She looked into his face. "If you're sure you want me to come."

"I don't make idle offers." He might not have thought it through completely before he threw it out to her, but once he'd said it, he wasn't taking it back. He didn't operate that way, even if the next few days might be close encounters of the worst kind. He'd acted on instinct, and that usually paid off.

"Then I'll be ready. Are you going to stay with your family, or did you want to ..."

He quirked his mouth. "I already sampled your couch. I'll get a room."

"In a motel?"

He took the house key from her hand and unlocked her door. "I spend most of my life in hotels."

"Not the kind you'll find here."

Why was she pushing it?

"Good night, Jill."

He waited until the door closed and locked behind her, then went to his car. No doubt it was absurd to stay in a roadside motel when his family was twenty minutes away. They would have a bed for him, and they would want to see him. But he had put them through enough the first time. The less they knew, especially now that Jill was going with him, the better it was for all of them. Mom would not let it go until she had probed out every nuance, and Morgan had no answers except that he intended to find his daughter and improve her situation by any means he could.

The motel bed was at least better than Jill's couch, and he was tired enough it would do. The lack of a minibar was disappointing, but not enough for him to go find a liquor store. That would only be an invitation to traipse down memory lane, and that was one trip he'd rather skip. The football game had been enough to quicken memory and more. He needed to keep his purpose foremost. He never wanted to feel that helpless again.

CHAPTER.

18.

Kelsey sat in the hospital chapel, breathing hard just from walking. Like it was some major thing to move her legs! How discouraging was that? But she tried to hide it. Mom was worried enough, and Kelsey hated to make it worse. She had begged to come to the chapel, even though Mom was concerned about infection, and rightly so. But there was so much fear and sorrow in the oncology ward it had overwhelmed her spirit.

Her roommate had been taken to intensive care with fever spikes of a hundred and six. She had mumbled loudly in the middle of the night until Kelsey realized she was delirious. She'd buzzed the nurse and they had taken Rachel away.

Kelsey lay waiting for her own fever to spike, but the antibiotics they'd started at the first sign of fever yesterday seemed to be controlling it. So far. She'd asked the nurse for pizza and eaten it at 2:20 A. M. It tasted bad, but the milk shake with it helped, and for once she'd been hungry.

Mom settled into the chair beside her in the chapel. Dad was making phone calls. There were so many people praying for her. Peace permeated the quiet chapel in the middle of the busy hospital. How many scared cries had gone up inside these walls? She closed her eyes and asked Jesus to give Rachel strength. She'd had her surgery yesterday, and from the faces of the oncologists, they were optimistic.

Jesus, don't let this infection stop her healing.

Rachel was twelve, and her fifteen-year-old brother had been a constant visitor before the surgery. His broad face had more coppery freckles than anyone Kelsey had ever seen. Even his fingers were freckled. He'd smiled at her when he came in to see his sister. "Hi, there. Mind if I barge in on you and Rachie for a while?"

Kelsey shook her head. "Barge away."

They'd ended up playing Scrabble on Rachel's bed, laughing at the ridiculous letter combinations Josh tried to pass off as words. Since they didn't have a dictionary to prove him wrong, Kelsey accessed one on her laptop and gleefully pointed out his errors. Now Rachel was in intensive care, and Kelsey once again faced her own condition.

It was dumb to think she couldn't die. Even if she had made it to five years on her first remission and been declared cured, she wasn't sure she'd have believed it. God had numbered her days regardless of all the Cytoxin and radiation the oncologists had to offer. Lately she felt stretched and flimsy, like a musical story she'd heard as a child where the character had become "see-through-ish." That's how she felt.

She smiled when Mom took her hand. "It's a nice chapel, isn't it?"

Mom nodded. "It's good to have a place set aside for the Lord."

"Besides our hearts?"

Mom smiled. "I don't know how people are coping here without God's grace to strengthen them."

Kelsey nodded. "Please pray for Rachel. She doesn't think Jesus loves her anymore. She told me something I can't tell you, something she's ashamed of, and now she thinks Jesus can't love her."

"It's easy to believe the devil's lies."

Kelsey drew in a slow breath. "It was. But everything seems clearer now. Like I'm not expecting so much anymore."

Her mother's face tightened. Had she hurt her? She hadn't meant to.

"It's not like I've lost hope. I just feel different. I can't explain it."

Mom squeezed her hand. "I love you."

Kelsey squeezed back. "I love you, too." She closed her eyes and let the quiet of the chapel settle inside her. That's how it felt, like the peace moved from the room into her body. Maybe she breathed it in, or it went in through her skin. Maybe into her blood that didn't know what it was doing anymore.

