Dance with the Doctor. Cindi Myers
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a boy had died, a boy like Riley.
Mike folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. “When did your son die?” he asked.
“January twenty-first, two thousand and eight.”
“The same day as my transplant,” Taylor said. She took a step closer to Darcy. “Do you think I have his heart?”
“Except that I never contacted the donor registry,” Mike said. “It’s possible there were two transplants performed that day.”
“Oh.” Darcy hadn’t thought of that. She was surprised at how disappointed she felt.
“Dad?”
Both adults turned to the girl, who looked as if she’d just been caught cheating on a math test. “I … I wrote a letter to the Donor Alliance.”
“You did?” Mike frowned. “When?”
“A few weeks ago. I’ve been thinking a lot about the boy who gave me his heart and … and I just wanted to know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mike said, clearly stricken.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Taylor said. “You always said it would be better not to know my donor’s identity, that the family deserved their privacy. But I really wanted to know.” She bit her lower lip. “I took some stationery from your desk and pretended to be you. I thought if the donor family wrote back and said they wanted to meet me, then I’d tell you and it would be all right.”
“You lied, Taylor,” Mike said. “That’s wrong.”
“But I thought it didn’t really matter, since the donor family never answered.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to know about the child who got Riley’s heart,” Darcy said. “I just … I guess I was afraid. That it might be too hard.”
Mike put his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to lean into that comforting weight, to draw strength from him. “I’m sorry this has upset you,” he said.
“It’s all right.” Taylor still looked guilty, and a little scared. “Really, it’s fine,” Darcy said. “I’ll admit it was a shock, but if you do have Riley’s heart, I’m glad. Truly, I am.”
“We don’t know for sure your son was Taylor’s donor,” Mike said.
“That’s true,” Darcy said. The transplant had been performed at Denver Children’s Hospital. The recipient of Riley’s heart could have come from anywhere in the area, even from Wyoming. But the timing couldn’t be a coincidence. How likely was it that two heart transplants had been performed that fateful day?
“What did you say your son’s name was?” Taylor asked.
“Riley. He was big for his age. Maybe his heart was a little bigger too, and that’s why it was a good fit for you.” Darcy glanced at Mike. “Could that be right?”
“Yes, it could.”
“Do you have a picture of Riley?” Taylor asked.
“Over there.” Darcy nodded at the picture of Riley and Pete by the door. “But there’s a better one in here.” She led the way to the living room, and the portrait of Riley in his baseball uniform. “That was taken a couple of weeks before … before the accident.”
“He’s cute,” Taylor said. “I like his freckles.”
“I imagine the two of you could have been friends,” Darcy said. When he’d died, Riley had been at the age where he thought of girls as “icky” but maybe by now he’d see them differently. Darcy swallowed hard. No. She couldn’t let her thoughts dwell on what might have been. Mike had joined them in the living room. “Why did Taylor need the transplant?” she asked.
His sadness intensified. Had she been out of line to ask him to recall what must have been a terrifying time? But it was too late to take back the question now. “When she was nine she developed cardiomyopathy,” he said. “An inflammation of the heart muscle. It’s usually caused by some kind of infection, but we’re not sure what caused it or where it came from. By the time hers was diagnosed, the heart muscle was damaged beyond repair.”
“How horrible.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “How could a pediatrician have missed such a serious illness in his own daughter? But it’s not like the flu or an infected toenail. And Taylor isn’t the type to complain.”
“I wasn’t thinking any such thing,” she said. Mike clearly adored his daughter. But she recognized his guilt—those silent accusations that intimated her son would be okay today if she had only been a better parent.
“There’s no danger now,” Mike said. “As long as Taylor’s careful and remembers to take her medication.”
“I was distracted today,” Taylor said, blushing. “I won’t forget again.” She glanced at Darcy. “Dad’s always worried I’m going to overdo it, or that I’ll catch some infection from someone. He doesn’t even like me to go to the mall.”
“He wants to protect you,” Darcy said. “It’s what parents do.”
“I think it’s ‘cause he’s a doctor,” Taylor said. “He sees sick people all day and reads medical journals full of articles about horrible diseases, then he imagines everything bad that can happen.”
That wasn’t it, Darcy thought. Mike knew all the bad things that could happen because he’d lived them. Children weren’t supposed to have to get new hearts to stay alive, but his had. Who could blame him for fearing the worst after that? “You’re lucky to have a father who cares so much.”
Mike sent her a look of gratitude and sympathy. How had she ever lumped him with the arrogant and distant physicians she’d encountered? Though in truth, maybe even those doctors weren’t so bad, and her impressions were colored by the circumstances.
Still, Mike was different. Losing a child, or almost losing one, left scars only someone who had been through the same thing could understand. “Come on, Taylor, it’s time we went home,” Mike said. “Back to your life of drudgery and oppression.”
Taylor rolled her eyes.
Darcy walked them to the door. Taylor ran ahead to the car, but Mike paused for a moment. “Will you contact the Donor Alliance?” he asked.
“Yes. Just to confirm our suspicions.”
“I’m sorry if this has upset you.”
She glanced past him, at Taylor climbing into the backseat of the car. She’d been drawn to Taylor from their first meeting. Was it because she recognized something of her son in the child? “I’m glad you were able to find a donor for her, even if it wasn’t Riley.”
“Thank you.” He joined her in watching Taylor. “She’s right,” he said. “I do worry too much. I can’t seem to help it.”
“Maybe you’ll worry less as she gets older.” And stronger. Surely every year past the surgery meant a better prognosis for Taylor. Mike would see his daughter grow up, and all the worry would be worth that joy. At least that’s what she imagined she’d feel if their roles were reversed.
CHAPTER THREE
“THIS SITUATION IS very irregular.” Mavis Shehadi, Donor Coordinator for the Colorado Donor Alliance, studied the two adults and the child in chairs before her desk. “So you met entirely by coincidence.” She shook her head. “I’ve heard some unusual stories in my time here, but this is one of the more unbelievable ones.”
“Are you going to spend the rest of this meeting questioning our motives,” Mike said, “or are you going to tell us what we came here to find out?”
Darcy sympathized with Mike’s anger.