Читать книгу Man of His Word - Cynthia Reese, Cynthia Reese - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

DANIEL SUPPRESSED AN inward groan at Kimberly’s revelation. For a moment, he looked past her out the half pane of glass in his office door to the open back door and the yard beyond.

There was Marissa, wrangling fire hoses with Bobbi. She looked strong and healthy and practically glowed with enthusiasm and energy.

This kid’s sick?

“You don’t mean... Like what? Leukemia or something?” he asked.

Kimberly shook her head. “No, not a blood disorder. A bleeding disorder. Her blood doesn’t clot properly. Well, it doesn’t stay clotted properly.”

He tried to work out what she was saying. “But I thought—call me a doofus—but I thought only boys could get hemophilia.”

Kimberly rewarded him with a patient smile. “No, not at all. I mean—not to get too technical, but there’s more than one sort of bleeding disorder. Girls can get certain kinds, too. And Marissa is one of the unlucky ones.”

He leaned back in his chair, considering this new information and how it impacted his promise to Miriam.

Miriam.

He was flooded with an image of her little finger winding around his over the white sheet of her hospital bed, after he’d refused to bust her out of the hospital so she could run away...

“Daniel, you’ve got to promise,” she’d said. “Pinkie promise. You can’t tell anybody here who I am. Not anybody, because then he’ll find her, and he...he can’t.” The girl’s eyes had flooded with tears. “He just can’t. I want her safe, and away from him, and the only way is if they don’t know who I am. So...pinkie promise?”

At the time, he’d thought it a sad testimony that a girl who’d given birth was still young enough to use the phrase pinkie promise and believe in its power. He’d been inclined to not make that promise...until she’d blurted out the whole story, and until he’d clapped eyes on Uriel Hostetler.

And then he’d promised. Not a pinkie promise. A solemn oath...

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying? You look as though you’re a million miles away!”

Kimberly’s accusation hit the nail on the head. “I’m sorry. I was just... She looks so healthy.”

Kimberly craned her head around in the direction he’d been staring and caught sight of Marissa. Her anger at him crumpled—he could see it in the way her eyes welled up with tears, which she blinked back.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Kimberly whispered. “You’ve got to help us.”

Daniel stood, stared out his office window at the cars going past. Listened for a moment to the cheerful ribbing between the firefighters.

It was that ribbing that made him decide. All that protected those men was their training and their promises to each other. After all was said and done, that was what a man was: his promise.

Daniel turned back to face her. She deserved that, at least. “Look...I want to.”

“I hear a but.”

He nodded. “You hear right. I’m in a jam. Legally, I can’t. Like I said, it’s a violation of the law for me to tell you anything that could identify her. Not just the laws that protect patient privacy—but the safe-haven law, too. The birth mother has to waive that right.”

Whatever softness had been in Kimberly’s face hardened with frustration. “But that’s the point! I’m sure she would if she knew we needed her help. I’m not asking for anything else, only her medical history.”

But so fast that he almost missed it, he saw Kimberly slide her middle finger across her index finger. He gave her a pointed look. “Really? Because somehow I don’t believe that.”

Kimberly’s face pinked. He found himself liking the way she found it difficult to lie. “It’s all I want. I can’t say the same for Marissa. I’m not sure what she would want to know about her birth mother.”

Daniel rubbed his jaw. The weariness of the day was catching up with him. Tomorrow he’d be back on schedule, back to figuring out exactly what being chief meant after his sudden promotion. He didn’t think he had the energy to sort out the ethical conundrum of Kimberly’s request. He’d made a promise, and besides that, the law said he couldn’t give her the answers she wanted.

“Isn’t there some other way to find out the information that you need? I mean, this is the age of genetic testing, where they can do anything in the lab. What could her family history tell you that the tests can’t?”

