From The Dead (38 page)

“Oh, Jesse? Yeah, he’s made the hometown rounds.”

“No, I mean I saw him
here.
He came one day
while you were gone.”

Blake kept his eyes glued to his computer screen as
he typed. “How many times have I told you to put my messages on my
desk?”

“No message. He bought something.”

Blake’s fingers froze. He uncrossed his legs and
rested his elbows on the desk. “Bought what?”

“A container of Ashwaganda.”

“
Ashwaganda?”

“Yeah, it seemed odd to me, too.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nosebleeds.”

Blake pretended to dismiss the incident, and Matt
returned to the sales floor. Blake looked over at the clock on his
computer. Jesse should have arrived at the hospital by now.

Blake squinted, shook his head. Didn’t Jesse realize
an herb could skew the results of any tests they performed on him?
It could prove downright dangerous.

Nosebleeds.
Back in February, Drew had
mentioned he’d witnessed a nosebleed while Jesse and Drew were out
one weekend.

Blake resumed with his computer but ended up with his
arms crossed against his chest.
Jesse wouldn’t concern himself about nosebleeds unless they were
frequent.

Ashwaganda. It could be used to raise the levels of
all three blood-cell types …

And then the color drained from Blake’s face.

Blake stumbled for the phone at the corner of his
desk, raced through Eden’s number.

She didn’t pick up. Blake jostled his hand on his
knee. “Come on …” His hands slickened with sweat.

Eden picked up on the final ring before her answering
machine could kick in. She didn’t have a chance to say hello.

“Thank God you’re there,” Blake blurted. “Don’t go
anywhere. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”

* * *

Blake arrived at Eden’s house and left the engine
running. He banged on Eden’s front door until she arrived, her
expression equal parts confusion and alarm.

“Come on!” Blake shouted, already in a sprint toward
the car. “We don’t have time to talk!”

Eden locked the door and ran to join him.

When she got in, Blake peeled away and headed south
on Route 91. “Which hospital is Jesse at?” Blake demanded.

“St. Mark’s. Why?”

“No! It’ll take us thirty minutes to get there!”
Blake slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“Your face is pale! What’s the matter?”

“The herbs.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know about it. Jesse came to my store a few
weeks ago to buy herbs. I have a hunch it’s a cover: I think Jesse
knows something about his own health—something that otherwise would
have prevented his marrow donation. And I think he wanted the herbs
to mask the issue long enough to make it through the medical
hurdles.” Blake sped faster, veered around other vehicles, bit his
lip as he approached the freeway. “I think he’s risking his life
for Drew. Jesse knows the consequences and did it anyway.”

“You mean, he could die?”

“If he hasn’t already.”

Limp, Eden sank back in her seat. She looked too
shocked to say anything else; instead, she stared at the dashboard
clock as the minute digit leaped by one.

Blake glanced her way. “Do you have your cell phone
with you?”

“Yes.” She rushed to open her purse.

“Call Chuck. Tell him to get over there.”

* * *

When Jesse opened his eyes to discover he’d survived
the procedure, words couldn’t describe the sense of relief. If not
for his post-procedure weakness, he would have bounded to his feet
and howled with delight. He soaked up his surroundings inside his
hospital partition. Had he ever felt happier to see a bland
environment rather than a bright, heavenly one?

His bandaged flesh felt sore. The staff had collected
marrow from his hip bone. Groggy from the anesthesia, he peered
over and found Caitlyn and Drew seated in chairs beside his bed.
Jesse could hear the steady bleep of a monitor accent the periphery
as a nurse shuffled behind him.

Caitlyn ran her fingers through Jesse’s hair.
“Welcome back, sleepyhead.”

Jesse sighed under his breath in response. It was all
he could muster as the anesthetic haze retreated. He managed an
inkling of a smile at the corner of his mouth before he shut his
eyes again.

Thirsty—his tongue had become sandstone—a nurse lured
him out of reprised slumber with a plastic cup of ice water, which
he quaffed within seconds. The nurse fetched another cup; Jesse
consumed it along with a few graham crackers.

Minutes later, when Jesse appeared to reach near-full
attentiveness, the nurse and attendants departed for a while so he
could recover with his family at hand. Drew’s eyes seemed glued to
his father, who lay in a hospital bed for the boy’s own sake.

