Let Him Live (5 page)

“ ‘Intimate strangers’ … interesting,” Meg said.

“It explained some things to me. You see, I had a roommate in the hospital back in my hometown, and I talked to him about everything. He was what the guys in my school would classify as a nerd, but he was sick also, and we got real close over the weeks we were hospitalized together.”

“What happened to him?”

“He got well and left the hospital. He came to visit me, but over time, the bond between us weakened. Maybe I was jealous because he got well and I didn’t. Maybe it was because we never had a true friendship, just the intimate stranger business.” Donovan shook his head, as if to clear out the memories.

“So, is that what we are?” Meg asked. “Intimate strangers? When you’re well, will you forget all about me?” Meg couldn’t believe she’d ever forget him.

“I think we’re friends, don’t you?” A smile lit up his face, causing Meg’s heart to skip. She hadn’t had a really close friend since Cindy. “Because if we’re friends—and not strangers—I can tell you something and make it our secret.”

“Is it something to do with your transplant?”
Meg was genuinely puzzled by the odd direction of his conversation.

“In a way.”

“What is it? Have they found you a donor?”

“If they had, I’d be throwing a party. No … it’s something else.” He chewed his bottom lip. “It has something to do with your father in a roundabout way.”

“My father?”

“I’m confusing you.” He raked his hand through his hair. “It’s just that I want to tell you something … show something to you … that might affect our friendship. I mean, once you see it, you might have to tell your father about it.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to. Doctors are asked to keep confidences all the time. My dad will understand.”

Donovan appeared hesitant for a moment longer, then he zipped open his shaving kit and pulled out a folded envelope. “I can’t keep this a secret any longer. If I do, I’ll bust. I’m going to trust you to keep it between us.” He thrust the envelope at her. “Read this. I woke up yesterday morning with it on my pillow and not a clue as to how it got there.”

Gingerly, Meg took the envelope. Donovan’s name had been written on the front in beautiful, flowing calligraphy. Red sealing wax, stamped with the initials OLW and broken when the envelope had been opened, covered the flap. She pulled out a handsome calligraphed letter and began to read.

Meg didn’t know what to say. Blankly, she looked up at him.

“There’s more,” he said, reaching into the kit
again. He pulled out another piece of folded paper and handed it to Meg.

She unfolded it and saw that it was a check made out to Donovan Jacoby in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. It was signed, “Richard Holloway, Esq., Administrator, One Last Wish Foundation.” Meg gaped.

“Do you think it’s legit?” Donovan asked. “Do you know anything at all about this foundation?”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Meg racked her brain for the names of the charitable organizations that supported the hospital. “Money usually comes to the hospital, not to any individual in the hospital. Especially not a patient.” She held the check up to the sun, but saw only a watermark for a bank in Boston, Massachusetts. “Do you know anyone with the initials JWC?”

“I’ve been thinking all morning, and the only person that comes to mind is a guy in my school named Jed Calloway—I don’t know his middle initial. But it couldn’t be him. He’s poor as dirt and not very charitable either. No, it can’t be Jed.”

“How about this Richard Holloway?”

“Never heard of the guy. What’s that E-s-q mean? Do you know?”

Meg puckered her brow. “I’ve seen it in old books. It’s an abbreviation for ‘esquire,’ an old-fashioned term for a lawyer. I guess he’s in charge of this foundation. Maybe he’s in the phone book—we could look and see.”

Donovan moistened his lips. “It’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

“We both know that it is. Why would someone give it to you?”

“I don’t know. All the letter says is that this JWC understands what I’m going through and wants me to spend it on something I really want.”

“So, what do you want?”

“A new liver.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “But we both know I can’t buy one of those.”

“There must be something else.”

“There’re lots of something elses. I have to think about it. I can’t blow this much cash on myself.”

“I think that’s what JWC wants you to do with it.”

He glanced off toward the willow tree. “There’s another problem,” he said slowly.

“Tell me.”

“It—it’s hard for me to say it.”

“You can tell me.” Meg felt her pulse throbbing in her throat.

“It’s the part that involves your father,” he said.

“How is my dad involved?”

“I’m afraid if he knows about the money, he’ll take it away from me.”

“T
AKE IT AWAY
? My dad wouldn’t do that!” Meg was both startled and hurt by Donovan’s suggestion.

“I don’t mean he’d take it away on purpose. But he might
have
to take it away.”

“But why? Obviously, JWC wants
you
to have it.” Donovan shrugged, and Meg could tell he was having trouble putting what he wanted to say into words. She tried to make it easier by rising up on her knees and clasping his hand. “It’s
your
money. Why would my dad want it?”

He touched his other hand to her hair, smoothing it back. Her scalp tingled from his touch. “My family’s poor, Meg. I know we’re a charity case for this hospital. Mom explained how your father got
us on Medicare in order to help pay for all of this.”

“Money’s not supposed to decide who gets organs.” She recalled her conversation with her father, and how he assured her that need was the main factor in determining who got organs for transplantation.

“I know that, but now that I have money, will I have to use it for the operation?”

Meg couldn’t answer his question. “What if you did? Would it mean you’d give up the chance to get the transplant?”

He stared down at the check. “It’s a lot of money, and my family could use it for lots of things.”

