son. Jesse’s
preoccupation, however, had deeper roots: Jesse accepted the
prospect of heaven, but the concept of a never-ending eternity—an
absence of time altogether—stretched beyond his comprehension and
left him with an undercurrent of apprehension.

In addition to that larger notion, Jesse’s thoughts
circulated around Drew’s safety after the departure. But he felt
confident Chuck would serve as a father figure to his grandson.
Another base covered.

From the opposite side of Eden’s desk, he wondered if
this marked his last visit with her. Jesse fixed his gaze on his
sister and offered a chapter of final words.

“I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You’re
the glue that’s held our family together, and I’m grateful for
that.”

Eden bounded around the desk and hugged him. “Oh, how
sweet, my big brother loves me!” She felt him tremor and noticed
beads of perspiration on his forehead. “You’re shaking. Are you
okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Nerves—it’s been an
emotional week.”

He gave her one final hug, told her he loved her, and
took in another glance of her office on his way out.

Eden studied him as he hung a left from her office.
He sensed her analytical gaze, one that suggested he had left her
with a lingering impression that something was awry.

CHAPTER 63

Dr. Bernstein had fast-tracked Jesse’s marrow test
and informed Jesse his marrow was indeed a positive match.
Immediately Jesse arranged his donation appointment before he had a
chance to procrastinate. When he revealed the news to Drew, Jesse
could see the transformation in Drew’s face as relief settled in.
The burden lifted from the little boy, who had worried about
whether a match existed.

Things had fallen into place: His dad would take care
of it.

And here Jesse sat, two weeks later, alone in the
hospital waiting room in the middle of the afternoon. When he
pictured a waiting room in the past, Jesse imagined a bleach-white
environment, one that sparkled and smelled of disinfectant.
Instead, this room resembled a hotel lobby with its fresh décor,
tans and browns, and pots of coffee on a table in the corner.
Instructed to fast for twelve hours, Jesse, at this moment, craved
water and red meat. Drew, Caitlyn and he had indulged in a
cheeseburger and fries the evening before, and it had felt like the
last meal of his life. Then again, perhaps it was.

Jesse darted his eyes away from the coffee pot and
replayed the prior night’s memory. Beside him, a man in his
fifties, a fellow nervous patient, tapped his feet and shook his
leg. He turned to Jesse, and Jesse knew the man wanted to calm his
own nerves with conversation. “Do you have kids?” asked the
man.

“A son.” At first, Jesse didn’t want to talk. But on
reconsideration, he decided his own nerves could use some calm.
“He’s ill—severe—but they can’t figure out what the illness
is.”

“You’re waiting for him?”

“No, I’m here for a bone-marrow donation. We’re a
perfect match.”

“What a relief.” The man smiled. “You’ll enjoy a
nice, long life with your son.”

Jesse’s stomach cringed. “Yeah …”

Caitlyn promised to bring Drew to the hospital after
school to greet Jesse when he awoke. Despite Jesse’s attempt to
dissuade them, Caitlyn insisted. He couldn’t justify his hesitation
and avoid her suspicion, so he prayed they would handle the outcome
with peace.

During his last stint as a hospital patient—the only
other time, for that matter—he’d arrived unconscious and awakened
in a bed. He had no idea what to expect today. What would happen if
they discovered his plan at the last moment? Jesse gritted his
teeth and suppressed the thought.

Each minute that passed seemed double in length. His
stomach empty, his tongue dry, the nervousness made him want to
vomit. Sorrow loitered in the pit of his soul.

“Jesse Barlow.”

A nurse led him down a corridor to a semi-private
partition, where she instructed Jesse to empty his pockets. The
nurse logged, bagged and tagged his possessions, then asked him
general medical questions, the answers to which she wrote on a
clipboard. Dr. Bernstein had asked the same questions a few days
ago and had informed Jesse that he would waive the typical
pre-surgery tests—no need to suspect health issues at such a
relatively young age. Though surprised they could forego what
seemed to him critical tests, Jesse had heard of its occurrence
when it involved outpatient services for other patients his
age.

Jesse had lied to Dr. Bernstein about his medical
condition and claimed he had no health concerns, no symptoms of
which he was aware. And today, he lied again to the nurse.

Most people come to the hospital to
avoid
the
risk of death. No one suspected anything.

No red flags had surfaced. No one discovered the
herbal presence. Eerie how simple he’d found it to sidestep the
process.

The nurse left his flimsy cubicle and shut the
curtain while Jesse changed into a hospital gown and slid onto the
wheeled bed. Once the nurse tucked him in and treated him like
royalty, she hooked up a heating tube to the bed to keep him warm.
Jesse adored warmth.

Inside, his belly continued to somersault. He grew
weary with sorrow as the minutes ticked away.

Another attendant greeted him, one who wrapped an
elastic band around Jesse’s arm and inserted an IV into his vein.
Jesse shivered a bit as the burst of cold liquid sped through his
bloodstream.

“Saline solution,” the attendant explained. “This
will help prepare you for the anesthesia.”

Jesse would undergo general anesthesia and would go
unconscious before death could occur. Dying in one’s sleep seemed
peaceful. A year ago in his apartment, Jesse had pined for peace
and swallowed a bottle of pills.

The minutes continued to tick. His opportunity to
turn back dissipated.

And then the anesthesiologist arrived, another
nice-to-meet-you for Jesse. By now these greetings had become
routine, and soon Jesse’s thoughts coasted to his son’s face. Then
Caitlyn’s. Chuck’s. Eden’s.

Soon another reunion would occur.

Jesse would see his mother again.

As Jesse grew woozy from the anesthesia, another
attendant released the brake on his bed and wheeled it down the
corridor. From a distance, Jesse could see a pair of doors that led
to his destination. As his bed approached, the doors loomed larger,
sixty feet away. Then fifty-nine … fifty-eight … fifty-seven …

The impact of the anesthesia struck fast. Jesse
drifted toward unconsciousness and a permanent sleep. He had
expected to feel a floating sensation as the drug took effect, but
instead, it hit him off guard and triggered a rapid drift into
oblivion.

The last thing Jesse remembered was his roll down the
corridor.

Fifty feet … forty-nine … forty-eight …
blackness.

* * *

In the back office of his shop, Blake stared at the
bookkeeping record on his computer. Matt, the hired help, wandered
in and said, “Looks like we’re running low on vitamin-A tablets.
I’ve searched the storeroom but can’t find any boxes.”

“Next week I’ll put you to work on a physical count
of the entire inventory.”

“Sorry I asked.” Matt chuckled and started to head
out of the office, then spun on his heels. “By the way, I saw that
friend of yours a few weeks ago—the one from L.A.”