Would Morgan's bone marrow teach hers how to behave? Morgan Name Spencer. Her dad. No. Her friend? That felt more like it. She should have told Jill she would meet him. It wasn't her decision, but if she asked enough she could make it happen. When she got back home. Maybe. Right now she'd pray for him, and for Jill. This couldn't be easy for them. At least Jill loved Jesus. Did Morgan?

He must be a nice guy to go through it all for her. He could have said no. Maybe Jill would tell her more about him. It was nice to e-mail her and know they had a truth pact. When she got back to the room, she would write her again. But right now she was in the chapel to pray for Rachel and all the kids she'd written to and all the others in the ward. Even though it was hard to focus. Jesus, I'm too tired to think of all their names. But you know us. We're your little army, fighting with the big angel soldiers. It's just that I'm tired. So tired. And she fell asleep in the chair.

Jill checked her mail, trying not to hope for a note from Kelsey, but when it came up, a little thrill passed through her.

Hi, Jill. My roommate, Rachel, had brain surgery and is in intensive care. I'm so glad my cancer is not in my brain. Her brother Josh is really nice. He doesn't care that I have no hair. He's used to bald girls. Says he prefers it. He has so many freckles it makes me laugh and he's a terrible cheat at Scrabble. I know I'm too young, but he's the kind of person I would like to date someday, if Dad ever let me. Which I'm not sure he would, since no one will ever be good enough for his little girl. He already told me that. Of course he was joking.

Jill smiled.

But if I did like boys, which of course I secretly admit to you because we're telling the truth, I MIGHT like Josh just a little more than anyone else. Now you have to tell me a secret. Can it be about Morgan? Write soon. Kelsey Kelsey's entire tone was upbeat and chatty compared to the last letter. She would match that tone in her reply.

Dear Kelsey, I'm glad you had fun with Josh. He sounds very nice.

Not many boys would handle a sensitive subject like baldness so well. His sister's illness must have tempered him. That was always how it was. Experience, hardship, suffering broadened and developed people so much more than prosperity.

He might be just the kind to convince your dad to rethink his position.

As Morgan had won over her own father until they crossed the line and ruined it all. Somehow she doubted Kelsey would make those mistakes, but then, Jill sighed, she'd been awfully naive herself.

I'm trying to think of a secret you would enjoy. Maybe I'll start at the beginning.

It would be hard not to think and write about Morgan, with his presence today still haunting the very air she breathed.

I knew Morgan through cheerleading at his football games, running track, and student council. We actually campaigned against each other for class president one year. (I won, but only because Morgan told everyone I'd do a better job.) Even before that, I had a serious, though secret, crush. All the girls in the school were crazy about him because he wasn't stuck-up or mean like many of the good-looking guys. He had a way of looking at you that made you feel beautiful.

Jill closed her eyes, remembering. She had thought other guys were cute, but Morgan was different.

I was not beautiful. First, I had been accelerated a year, so I was younger than anyone in my class. As a freshman I was dubbed "Sprite." I was tall and nicely streamlined for athletics, but, ahem, the other girls had figures.

A rueful reality throughout her entire adolescence. But Morgan had noticed her anyway. He did call her Sprite like everyone else, but he almost made it endearing.

For some reason, Morgan considered me a challenge. We vied for top grades, sports records, and volunteer projects. For one talent show he dared me to sing with him the duet, "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better." And I think he meant every word.

She smiled now to think of it.

Morgan enjoyed competition, wanted to be challenged. He would not give up. But if he did lose, he never made excuses. When I scored higher on the PSAT, he said, "Way to go, Sprite. I knew there were brains in there." He was a natural encourager.

Maybe that's what she missed most in the man he had become. Jill bit her lip. Don't get morose. Keep it light. This is Kelsey, not a diary.

In our senior year we were nominated king and queen for the homecoming dance. You can imagine my excitement when he asked me to be his date, but there was a glitch. I wasn't allowed to date until I was seventeen. Since I had been accelerated, I wouldn't turn seventeen until November, two months past the homecoming dance. My begging accomplished nothing until Morgan himself asked my father's permission. He did it so respectfully, impressively, my Dad agreed not only to the dance but other events as well.

To this day Dad held up that instance of acquiescence as an example of giving the enemy a foothold.

"Go against what you know is right, give in just a little, and reap the consequences."

He blamed himself for putting her at risk. That was why he'd been so ugly to Morgan and his dad. She sighed.

I guess the best thing about Morgan was that he cared about what you thought and believed. He liked to talk, really talk, unlike most guys his age. He wanted to know what was inside. And if something was wrong, he wanted to fix it.

Jill pressed her fingers to her eyes. As he was doing now. As he must have wanted so badly to do from the first. She fought the tears.

That's why he wants so much to help you.

Her throat tightened painfully.

I'm praying for sweet dreams for you tonight.