“How can you consider using it on anything else? I know your mother would spend every cent on keeping you alive. What difference does it make if it has to be spent on your transplant?”

“It makes a difference to me,” Donovan said quietly. “That’s why I’m holding you to your promise to keep it a secret from your father. If it’s really my money, I should decide on how I spend it.”

“But—”

“You promised,” Donovan interrupted. He softened his words by stroking her cheek. “Friends keep promises to friends. That’s a fact.” He tugged her upward. “Come on. I think I can beat you in Monopoly. Want to give me a chance?”

Meg wanted to discuss the One Last Wish money some more. “But, Donovan—”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t mean to put you in a tough place. I just need some time to think it through.”

“I’m glad you told me, but I don’t know how to help you with it.”

“Then let’s go inside and talk about it later. Right now, I want to have some of that fun you promised me.”

Meg spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Donovan, playing board games and watching the video movie in the recreation room. Several of the younger kids joined them, and Meg saw how fond they were of Donovan. He had a way with them, a friendly, open manner that put people at ease. She knew she felt comfortable with him.

By the end of the day, Donovan was completely worn out and couldn’t eat the pizza Meg brought to his room. “You don’t mind?” he asked as he crawled into his bed.

“Who needs the calories?” She kept her question light, as she shoved the unopened box to the side and fluffed his pillow. His coloring, which looked more yellow than it had that morning, bothered her. “Maybe you pushed too hard today,” she observed.

“I wouldn’t have traded today for anything. I really appreciate your spending your free time with me. It meant a lot.”

“I had fun.” Meg meant it. The time she’d spent with him had seemed to fly. “Your mom and Brett
will come by tomorrow, and then it’ll be Monday again and the start of a brand-new week.”

“Another week in paradise,” he mumbled cynically. His eyelids looked heavy, and Meg watched them close. “Don’t forget your promise,” he whispered.

“I won’t forget,” she said. He was asleep instantly, but Meg couldn’t bring herself to leave. His breathing sounded shallow, and she was concerned about him. She wished her father were there to assure her that Donovan was all right. She fiddled with the bedcovers, smoothing them the way she’d been taught during her candy striper training. She kept thinking about the letter he had received, and the check.

Meg realized that she had been raised quite differently from Donovan. She’d been given many material things and had never truly wanted for anything. At sixteen, she attended a top private school, wore expensive clothes, had her own car. Not that her parents hadn’t taught her values. Many a time, her mother had lectured, “We have a duty to help others who are less fortunate. Your father’s profession is aimed toward helping and healing. I work hard with my charities because it gives me a deep sense of satisfaction to know I’m doing something useful for others.”

Until now, Meg hadn’t paid much attention. But JWC’s generous gift to a person he or she claimed to not even know, caused Meg to pause and reevaluate her parents’ philosophy of life. Why would a complete stranger give Donovan so
much money? Who was this JWC anyway? Meg found herself not only curious, but also a little jealous. Not that she didn’t want Donovan to have the money—she did. The money didn’t threaten Meg at all. It was the caring, the concern, from an anonymous, faceless person that intimidated her.

“Don’t pout. It won’t help.”
Meg heard Cindy’s voice in the back of her mind.

“But you don’t understand. My dad thinks more of his patients than he does of me!” Meg recalled wailing to her friend the day she’d graduated from eighth grade and an emergency had made him miss the ceremony.

“Doctors don’t belong to just their families, Meggie. They belong to everybody,” Cindy commented. “Sort of like the President, I think. I’ll bet he feels he owes something to the people he takes care of.”

“Then why did my father even bother to have a family? Why didn’t he just devote himself to humanity and forget about having us?”

“Probably because he wanted you,” Cindy answered. “Who says you can’t have both?”

Now, years later, standing next to Donovan’s hospital bed, watching his chest rise and fall with labored breathing, Meg recalled the conversation with vivid clarity. Did JWC feel he or she
owed
something to the sick and dying? Was that the motivation behind the One Last Wish Foundation? And if so, where did that kind of compassion
come from? Did Meg have it within herself to feel the same way? The way her parents did?

She longed to talk it over with Cindy. Her best friend would have helped her make sense of it. But, of course, there was no Cindy. Stricken, feeling more depressed than she had in weeks, Meg pushed away from Donovan’s bed and quickly left the hospital.

“Your father and I are going to run out to the country club and play a few rounds of golf. Want to come along?” Meg’s mother asked her Sunday afternoon.

“Not really.” Meg felt listless, as if her energy had been drained away. “I’d rather lie here by the pool.”

“If that’s what you want.” She saw her mother hesitate. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Things are fine.”

“You seem to be a little down today. And last week, you seemed so much more animated. Did something happen at the hospital yesterday?”

“Nothing happened. I had a good time with one of the patients. I’m concerned about him.”

“The Jacoby boy—your father’s told me about him.”

Meg sat upright. “Has Dad said how Donovan’s doing today?”

“I’m trying to get him off for a little relaxation. I asked him not to even call in today. If he’s needed, he’ll be paged.”

Meg had seen her mother’s efforts to protect
her father from overwork before. She planned frequent getaways and weekend minitrips. Still, most jaunts were interrupted by calls from the hospital, moreso now that he was head of the transplant unit. “Go on to the golf course,” Meg said. “I’m perfectly fine by myself.”