"You are a good man. It draws the notice." His sweat soaked the pillow. Thank God he hadn't gotten this before the bone marrow harvest. Thank God? Why not? At least his daughter would heal. Had his marrow engrafted? Was it making new cells, teaching her body to live? There was a thought he could cling to. Don't waste Consuela's prayers on me, Lord. Use them for Kelsey. He sprawled to his stomach, kicked off the sheet, and tried to sleep.

Kelsey stood up, determined to accomplish the "hall walk." Since she had not yet managed food, she slid her IV pole alongside and made it to the doorway. The mask over her mouth crinkled when she smiled at the nurse watching her progress. It was Jackie who usually did her daily measurements of waist girth and weight, drew the blood for the bilirubin and blood-sugar checks, and monitored her blood pressure, like any of that told them something they didn't know.

Her face was shaped like the moon, her waist like the lollipop girls. For someone who couldn't eat she was certainly putting on weight, and by the looks on everyone's faces it wasn't a healthy glow her skin had developed. It burned like a sunburn and itched.

"How did the ultrasound go?" Jackie pushed the door wide to fit the IV pole through.

Kelsey shrugged. "Haven't seen the pictures, but I'm hoping for a bouncing baby liver."

Jackie smiled. "You know this is all in the expected range."

"Oh, I know. Wouldn't want to disappoint the experts." She took a step down the hall, then realized how sharp that had sounded. That was another thing; her moods were all over the place and it was really hard not to give in to them. "Sorry, Jackie."

"That's okay. How far are you going to go?"

Kelsey looked down the hall. "To the bulletin board and back."

"Good goal. But this is your first time. Be gentle with yourself."

Meaning Jackie didn't think she could do it. All right, army, fight off those lying spirits. I am making it to the bulletin board and back. Her mouth was on fire, a side effect of the methotrexate, and even though she sponged her teeth and gums to avoid splits that might get infected, she had developed painful sores. She fought tears, but they came anyway. Why are you doing this, Jesus? I don't understand.

She swiped the tears so she could see where she was going and kept plodding. Guess I misunderstood. I thought we were praying for me to get well and Morgan to get sick. And that was such a snippy thought, she immediately repented. Actually, could we both just be well now? She felt too terrible to wish illness on anyone.

She sniffed. "I'm sorry, Jesus," she whispered. But for once there was no answer. Maybe the medications had blocked her ability to communicate spiritually. They had adjusted the drugs, but nothing was the same. "I know what you asked. But I'm sick enough for both of us."

She caught her foot on the roller and gripped the pole to steady herself. It doesn't make sense anyway. Nothing makes sense. But the message had been so clear: pray for him to get sick. That much she could remember even with her mind foggy. She looked down the hall. The bulletin board was too far. She might get there, but she'd never get back.

I don't want to make him sick. It wasn't as easy as it had seemed when she told Jill. Jesus had been so clear, and she had trusted Him so completely. Now ... She frowned at the stupid bulletin board. She couldn't make it. She turned around and there was Josh in gown and mask and gloves.

"Need a hand?"

She looked into his freckled face and started to cry. Of all the stupid things to do in front of him. But the tears would not stop. "It's the Prednisone."

His eyes smiled. "Your mask is soggy."

"It's the new style."

He laughed.

She dabbed her nose with her finger. "How'd you get through security?"

He took her elbow. "Bribed the nurses."

"With what?"

"Fudge."

"Don't offer me any."

He nodded. "Still not eating?"

"You'd never know it, I'm such a blimp." They were almost back to her door, and her legs were in revolt-just like her stomach and kidneys and liver.

"It'll go away."

"Will it?" She lowered herself to her bed. "Because I don't know that. Every day they come in with something else that's going wrong and right now-" She stopped at his pained expression and pressed her hands to her face. "I'm so sorry." She peered between her fingers. "I didn't think. I'm so sorry about Rachel. I didn't get to tell you." She dropped her hands to her lap.

His eyes had teared up. "I'm really sorry, too. I miss her. I miss teasing her." He tried to smile.

"I guess she knows that. I bet Jesus lets her watch and listen. If she wants to, I mean."

His sigh billowed the paper mask. "Maybe. That's why you have to get well for both of you. So she can see it and be glad." He looked around her room. "I was going to bring you flowers, but they said you couldn't have any."

Kelsey raised a pair of monster hands. "Fungus amungus. No fruit or veggies, either. At least not fresh. Of course, what goes down must come up, so I'm just as glad I can't have them." She could not believe she'd actually said that, but Josh laughed again.

"I really like that about you."

"What?"

"You're funny."

