Her hand was shaking so badly that she could barely hold the phone to her ear. “Pammy? Chloe has GVHD. Oh God, oh God! I’m going to lose her, Pammy! I’m going to l–lose her!”
“Cathy! Listen to me! We’re coming. John and I are coming. Call Vicky now! And Michael! Talk to them, okay? Just—just hang on. Do you hear?”
“Yes—yes.” Cathy ended the call. Blind panic assaulted her. She tried to breathe. Her hands were still shaking badly. She pulled her purse over and clumsily fished out Winter’s cell. She started to speed-dial Michael’s number. A shaft of reason speared through her panic. She shut the phone, squeezing shut her eyes. What am I doing? Michael was the last person she could call. But God, she could use his strong arms to hold her, to hear his voice comforting her. He was her anchor, her mooring. But she couldn’t call him. The wave of old terror crashed over her, and she went under. Oh God, Chloe! Her whole body trembled uncontrollably. She slid down the wall to the floor. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, wrenched by sobs.
When her sister and brother-in-law flew into Austin, they wanted to know immediately what was happening with their niece. Cathy was able to tell them, with a fair share of control over her emotions, that Chloe’s status was still critical. She couldn’t stop the tremors in her voice, though. “Chloe is receiving high doses of corticosteroids. That’s the standard treatment. All we can do now is wait and pray.”
Pam’s hands flew to her mouth. Beyond uttering a strangled murmur, she didn’t say anything, but her eyes glazed with tears. Standing beside her, her husband drew in a deep breath. With uncharacteristic abruptness, John Thompson said, “I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. We’ve sublet a house.”
Cathy was grateful for her brother-in-law’s matter-of-factness. She nodded, understanding what had not been spoken. “Thank you,” she whispered.
For days, when he spoke to her on the phone, she was withdrawn and distracted. She wasn’t making time for him. She wasn’t available either in person or, increasingly, even by phone. It was worse than before. He couldn’t figure it out, no matter how much he revolved it in his mind. Michael thought back carefully. The change had taken place around the time she had cooked dinner for him…his heart stuttered in his chest.
Winter must have found out. She must have seen me at her apartment. Michael swore at himself. He had broken their agreement. He had broken her trust. He had intruded into her life when she had made it very clear that she wanted to keep it separate.
It was driving him crazy. He had to talk to her. He had to explain, to apologize. But it seemed like he could never get her on the phone anymore. She wouldn’t return his voice mails or his texts. Michael pressed her number again. “Pick up, Winter. Pick up!”
Then suddenly, she did. He was so surprised that it took him a moment to find his voice. “Winter?”
“Michael. I’m sorry.” She sounded disjointed, not altogether there. “I forgot. You called, didn’t you? I’m sorry.”
Damn straight, I called! Several times! But he wouldn’t say that. Not when he needed to find out what was going on, if they were going on. Besides his anxiety over their relationship, he was worried about her. It wasn’t like her to just freeze him out without a word, no matter how angered she might be.
He could hear noise in the background, the tinny sound of an intercom even though he wasn’t able to make out the message. Obviously, she was somewhere public. She could go out somewhere, but she couldn’t call him? His concern segued into a surge of annoyance. Michael thrust his fingers hard through his hair. “Where the hell have you been? It’s been days since I’ve seen you or heard from you. I’ve been worried!”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” There was still that disturbing distance in her voice.
His frustration and anger escalated. He paced back and forth. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you!”
“I know…I know. It’s not a good time. My daughter—”