Abby Gaines - The Wedding Plan

“It was for your own good,” he said. “I couldn’t promote you until you learned not to be insubordinate. You were even worse when you were the enemy—you could never accept that prisoner of war meant you were the loser.”

“You could never understand that I might have cooperated if you didn’t insist on being in command,” she retorted.

Though today had proved that a tendency to take charge wasn’t always a bad thing. While Merry had been paralyzed with shock, Lucas had found a blanket in the office, put it over her father, continued monitoring his pulse. He’d stayed so calm as they’d waited for the ambulance.

“You were great today,” she blurted.

“I didn’t do anything.” He folded his arms across his chest.

The door to the waiting room opened. A woman wearing scrubs came in. “Ms. Wyatt?”

Merry stood on legs that were suddenly leaden. “That’s me.”

“I’m Dr. Randall. Your father is stable in ICU.”

“Stable.” Merry clutched the word.

“I’m afraid that’s a temporary state,” the doctor said. “We’re still running tests, but we believe your father has dialysis-associated peritonitis.”

He’d had that before, though not so badly that he’d collapsed. Infection was a constant risk for peritoneal dialysis patients, usually resulting from a lapse in hygiene during the process. Merry made sure everything occurred in a sterile fashion during his lunchtime session, but she could imagine her dad “not bothering” in the evening.

“I’ll supervise him every time from now on,” she vowed. “I’ll move in with him—I’ll hold a gun to his head until he scrubs every last speck of sawdust from under his fingernails.”

Dr. Randall looked startled. Lucas grinned.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” the doctor said. “If the infection’s as severe as we believe, Mr. Wyatt can’t continue on peritoneal dialysis…and the reason he switched to PD two years ago was because hemodialysis was no longer a possibility for him.”

Lucas’s smile vanished. “How long does he have?”

What did he mean, how long? That was the kind of question you asked about people who…

“We expect his kidney failure to become fatal in the next ten days,” Dr. Randall said.

“Dad’s going to die?” Merry’s knees sagged. Before she could keel over, Lucas’s arm came around her shoulders, held her up. Impersonal, but strong. “In ten days?”

“Given his current condition, I’d say more likely in the next four or five days. I’m sorry, Ms. Wyatt, not to have better news.” The doctor fingered the stethoscope protruding from her trouser pocket. “I know this won’t make you feel better right now, but kidney failure is considered one of the gentler forms of death. Very peaceful. Many medical personnel say it’s the way they’d like to go.”

Merry started to laugh. She knew she was becoming hysterical, but couldn’t stop it.

The doctor took a step backward.

Lucas tightened his hold on Merry’s shoulder. “There must be something we can do.”

“There’s still the possibility of a donor kidney becoming available,” the doctor said. “I know you’re not a match, Ms. Wyatt, but are there any other relatives or friends who might agree to being tested?”

“I will,” Lucas said.

Merry caught her breath. “You’d do that? For Dad?”

“Your dad saved my dad’s life. Time the Calders returned the favor.”

The doctor looked confused. “So…this isn’t your husband?”

“No!” They spoke almost in unison, with Merry just a tad faster.

“What blood type are you?” Dr. Randall asked Lucas. “That’s the first thing to consider before we move ahead to any tests.”

“I’m A positive. What do you need?” As if he could change his blood type to suit.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor told him what Merry already knew. “Mr. Wyatt is type O, so we need an O donor.”

“Maybe my father’s a match.” Lucas offered up one of Dwight’s kidneys without hesitation.

“Your dad already got tested back when Dad had to move off hemodialysis,” Merry said. “And Dwight made such a fuss about Stephanie doing it, she backed down. I think we’ve exhausted our pool of related donors,” she told the doctor. “Has Dad moved up the general transplant list?”

“It’s not a list, as such,” the doctor said. “Patients are assigned points based on several criteria. But, yes, your father has more points than he did yesterday.” She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands, looking exhausted. Merry almost forgave her the comment about a “gentle” death.

After the physician left, Merry realized Lucas’s arm was still around her. She moved away. “Lucas, thank you for offering to get tested. That was—” Her throat clogged.

“A safe bet,” he said with a shrug. “What were the odds I’d end up a match?”

But she knew he’d meant it. Merry found herself scrubbing her eyes the same way the doctor had. “Where am I going to get a kidney?” she said. “Could I buy one on eBay?” She was joking, but only just.

“Too Third World,” he said. “Better to stake out the blood donor clinic, figure out who’s a match, then run them over in the parking lot.”

She managed a watery smile. “Great idea.”

“The challenge is not to kill them,” he mused, “but to get them into the hospital close enough to death for the kidney to be available stat.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

The nurse stuck her head around the door again. “Ms. Wyatt, you can see your father now. Ten minutes, just one of you.” She spoke to Merry, but looked at Lucas.

Merry jumped to her feet. “At last. Thank you.”

Lucas put a hand on her arm, stalling her. “Merry…if the doctor’s right, and your father doesn’t have much time, you probably need to tell some people. Folks who want to say goodbye. I could leave now, go make some calls.”

The room swam for a moment and she grasped the back of the chair she’d just vacated. “His friends,” she murmured. “Old navy buddies. If we ask your father and a couple of others to pass the word along… Dad will tell me who to speak to. I’ll text you.”

“Family?”

She shook her head. “He has cousins in England, but it’s only the younger generation left. We’re not in touch.”

It sounded so lonely. So sad. Yet it hadn’t been, not when there’d been the two of them.

But in a few days, it would be only Merry.

* * *

MERRY’S FATHER’S ROOM was a hive of monitors, wires, tubes. He took up most of the length of the bed, but little of the width. His eyes were open, unblinking, and for a horrified moment she thought he—

“Merry-Berry,” he rasped.

She rushed forward, looking for some part of him she could hold on to without ripping out a tube, or hurting him. There was nothing, no part of him untouched, except for the callused fingers of his right hand.

She sandwiched them between her palms. “Dad, you…” Slow down, don’t upset him. “You gave me a scare.”

His chuckle sounded like air leaking out of a balloon…but at least it was there. Maybe the doctor was wrong.

“When you get out of here, I’m going to monitor every dialysis session, whether you like it or not,” she vowed.

“Yes, dear,” he said with a faint smile. But his eyes said he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of here.

To her horror, a tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye and ran onto the pillow. “Dad, please…”

His fingers twitched between hers. “Merry…the lawyer has a copy of my will.”

“The doctor says you’ve moved up in the transplant points,” Merry said. “You could get a new kidney any minute.”