This is what it looks like when your dad loves
you,
Jesse’s motionless body communicated.

If asked to reach into the farthest crevices of his
memory, Drew, Jesse hoped, wouldn’t recall feeling as important to
anybody else as he did at this moment. Even through Jesse’s
squinted eyes, Drew’s flesh appeared to warm a notch, the tangible
effect of a father’s love in action.

Caitlyn bent down and whispered into Jesse’s ear.
“Thank you.” Then she raised her voice to its regular volume so
Drew could overhear as well. “You know, Drew was concerned about
his dad.” She rubbed her son’s neck and said, “I’ll be back; I want
to get a bottle of water from the gift shop downstairs. You two
catch up.”

And she left the father and son together in the
partition.

Drew gazed at Jesse’s hip. The boy looked mesmerized
by the bandages that covered the wound.

Though tired, Jesse could still speak. He reached out
and took his son’s hand. “Do you like the flimsy apartment they set
up for me here?”

“Did it hurt?” asked Drew, who left Jesse’s attempt
at humor unnoticed.

“I don’t know. I slept through it,” Jesse teased.
“It’s a little sore, but no big deal.” Jesse felt a bit short on
breath. “Come here, buddy.”

Drew came close to Jesse, who wrapped a weak arm
around his son. They huddled together. Jesse drew his son’s head
closer.

Jesse pressed his cheek against Drew’s head and said,
“Do you know how much I love you?”

“Yes.” Drew had spent his whole life without this
affection from his father. But now, Jesse could feel security
emanate from Drew as his father’s arm surrounded him.

“Never forget that love, buddy. I hope—”

Jesse’s body lurched as a knifing pain stabbed him
inside. A wince, then he grunted under his breath, tightened his
lips as he tried to maintain composure. He didn’t want to scare
Drew.

The pain grew sharper. He winced again.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” Frightened, Jesse gasped for
breath.

It’s happening.

“Jesse?”

To Jesse’s ears, Drew’s voice sounded muffled. Jesse
shut his eyes, endured the intense pain. He wanted to tell Drew to
find a nurse but couldn’t breathe.

The monitor shrieked in alarm.

Drew froze.

Jesse held him closer. He sensed his time was
short.

When he located a wisp of voice, Jesse aimed his
mouth toward Drew’s ear. “The nurse will be on her way. I don’t
have much longer.” With every word, Jesse felt his oxygen drain
away.

Drew sobbed.

“Your mom’ll need a lot of love over the next few
months,” Jesse struggled to whisper, “so take care of her and give
her lots of hugs, okay?”

“Dad …”

“You’ll be okay.” Jesse pressed his head against his
son and their teardrops mingled. “I love you, Drew.”

“Daddy …” Drew bit his quivering lip. His face
flushed red and hot tears poured from his eyes.

In an obvious panic, Drew broke away and ran into the
corridor. He screamed for the nurse, who was already a few feet
from the door, a white-coated doctor behind her. Another attendant
grabbed Drew and held him tight as the boy tried to break free and
cling to his dad.

When they reached Jesse’s bed, the monitor retreated
to one long, steady tone.

* * *

On the first floor, Caitlyn sipped her bottled water
as she left the gift shop and rounded the corner to the lobby, back
toward the elevator. Behind her, the hospital’s automatic-entry
doors slid open as Blake and Eden ran through. When they saw
Caitlyn ahead, they dashed faster and shouted.

Out of breath, Eden caught up with Caitlyn and
grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where’s Jesse?”

“Upstairs. Why?”

“He’s in trouble.”

Blake raced for the elevators. “Chuck’s on his way!
Hurry!”

* * *

From the corridor, they heard the commotion and the
monotonous, foreboding tone. When Caitlyn, Eden and Blake arrived
at the partition, they found Jesse surrounded by two staff members,
who prepared electric paddles in a second effort to revive him.

A red-eyed Drew, his face scarlet and streaked with
tears, ran to his mother and clung to her. Caitlyn held him while
she stared at Jesse in alarm.

Drew tried to speak through hysterics. “Mom, he
started hurting and fell asleep. They couldn’t wake him up …”

Caitlyn wrapped her arms around Drew and covered his
face from the sight.