“That’s just it—that genetic testing.” Kimberly scooched up to the edge of the chair, eager to plead her case. “This bleeding disorder is a mystery. It’s so rare, Daniel. The doctors don’t know for sure what it is. They’ve run almost every test there is out there, and there’s...well, nothing. Apart from one other test—one level of her blood. It’s called a PAI-1 test—”

“Pie? Like an apple pie?” He couldn’t stop the chuckle that sprang to his lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh—”

She grinned back at him, and Daniel realized how much sunshine her smile brought into the room. It was a beautiful smile.

“No, I said the exact same thing when I first heard it. It stands for plasminogen activator inhibitor—P-A-I. It’s a... Well, okay—” Now Kimberly stood, too, her body restless as she began to pace in front of his desk. “Your blood is like a jigsaw puzzle. It’s got lots of different pieces that have to fall into place if it’s going to clot—and stay clotted. If one of those pieces is missing or doesn’t work right, well...”

“And Marissa is missing this PAI-1?”

“They don’t know. Her hem/onc says the test isn’t conclusive, but it’s his best guess. The only way that they can conclusively diagnose it is through a DNA test or through a family history.”

“So you can do a DNA test, then.” A huge wave of relief swept over Daniel. He had an out.

“Oh, we could.” Kimberly’s mouth twisted. “But the only labs that can do the DNA testing are in Europe...and our insurance won’t cover it. I’ve begged them...and they refuse.”

The relief turned sour in his stomach. “That’s...that’s too bad.”

“Besides that, her doctors say that inherited bleeding disorders are variable. Some are severe, some not so much. But if there’s a family history...well, you can predict the course of it better. You know, like how she’d respond to surgery or trauma. I— Her doctors don’t know.”

She was fighting like all get-out not to cry, and he was impressed by that. Her grief and worry skewered Daniel, much as his mother’s had in the days following his father’s injury and death. And he understood then how Kimberly had known to worry about that car accident on the interstate. She’d imagined the worst a thousand times already.

But he’d given away his promise. And it had been for a very good reason, or at least he’d thought so at the time.

He walked around the desk and let himself be bold enough to give her the briefest touch on her upper arm. The contact felt more intimate than he’d meant it to, maybe because the warm silkiness of her skin tempted his fingertips to linger.

But she didn’t protest. She stared up at him, her lips parted in an unspoken plea.

“I am sorry,” Daniel told her. “I can’t.”

Kimberly whirled away from him and was halfway to the door before she accused over her shoulder, “You mean, you won’t.”

With that, she yanked open the door, intent on leaving.

Then she paused. Took a deep breath that he could see move through her slim body. Stared at him with those pleading eyes again.

“We’re staying at the La Quinta near the interstate. Room 209. If you change your mind.”

Then she was out the door and across the firehouse to retrieve Marissa.

Marissa, the baby he’d already said goodbye to once before.

Daniel collapsed into the office chair in front of his desk and picked up the photo of him and Marissa. In his mind’s eye, he could see the bruises flowering against her pale baby skin, and he knew those memories gave credence to what Kimberly had told him.

With fingers that shook ever so slightly, he slid the photo out of the frame and watched as a slip of paper fluttered onto his lap.

The handwriting in the ballpoint ink was shaky, but still held a sixteen-year-old’s flourishes, the hearts over the i’s, the loopy M.

Miriam Graber—born on September 19, 1986.

She’d added a phone number and an address, but Daniel had discovered that both were bogus when he’d called to check on her. So maybe the birth date was, too.

Still.

A quick online search would probably turn up a short list of possible Miriams. And if she’d gone back to her family—who’d been bent on returning to the Indiana Amish community where they’d come from—it couldn’t be that hard to find her. There had to be some roll or register or paperwork somewhere. Census records, maybe? And now that she was an adult, maybe even voter registration lists?

He could do it.

Daniel stared from the paper to his computer. Considered.

Then he folded the paper and put it back behind the photo and the photo back in the frame.

Because there was nothing that said he had to do it right now.