With one arm holding the cotton ball and the other with the IV, Michelle felt totally immobilized. Slowly she unbent her arm. The cotton ball rolled aside revealing an innocent red puncture mark surrounded by a black-and-blue area.
“Okay,” said the redheaded nurse, coming through the door. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Michelle remembered with panic that the thermometer was still in her mouth.
Deftly the nurse extracted it, noted the temperature, then dropped it into the metal container on Michelle’s night table. “Breakfast will be up in a moment,” she said cheerfully, but she didn’t mention Michelle’s fever. She left with the same abruptness with which she’d arrived.
“Oh, Daddy, please come and get me,” said Michelle to herself. “Please hurry.”
Charles felt his shoulder being shaken. He tried to ignore it because he wanted to continue sleeping, but the shaking continued. When he opened his eyes he saw Cathryn, already robed, standing by the bed holding out a steaming mug of coffee. Pushing himself up on one elbow, Charles took the coffee.
“It’s seven o’clock,” said Cathryn with a smile.
“Seven?” Charles glanced at the face of the alarm clock, thinking that oversleeping was not the way to increase the pace of his research efforts.
“You were sleeping so soundly,” said Cathryn, kissing his forehead, “that I didn’t have the heart to wake you earlier. We’ve got a big breakfast waiting downstairs.”
Charles knew that she was making an effort to sound gay.
“Enjoy your coffee,” said Cathryn. She started for the door. “Gina got up and made it before I was even awake.”
Charles glanced down at the mug in his hands. The fact that Gina was still there was irritating enough. He did not want to have to feel beholden to her the first thing in the morning, but then he was holding the coffee and he knew she’d ask how it was and gloat over the fact that she’d arisen when everyone else was still asleep.
Charles shook his head. Such annoying thoughts were not the way to begin the day. He tasted the coffee. It was hot, aromatic, and stimulating. He admitted that he enjoyed it and decided to tell Gina before she’d have a chance to ask, and then thank her for getting up before the others, before she had a chance to tell them.
Carrying his coffee mug, Charles padded down the hall to Michelle’s room. He paused outside of the door, then slowly pushed it open. He had half hoped to see his young daughter safely sleeping in her bed, but of course her bed was neatly made, her books and memorabilia compulsively arranged, her room as neat as a pin. “All right,” said Charles to himself, as if he were bargaining with an all-powerful arbiter, “she has myeloblastic leukemia. Just let her case be sensitive to current treatment. That’s all I ask.”
Breakfast was a strained affair, overshadowed by Gina’s forced ebullience and Charles’s reserve. One fed the other in a self-fulfilling prophecy until Gina was chatting nonstop and Charles perfectly silent. Cathryn interrupted with complicated plans about who was going to do what, when. Charles stayed out of the domestic decision making and concentrated on planning his day’s work at the institute. The first thing he wanted to do was check the well mice injected with the cancer antigen for signs of immunological activity. Most likely there would be no response with such a light dose and he would prepare to give them another challenge that afternoon. Then he would check the mice injected with the Canceran and reinject them. Then he would start work on a computer simulation of the way he envisioned the blocking factor worked.
“Charles, is that agreeable to you?” asked Cathryn.
“What?” questioned Charles. He’d tuned out all conversation.
“I will ride with you in the Pinto this morning, and you can drop me at the hospital. Chuck will take the station wagon, drop off Jean Paul, and drive himself to Northeastern. Gina has agreed to stay here and make dinner.”
“I’ll make your favorite,” said Gina enthusiastically, “gnocchi.”
Gnocchi! Charles didn’t even know what gnocchi was.
“If I want to leave early,” continued Cathryn to Charles, “I can go over to Northeastern and pick up the station wagon. Otherwise I’ll come back with you. What do you say?”
Charles couldn’t figure out how all these elaborate plans were making things any easier. The old method of his driving the boys and leaving the station wagon for Cathryn seemed far more simple, but he didn’t care. In fact, if he decided to work that night, maybe it would be best if Chuck had the car because then Cathryn could come home with him in the afternoon.
“Fine with me,” said Charles, finding himself watching Chuck who was in his usual breakfast posture, studying the cereal box as if it were Scripture. The boy was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and looked just as bad.
“I got a call from the business office yesterday,” said Charles.
“Yeah, I gave them the number,” said Chuck without looking up.
“I made arrangements at the bank for a loan,” said Charles. “Should be available in a day or so, then the bill will be paid.”
“Good,” said Chuck, flipping the box so he could study the nutritional values on the side panel.
“Is that all you have to say? Good?” Charles turned his head toward Cathryn with a look that said: “Can you believe this kid?”
Chuck pretended he hadn’t heard the question.
“I think we should be going,” said Cathryn, getting to her feet and collecting the milk and butter to put into the refrigerator.
“Just leave everything,” said Gina magnanimously. “I’ll take care of it.”
Charles and Cathryn were the first out of the house. A pale winter sun hung low in the southeastern sky. As cold as it was inside the Pinto, Cathryn was relieved to get out of the biting wind.
“Damn,” said Charles, blowing on his fingers. “I forgot the pond water.”
For Cathryn’s sake, Charles started the car, which was no easy task, before running back into the kitchen for the jar of pond water. He carefully wedged it behind his seat to keep it from spilling before he climbed into the car and fumbled with his seat belt.
Cathryn watched this procedure with the pond water with a certain misgiving. After her little talk to Charles the night before she’d hoped that he would concentrate on Michelle. But Charles had acted strangely from the moment she’d awakened him that morning. Cathryn had the scary feeling that her family was coming apart at the seams.
Watching Charles’s silent profile as he drove, Cathryn began multiple conversations but abandoned each for various reasons, mostly because she feared any discussion would trigger her husband’s temper.
When Route 301 merged with Interstate 93, Cathryn finally forced herself to speak: “How do you feel today, Charles?”
“Huh? Oh fine. Just fine.”
“You seem so quiet. It’s not like you.”
“Just thinking.”
“About Michelle?”
“Yes, and also my work.”
“You’re not still thinking of Recycle, Ltd., are you?”
Charles glanced at Cathryn for a moment, then turned his attention to the road ahead. “A little. I still think the place is a menace, if that’s what you mean.”
“Charles, there isn’t something you’re not telling me, is there?”
“No,” said Charles too quickly. “What makes you ask that?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Cathryn. “You seem so far away since we heard about Michelle. Your mood seems to change so quickly.” Cathryn’s eyes darted over to watch Charles’s reaction to her last comment. But Charles just drove on, and if there had been a reaction, Cathryn missed it.
“I guess I just have a lot on my mind,” said Charles.
“You’ll share it with me, won’t you, Charles? I mean that’s what I’m here for. That’s why I wanted to adopt the children. I want you to share everything with me.” Cathryn reached over and put her hand on Charles’s thigh.