Chuck, in a pant, arrived at the door, his eyes on
the electric paddles. He stared at his son, a father unable to
rescue his boy. “Jesse!” And the preacher fell to his knees at the
foot of the bed.

EPILOGUE

Late April the following year, Drew, now twelve years
old, carried a duffel bag into his grandfather’s office at the
church. Alone. Seven o’clock sharp on a Saturday morning.

Chuck wrapped up some paperwork. “Hey there, champ!
All packed and ready to go? It could be a twelve-hour drive with
all the pit stops, you know.”

“Ready. Can we go for pancakes on the way there?”
Drew wore a red baseball cap, which Chuck had bought him at a
sports shop in town.

Chuck laughed as he walked around the desk with a
duffle bag of his own. “Sure thing.” On his knees now, he stared
into his grandson’s eyes and still seemed astounded to see the boy
alive. “You know how much your dad loved you to do what he did,
don’t you? He was willing to give his life for you.”

With a nod, a healthy Drew smiled, his confidence in
a clear boost. “Yeah.”

“That’s how valuable you are, big guy.”

“Tell your grandpa to get a move on!” Jesse walked
through the doorway, duffle bag in hand. With the other arm, he
grabbed Drew in a bear hug. “Ready to go, slugger?”

“Let’s go. Grandpa promised we’d eat breakfast on the
way.”

Chuck snorted as he packed his Bible into his duffel
bag.

After the medical staff revitalized Jesse, they
conducted further tests, which confirmed the existence of Baer’s
Disease in him. But under a physician’s guidance and a medical
regimen, Jesse and his physician brought the symptoms under
control. With his son safe, Jesse felt relieved to be alive.

As expected with Jesse’s blood condition, staff
deemed his marrow ineligible for Drew. Jesse, however, harbored no
regrets, and in due time, they located a donor through the national
marrow registry. Jesse wondered at the extent to which he had tried
to rescue his son, regardless of the cost. Given the same scenario,
would he have risked his life again? Probably so, he figured. After
all, Drew was his son. Jesse loved him more than life.

But one positive result came about from the
experience: Bound together by the tragedy, Jesse and Drew were
inseparable nowadays.

Chuck rose to his feet again. He stared at his own
son and bit his lip. Jesse returned the gaze.

Alive from the dead.

Repeatedly the preacher had told Jesse that he could
break down into tears each time he recalled how the doctor revived
Jesse. The play-by-play had seared itself in his mind with crystal
clarity. The critical final seconds had stretched for what seemed
an eternity as Chuck prayed at the foot of the bed and begged God
for a miracle.

This morning, the preacher shook his head.

Prayers do get answered,
his smile seemed to
say.

Duffel bags in hand, the three men—three
generations—walked toward the door, single file, to begin their
road trip. On their way out, Chuck patted Jesse on the back. Jesse
guided Drew by the shoulders. Chuck turned off the light and shut
the door.

The next day at 12:05 p.m., the Indians would play
the Cardinals in St. Louis. And the Barlow trio had twelfth-row
seats.

###

PREVIEW:

THE LANDING

A Novel

by

John Herrick

Available August 2012 at major online retailers!

CHAPTER 1--MAY 2007

Danny Bale leaned against the restroom wall, ran his
finger along his wrist.

Running his fingers through his beach-blond hair, he
exhaled with a heavy grunt and tilted his head toward the ceiling,
the details of which he had surveyed many times before. The circles
of water damage. The hole at the edge of a beige panel. An aging
light bulb that had developed a mysterious, maize-colored tint.
Since his arrival at Sunset Beach, this room had grown familiar. He
had branded it into his memory and could re-create it with his eyes
closed.

His skin was tanned, a shade between local-light and
tourist-brown. Bleached by the penetrating sun, his dark blond hair
had developed a bright sheen and shouted his status as a permanent
beach dweller. Leaning toward the mirror, he examined the creases
that had begun to form along the corners of his eyes. It seemed
premature for signs of aging to begin.

Danny felt tired. He blamed it on sleep deprivation,
to late nights spent writing after Sunset Beach calmed. But the
root of his fatigue didn’t result from poor habit or a need for a
twenty-seven-hour day. Rather, a pattern of bland constancy had
emerged, leaving Danny drained at heart from years of plugging away
at his craft and seeing no manifestation of success.