“I feel kind of like I’m going to throw up.”
“Some nausea is also to be expected. That doesn’t concern me.”
Owen was pleased that Dr. Cammerman was copacetic with him throwing up all over himself. “I also feel a little dizzy.”
“Again, that’s perfectly normal. Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Owen.”
Before the surgery, Dr. Cammerman told him that some people feel a sense of rebirth after a stem cell transplant. “It’s like you’re a brand-new person,” he’d said.
Owen had desperately wanted to believe that after the surgery, something fundamental in him would change. But now, having emerged from the operation, he felt no different.
Jessica sat in the family and friends area at Memorial Sloan Kettering, hanging by a string. A thin, fraying one at that.
Her mantra was baby steps. First, she had to get through James’s funeral. She had barely done that when Haley dropped her bombshell, knocking Jessica for a second loop. She’d had little choice but to cast aside Haley’s claim, however. She needed to be there for her son.
Wayne sat beside her now. Yesterday, he had undergone the donor procedure, and now he sported an ice pack on his pelvis.
“Are you in much pain?” she asked.
“Not too bad,” he said.
The last time they’d been together in a hospital waiting room was for Owen’s first chemo session, four years earlier. Jessica still remembered that day too vividly for her liking. The way she’d gripped Wayne’s hand, using every bit of her energy to not shed a tear in front of her thirteen-year-old son.
When Jessica was pregnant, she and Wayne often talked about the future their baby would enjoy. How the world would change in his lifetime and the kinds of opportunities that would be available to him. The one thing they never discussed, never even considered, was that he’d be sick. Or that before he even graduated from high school, they’d wish for nothing more than survival for their child.
“This is the worst part,” Wayne said.
Jessica smiled at his effort to be positive. “They’re all the worst parts.”
Doctor Cammerman came out at a little past three. At first, he was stone-faced, but as he got closer to them, a small smile crept to his lips. It was enough for Jessica to exhale deeply for the first time that day.
“The transplant is complete, and Owen is doing great,” he said. “He’s going to rest for another hour. Then you can visit him. Remember, the protocol has to be strictly followed, for Owen’s safety. Masks and gloves.”
It was nearly two hours before a nurse finally entered the waiting room. She told Jessica and Wayne that they were able to see their son.
The nurse didn’t take them through the door where Owen and Dr. Cammerman had exited the waiting room but instead led them to the elevator and then down several floors. Once they were on the third floor, they followed her through a maze of hallways until she pushed open a door with a sign that read RECOVERY.
If only that were true, Jessica thought.
From there they traversed another hallway, this one wider than the others, allowing for gurneys to pass both ways. At the end was another door with another sign. This one read INTENSIVE CARE.
Behind that door was a reception area, no different from the countless waiting rooms Jessica had seen. The nurse explained why this one was different.
“In the closet are surgical gowns, caps, gloves, and masks. Please put them on,” she said.
Jessica watched Wayne suit up. Once he looked like he was ready to perform surgery, she did likewise.
After they were finished, the nurse said, “Owen is in bed two. The doctor only wants you to stay for a few minutes this time. Owen needs his rest now.” She opened the door for them and stepped aside, allowing them entry.
In bed two lay their seventeen-year-old son, asleep. He didn’t look any worse for wear, but for the hospital-issued pajamas.
“Maybe we should let him sleep,” Jessica said.
Wayne nodded that he agreed.
Owen opened an eye. “Hey,” he said with a croaky, low voice.
“Hey, O,” Wayne said. “You look good, my man.”
“Thanks. Feel great,” Owen managed more clearly.
“The doctor said the operation was a total success,” Jessica said, trying to sound upbeat.
Owen nodded. “I’m really tired.”
“Just sleep,” Jessica said. “We’ll see you later.”
Owen squinted through his one open eye, apparently realizing for the first time that his parents were head to toe in hospital scrubs.
“Did you two plan on wearing the same outfits today?” he said.
If Owen had jumped out of bed and danced a jig, Jessica couldn’t have been happier. To her, his lame joke meant that maybe Wayne was right after all. Maybe the worst was over.
And then she remembered what Haley had said.
Allison suggested they meet at the St. Regis. She explained that she worked out of her home and normally brought clients to the dealer’s showroom.
Reid hardly cared. He worked from wherever money could be made, and if that was the St. Regis, so be it.
It wasn’t lost on him that Allison hadn’t selected either the Mark or the Carlyle, the two hotels closest to James’s office. That worked fine for him as well. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the scene of the crime either.
It had been the typical hurry-up-and-wait process that characterized so many art deals. After she initially told Reid that he needed to secure the Pollock sketches right away, Allison’s other commitments delayed the next step. They were supposed to meet last week, and then at the last minute she had canceled. He half expected her not to be there today either.
In the late afternoon, the St. Regis’s lobby was nearly empty. Its only occupants were a few businessmen going
