“And if you think,” she continued with a vehemence that he had never seen, “that you can get rid of me now that you’ve convinced me what you’re doing is right, you are crazy! You’ll have to throw me out bodily.”

“All right, all right,” said Charles with a smile. “I won’t throw you out. But we could be in for a rough time.”

“It’s as much my responsibility as yours,” said Cathryn with conviction. “This is a family affair and I’m part of this family. We both recognized that when we decided to get married. I’m not here just to share the happiness.”

Charles experienced a mixture of emotions, but the primary one was pride. He had been guilty of not giving Cathryn the credit she deserved. She was right; Charles had tried whenever it was possible to shield her from the negative aspects of their life, and that was wrong. He should have been more open, more trusting. Cathryn was his wife, not his child.

“If you want to stay, please do,” he said.

“I want to stay,” said Cathryn simply.

Charles kissed her gently on the lips. Then he stepped back to look at her with an admiring eye.

“You really can help,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s almost time to give myself another dose of Michelle’s antigen. I’ll explain what you can do to help after I get it prepared. Okay?”

Cathryn nodded and let Charles squeeze her hand before he walked back to the living room.

Holding on to the back of one of the kitchen chairs, Cathryn felt a little dizzy. Everything that had happened in the last several days was unexpected. There had never been a moment that she’d thought Charles would have taken Michelle to their home. She wondered if there were some way to cancel the guardianship proceedings and eliminate one of the reasons Charles was being sought by the police.

Picking up the phone, she dialed her mother. While she waited for the connection, she realized that if she told her mother that Charles was there it would precipitate an argument, so she decided to say nothing.

Gina answered on the second ring. Cathryn kept the conversation light, not mentioning her visit to the Weinburger or the fact that Charles was suspected of grand larceny. When there was a pause, she cleared her throat and said: “Provided you don’t mind seeing that Chuck gets some dinner and gets off to school in the morning, I think I’ll spend the night here. I want to be available in case Charles calls.”

“Honey, don’t feel that you have to sit around and wait for that man. I tell you, he’ll call here if there’s no answer at your house. Besides, I’ve been planning on having a wonderful dinner tonight. Try and guess what I’m making.”

Cathryn let out her breath in a quiet sigh. It never failed to amaze her that her mother always believed that a good meal could fix everything.

“Mother, I don’t want to guess what you are having for dinner. I want to stay here tonight in my own home.”

Cathryn could tell she’d hurt her mother’s feelings, but under the circumstances she didn’t feel she had much choice. As quickly as she could without seeming to be rude, Cathryn hung up.

Thinking of food, Cathryn checked the refrigerator. Except for being low on milk and eggs, they were reasonably well stocked, especially with the old-fashioned root cellar in the basement. Closing the refrigerator, Cathryn looked around her boarded-up kitchen, marveling at being a prisoner in her own house.

She wondered about Charles’s treatment for Michelle. She acknowledged that she didn’t understand its details, but it sounded good. At the same time, she recognized that if she were with Dr. Keitzman, she’d probably believe what he said. Medicine was too complicated for her to feel confident enough to question the experts. As a lay person she was put in an impossible situation when the doctors disagreed.

When she went into the living room, Charles was holding a syringe with its needle up, tapping it with his index finger to get rid of air bubbles. Quietly she took a seat and watched. Michelle was still sleeping, her thin hair splayed out on the white pillow. Through the boards on the windows, Cathryn could see it was snowing again. In the basement, she could hear the oil burner kick on.

“Now I’m going to inject this into my arm vein,” said Charles, looking for a tourniquet. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do it for me.”

Cathryn felt her mouth go dry. “I can try,” she said reluctantly. In truth she wanted no part of the syringe. Even looking at it made her feel faint.

“Would you?” asked Charles. “Unless you’re an addict, it’s harder than hell to stick yourself in a vein. Also I want to tell you how to give me epinephrine if I need it. With the first intravenous dose of Michelle’s antigen, I developed some anaphylaxis, meaning an allergic reaction which makes breathing difficult.”

“Oh, God,” said Cathryn to herself. Then to Charles she said: “Isn’t there another way to take the antigen, like eating it?”

Charles shook his head. “I tried that but stomach acid breaks it down. I even tried sniffing a powdered form like cocaine, but the mucous membrane in my nose swelled unbelievably. Since I’m in a hurry I decided I’d have to mainline it. The problem is that my body’s first response has been to develop a simple allergy, what they call immediate hypersensitivity. I’ve tried to cut down on that effect by altering the protein slightly. I want delayed hypersensitivity, not immediate.”

Cathryn nodded as if she understood, but she’d comprehended nothing except the cold feel of the syringe. She held it with her fingertips as if she expected it to injure her. Charles brought a chair over and placed it in front of hers. On a counter top within reach he put two smaller syringes.

“These other syringes are the epinephrine. If I suddenly go red as a beet and can’t breathe, just jam one of these into any muscle and inject. If there’s no response in thirty seconds, use the next one.”

Cathryn felt a strange terror. But Charles seemed blithely unconcerned. He unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up above his elbow. Using his teeth to hold one end of the tourniquet, Charles applied the rubber tubing to his own upper arm. Quickly his veins engorged and stood out.

“Take off the plastic cover,” instructed Charles, “then just put the needle into the vein.”

With visibly trembling hands, Cathryn got the cover off the needle. Its sharp point glistened in the light. Charles tore open an alcohol pad with his right hand, holding the packet in his teeth. Vigorously he swabbed the area.

“Okay, do your stuff,” said Charles looking away.

Cathryn took a breath. Now she knew why she’d never considered medicine as a career. Trying to hold the syringe steady she put the needle on Charles’s skin and gently pushed. The skin merely indented.

“You have to give it a shove,” said Charles, still looking away.

Cathryn gave the syringe a little push. It indented Charles’s skin a little more.

Charles looked down at his arm. Reaching around with his free hand he gave the needle a sudden forceful lunge and it broke through the skin, impaling the vein.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now draw back on the plunger without disturbing the tip.”

Cathryn did as Charles asked and some bright red blood swished into the syringe.

“Bull’s-eye,” said Charles, as he took off his tourniquet. “Now slowly inject.”

Cathryn pushed the plunger. It moved easily. When it was slightly more than halfway, her finger slipped. The needle dove into Charles more deeply as the plunger completed its movement. A small egg rapidly appeared on his arm.

“That’s okay,” said Charles. “Not bad for your first time. Now pull it out.”

Cathryn pulled the needle out and Charles slapped a piece of gauze over the site.

“I’m sorry,” said Cathryn, terrified that she’d hurt him.

“No problem. Maybe putting some of the antigen subcutaneously will help. Who knows?” Suddenly his face began to get red. He shivered. “Damn,” he managed. Cathryn could hear his voice had changed. It was much higher. “Epinephrine,” he said with some difficulty.