It surprised her to realize her own mood had lifted. "I'm glad you came." And the burn that rushed to her face had nothing to do with leukemia. "How'd you get here?"

"Guess."

"I don't know." She leaned back into her pillows.

"I drove."

"By yourself?"

He nodded. "Got my license."

"You mean you're sixteen now?" It suddenly seemed impossibly old.

"Yesterday. And I got my license so I could come see you."

She was not thinking clearly. "Did you know cyclosporine causes female facial hair?"

He cocked his head. "No, but I like bald, bearded girls."

Kelsey sputtered a laugh through her mask. "You do not mean that."

Jackie tapped the door. "Sorry, Josh, but it's time."

Kelsey drew her brows together, but she knew they'd already bent the rules. Probably because of Rachel. He didn't live far, right in New Haven. Maybe he would come again. "I'll see you, Josh." She tried to sound casual.

"I'll try to get through again. The others aren't as easy as Jackie."

"I heard that." Jackie put a hand to her hip.

Josh stood another moment, then gave a little wave and walked out. Jackie tossed her a smile. "Good job on your first hall walk."

Kelsey nodded. If Josh came back, she wouldn't even use her feet next time.

CHAPTER.

30.

Morgan sat on the side of the bed, a limp slug, but at least the cramping had left his stomach and his head no longer throbbed. It did, however, rest on his palms, braced by the elbows on his knees. He moaned at the knock. "I'm alive, Consuela." "It's Denise, Morgan. I have a wave of e-mail messages from a Todd Marlin? He insists you promised to meet with him. Are you in any condition to deal with it?"

Morgan grinned at her tone. He'd enjoy her expression more if she knew it was a thirteen-year-old kid making the demands that had her in a lather.

"Morgan?"

"You're right, Denise. This one's important. I'll be down shortly." Since when did his secretary roust him out of bed? Something was wrong with that picture. Of course, he'd been out of commission two days after promising to catch up.

He pushed himself up and stood still, checking his equilibrium. Not bad. The top stayed up, the middle didn't waver, and the legs held firm. Good. He went to the bathroom and took a shower, cleaned his mouth thoroughly, and even shaved. He dressed in a crisp shirt and slacks, though no tie, and went downstairs.

He waved Consuela off in the kitchen. "Just coffee, strong." Then he went downstairs to the office. He passed Denise without comment, booted up the computer, and got into his mail. He almost felt human. When Consuela arrived with the coffee and he took the first swig, he knew he'd live.

He pulled up the seventeen messages Todd had sent, surprised the language hadn't clued Denise. But then, many players in the high-tech field were equally illiterate with anything beyond acronyms.

He typed, Hey, Todd. Cool your jets. I've been flat on my back dog-sick. Wouldn't want to pass you those germs. How about this weekend? Think you can make it? Ask Stan. Ask nicely. Morgan.

He sat back from his desk and looked at Denise. "I'll meet with him this weekend if he works it out. Can you arrange a flight for one, first-class from DIA?"

"Transportation from the airport?"

"No, I'll pick him up."

"Morgan ..." He knew her objection. She hated the image of him meeting a prospective client at the airport himself.

"Trust me on this, Denise."

She turned back to her desk. "There's Malta Systems."

"I'm on it."

"I've printed the ten top prospecti for-"

Morgan quirked an eyebrow. "Did you say prospecti?"

She sent him the stare. "The prospects you tagged before leaving. They're on your desk to the left. On your right, you'll find several follow-up issues, one from Techstar that requires prompt attention."

"Thank you, Denise."

"Are you over your ... flu?" Something hard in how she said it. Did she think he'd faked it? Played hooky?

"I seem to be. No more fever, chills, or bellyache."

She snorted softly.

He stood and walked to her desk. "Am I missing something here?"

"You could at least do your drinking after hours."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?" Did she think he'd been on some two-day bender?

She rotated her chair. "You remind me of my father."

By some of what she had told him the night in the hospital, that was not a compliment.

Her face hardened. "I admired him more than anyone I knew. Admired and despised him. He had so much promise, genius even." She waved her hand. "Except, of course, when booze made him an idiot."

"Which part are you reminded of?"

Her gaze chilled. "Both."

"Well, now that we've cleared the air ..."

"I watched him destroy himself."

"I get the point, Denise." And she was crossing the line.

"That's one reason I thought it would be safe to work here alone with you."

"Because I drink?"

"Because I'd never get involved with an alcoholic." No parley, just stab.

Morgan clenched his fist. "Only a crackhead."

Her eyes blazed. "I did not know."

"You stayed with him after you did know. Even when he beat you."

"Well, I had plenty of practice with Dad."