No pain or illness. How she wanted Kelsey to be past it all.

Oh, here's a secret for you. When Morgan has his marrow drawn, I'll be with him. He knew how much I wanted to do it for you myself. God bless you, Kelsey. Jill By the daylight, Morgan guessed he'd woken early; then he remembered he was in the Midwest and it could be later than it seemed. He rolled to his side and read the clock. 5:41. He yawned and stretched. Not the time of morning he usually rolled out, but the sooner they had it over with, the better.

He took a quick shower and brushed his teeth, packed his overnight bag, and checked out. Then he drove back to Jill's. Not much chance she was still in bed if the running shoes he'd noticed yesterday were any indication. Six-thirty had been her running time. Well, he'd brought gear of his own and had dressed in that just in case.

Sure enough, she was on the stoop in a sport tank and shorts, ankle socks and powder blue Nikes when he pulled up. "I was just going to run."

He climbed out and set the car alarm. Though he worked with a personal trainer, he had not since high school considered punishing his body this early in the day. Yet he raised his foot in his Adidas running shoe. "I'll go with you."

She looked up from stretching her left Achilles tendon. "You will?"

"Yeah. We'll run to Starbucks." He gave a cursory stretch to his own calves.

She smiled. "Think you can handle that distance?"

"Think you can touch my speed?"

She bit her lower lip, smiling. "We'll see, won't we?" She pushed her headband slightly higher, then took off.

Morgan settled beside her at a comfortable pace. She was only warming up. But she was obviously a morning person. He remembered that.

It had been a long time since he'd jogged beside Jill Runyan, but he knew her stride. They left the complex behind and ran along the neighborhood street, block after block of quiet, well-tended homes. People were stirring, but no one else was running. A few dog walkers, one pair of cyclists. They reached the first stoplight and ran in place until it changed, then took off across the street together. The strip mall came in sight, but it was still half a mile away. Total distance couldn't be much more than two, two and a half miles.

Jill picked up her pace. Morgan matched it. Distance was not his long suit, but he'd kept in good enough shape over the years to do this, even at an ungodly hour, without throwing up. He hoped.

The air was thick, too. He'd grown used to the coastal air, not exactly the thin, arid air of the Rocky Mountains, but nowhere near the wet blanket now filling his lungs. At the next light he was tempted to bend low and suck wind, but he kept his legs moving and his chest high. They crossed, and her nose smelled the finish line. She always finished strong, but he was sure he had a sprint left in him.

They reached the block of the strip mall, and he leaned into his speed. She almost kept pace but fell back as he neared the Starbucks door. Reaching it, he did bend and grip his knees. Why had he crawled out of bed? She reached him, slowing and walking the last few paces. He pressed his back to the outside wall and waited for his chest to recover.

She smiled. "You all right?"

"No."

"Shall I call an ambulance?"

He winked. "Just perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." She didn't have to look that startled. "It was a joke, Jill." He pressed his hand against his side.

She pulled open the door. "I hope they have something cold."

"I hope they have something strong." He ordered his usual morning blend. She had a mocha Frappuccino. They sat together by the window. Her eyes were too clear to be called stormy but definitely on the gray side of blue. He was glad she didn't babble this time. He started his mornings slow. It wasn't exactly an amiable silence, more a lack of anything to say. But he did like to drink his coffee in peace.

Halfway through her Frappuccino, she pushed it away. "I forgot to mention why I don't drink coffee."

He cocked his head. "Feeling it?"

"On an empty stomach, I am definitely getting the shakes." She stood up and paced as he took his last swallow.

He was feeling it, too, but it was resurrection. "You don't intend to run back, do you?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "I planned on it."

He stood up and tossed his cup. "What if I beg?"

She dropped her chin and eyed him. "Fast walk?"

"That I can handle." He held the door for her. She was definitely caffeinated, rising to her toes and jogging in place at the corner of the parking lot while they waited for the light. She took off her headband and shook her hair, then replaced the band and struck out the moment the light went green. Maybe he ought to let her run it out. He could recover later.

He started to jog, then run, not quite the pace they'd kept before, but close. This time he was not sprinting to the finish. Jill could reach the townhouse first; he just needed to make it without a heart attack. She kept the pace even all the way to her door.

"Mind if I use your shower?" He definitely needed to wash the sweat and midwestern film from his skin again.

She hesitated, then, "Go ahead. I'll take Rascal over to Shelly's."

He took his bag from the trunk and went inside. Maybe it was presumptuous to use her shower, but his options were limited. He hadn't meant to drive her out of the house, though. He soaped off quickly with her apple-scented body wash, the only soap he could find, rinsed, and shut off the water. He toweled dry and dressed in khaki shorts and a navy Polo T-shirt, ran a comb through his hair, and stepped out of the bathroom.