Robin Cook - Fever

“My God!” exclaimed Cathryn, beginning to appreciate the extent of Charles’s isolation.

“Where are the boys?” asked Charles.

“Chuck’s at Mother’s. Jean Paul is in Shaftesbury, staying with a friend.”

“Good,” said Charles. “Things might get rough around here.”

Husband and wife, both at the limits of their emotional reserves, stared at each other across the kitchen table. A surge of love swept over them. They stood up and fell into each other’s arms, holding on desperately as if they were afraid something would force them apart. They both knew nothing was resolved, but the reaffirmation of their love gave them new strength.

“Please trust me, and love me,” said Charles.

“I love you,” said Cathryn, feeling tears on her cheek. “That’s never been a problem. The issue has only been Michelle.”

“Then trust that I have only her best interests at heart,” said Charles. “You know how much I love her.”

Cathryn pulled away to look up into Charles’s face. “Everyone thinks you’ve had a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know what to think, particularly with your carrying on about Recycle when the real issue was Michelle’s treatment.”

“Recycle just gave me something to do. The most frustrating part of Michelle’s illness was that I couldn’t do anything, which is what happened with Elizabeth. Back then all I could do was watch her die, and it seemed as if it was going to be the same situation with Michelle. I needed something to focus on, and Recycle galvanized my need for action. But my anger about what they’re doing is real enough, as well as my commitment to get them to stop. But obviously my main interest is Michelle, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.”

Cathryn felt as if she’d been freed from an enormous weight. She was now certain that Charles had never lost contact with reality.

“What about Michelle’s condition?” asked Cathryn.

“Not good,” admitted Charles. “She’s a terribly sick child. It’s amazing how aggressive her disease is. I’ve given her morphine because she’s had awful stomach cramps.” Charles embraced Cathryn again and averted his face.

“She had some while I was with her, too,” said Cathryn. She could feel Charles tremble as he fought back his tears. Cathryn held him as tightly as she could.

They stood together for another five minutes. There were no words but the communication was total. Finally Charles pulled away. When he turned back she saw that his eyes were red, his expression serious.

“I’m glad we had the opportunity to talk,” said Charles. “But I don’t think you should stay here. Without doubt there will be trouble. It’s not that I don’t want you to be with me; in fact, selfishly I’d like you to stay. But I know it would be better if you got Jean Paul and went back to your mother’s.” Charles nodded his head as if he were convincing himself.

“I want you to be selfish,” said Cathryn. She experienced a new sense of confidence that she could be a wife. “My place is here. Jean Paul and Chuck will be all right.”

“But Cathryn…”

“No buts,” said Cathryn. “I’m staying and I’m helping.”

Charles examined his wife’s face. She looked positively defiant.

“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.