wanted a double bourbon—straight, but settled for coffee instead.
He thanked the attendant and gave Rebecca his full attention. She sighed, a wistful little sound that stirred his blood.
“I don’t want Mel to know you’re the one to donate the bone marrow,” he blurted. He’d been trying to find a tactful way to approach the subject. Oh well, he thought. At least it was out in the open.
She looked at him and lifted one of those dark brows in silent question.
“Mel’s not a stupid kid,” he said quietly. “A sibling or a biological parent are the most likely matches in bone marrow transplantation and she’s aware of that fact. She’s heard the rundown on the entire medical process and can easily figure it out for herself who you really are.”
Setting her diet cola on the fold-down tray, she traced squiggles in the condensation of the plastic cup with a perfectly manicured nail. “I thought we already had this discussion.”
True, he thought, but he wanted to make certain Mel was protected. “I don’t lie to my kid, but in this case it’s necessary. And, Ms. Martinson?” Sam waited until she looked at him. “Once the month is over, that’s it. You’ll never be allowed to see my daughter again.”
A PINCUSHION had fewer holes than Rebecca did in her arm. As soon as she’d checked into the hospital, they’d sent in the legalized vampires to begin the methodical torture of withdrawing vial upon vial of blood. The nurse had threatened an IV would be started before she went to sleep. Rebecca didn’t think she had a vein left for the insertion.
She continued to surf the fourteen available channels and finally landed on a local news program. While a petite blonde talked about an overturned grain truck on one of the highways, Rebecca thought about her daughter, two floors above her.
“Damn,” she muttered. She never should have promised Sam she’d wait to meet Melanie until after the girl was released from the hospital. But even her promise failed to squelch the burning desire to sneak upstairs and take a look at her.
The newscaster promised a weather report after a commercial break. Melanie was probably sleeping. There certainly was nothing on television to hold one’s interest, let alone that of a teenaged girl. Maybe she could just take a walk, stretch her legs and stroll past the room. If Melanie was awake, she’d keep going, but…
Unable to resist any longer, she reached for her cotton robe and pulled it around her. She jammed her feet into the slippers the nurse had parked neatly at the bedside. Firmly ignoring the possible repercussions, she left the private hospital room, strolled past the nurses’ station and headed for the elevator.
After a moment the doors whooshed open, and she stepped inside, pushed the button for the fifth floor and waited. Her insides churned, and her heart pounded in a heavy rhythm. Thank goodness she was in a hospital—a crash cart would easily be at hand if she arrested.
The doors slid open, and she stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor. Now what? she wondered. She was here, her daughter was somewhere on the floor, but where? What if Sam left instructions with the nursing staff that Melanie was to have no visitors? No Rebecca Martinson visitors?
Hesitantly she headed down the corridor toward the nurses’ station. An older man, apparently a doctor, was jotting notes in a chart and giving orders to a nurse. She couldn’t just walk the halls and pray she’d be guided by some magical force to her child.
Wiping her hands on the thin material of her robe, she continued toward the nurses’ station.
“What about the Winslow girl?” the nurse asked.
Rebecca froze.
“She’s resting comfortably,” the doctor answered, handing the chart to the nurse. “She’ll be transplanted at 7:00 a.m. by Dr. Walsh.”
Rebecca slowed her steps, straining to hear anything, a sliver of hope that they believed the transplant would be a success.
“I hope it works.” The nurse placed the chart on the Formica counter. “She’s such a—”
A high-pitched beep sounded. The nurse looked over the counter and pushed a button. “Sandy Reed again.”
The doctor chuckled, then strode away while the nurse took off in the opposite direction.
The chart lay on the stark counter.
Rebecca bit her lip and hurried forward. The nurses’ station was deserted. She looked over her shoulder, up and down the corridor, then scanned the chart. The name typed on the bottom of the form entitled Doctor’s Orders was Mary Fitzmyer.
With another surreptitious glance around the vicinity, she made certain all was clear. A few televisions droned in the background along with the bleeps and chirps from various monitors and medical equipment. Standing on tiptoe, she peered over the counter. Medical charts lined the desk area. Valuable minutes would be wasted if she had to search each chart to see which room was Melanie’s.
Another look around the area and she darted around the counter. M. Winslow. The name and room number was posted to a board with little red lights that flashed when someone required the nursing staff’s attention.
Room 529.
She didn’t believe it possible, but her heartbeat thudded painfully in her chest. This was it.
Wiping her damp palms on her robe a second time, she rechecked the area, then hurried from around the counter.
She checked the sign. Rooms 519 to 529. Melanie would be at the end of the corridor.
She’d come this far, she couldn’t back out now. Nervously she headed toward the end of the corridor, staying close to the pale-mauve walls for support. Stopping outside the slightly opened door to room 529, she listened, barely able to hear a thing beyond the blood pounding in her ears.
Absolute quiet. No television, radio or even the sounds of a magazine or book pages being turned. With one last glance down the corridor, she quietly pushed the door open. By the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room, she spotted the bed. Curled on her side sleeping peacefully, was a tiny girl with hair as dark as Rebecca’s own and a pert nose remarkably reminiscent of Rebecca’s mother.
Her breath stopped, and she fought an unexpected rush of tears. This was her child, her daughter. Carefully she stepped more fully into the room and approached the bed. Melanie Winslow looked so small and fragile, Rebecca’s heart broke as if it was nothing more than delicate crystal smashed cruelly against the pavement. She deeply resented that she’d had to give this beautiful child away, but her father hadn’t given her a choice.
Dwelling on the past solved nothing. She had to look to the future, grateful to have the one month Sam had granted her.
The girl stirred. Rebecca held her breath as realization flooded her. God, what had she done? If Melanie awakened and found her here, how would she explain her presence later? She’d promised Sam she wouldn’t do this—and look at her, sneaking around the hospital in the middle of the night.
Melanie snuggled further beneath the blankets, and Rebecca expelled the breath she’d been holding. As carefully and as quietly as possible she backed out of the room and pulled the door near closed.
By the time she reached
