“Then all we can do is pray that another donor shows up in the registry.”
“How long does she have?”
“Hard to know for sure. There’s medication and we can keep her alive with the transfusions, but she’ll have to remain in treatment and be consistent with it. She doesn’t have insurance for that kind of long-term care. She needs a transplant. She needs to be honest, too, so she can be transferred to Vidant in Greenville. They won’t take her if she keeps playing games.”
“Why does she need to be transferred?”
“We don’t do irradiation at this hospital,” she said, “but it’s not a big deal. I’m already in touch with Felicia Watkins, an oncologist at Vidant, and she’s reviewing Callie’s files now. I’ve worked with her before and she’s terrific. If we do find a donor, Callie will be in excellent hands.”
“Good to know. Let me know what Callie says.”
“Will you be around?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be here.”
*
Nobles took down my number and said she’d be in touch shortly. I decided to wait in the cafeteria, where I ordered a cup of coffee, preoccupied with Callie.
How old was she? Where was she from? What exactly was her relationship with my grandfather, and why had he taken her in? More importantly, were her parents alive and did she have siblings? And why was she alternately lying or stonewalling, when her family might be the only way to possibly save her life?
Of course, she hadn’t known the results of the biopsy yet, nor did she know that there were no good matches in the registry. To this point, she might have been stubborn because she’d believed she’d recover, but if she remained silent, then what?
What could be worse than dying?
When the answer didn’t come, I reframed the question from Callie’s perspective, with a slight variation. I’d rather die than live with…
There were more possibilities with that option. My father, or my parents. My abusive uncle, and the list could go on from there, any of which would explain her reticence.
But…would it really?
Even if she wasn’t nineteen and still a minor in an abusive situation, did she realize she could go to a judge and make a request to become emancipated? She’d already been on her own for almost a year, had a job, had a place to live, paid her bills. She was more functional than many actual adults. She didn’t have to live with anyone, I reasoned.
Unable to wrap my mind around an answer, I finished my coffee, then went back to the counter to buy an apple. As I munched, I took a break from thinking and watched people in the cafeteria come and go. Eventually, I received a text from Dr. Nobles, asking if I was still at the hospital. When I texted that I was in the cafeteria, she told me to wait, and that she’d be there in a few minutes.
In the silence, I suddenly realized I knew some of the answer to my earlier, rephrased question. I didn’t know all of it, however—or the why—and it left me feeling like I was caught in a powerful current, bearing me to an unknown destination.
*
Nobles joined me at the table a few minutes later.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I explained the results and the reality of the situation, and all the medical options to her,” she said, sounding tired. “All of it—the risks, what the procedure required, outcomes. Everything. I also asked her where and when her parents died, so I could possibly search for relatives, and again, she got very agitated, like she knew she’d been caught in a lie. She insisted again that she was old enough to make her own decisions and the more I pressed, the more adamant she became about waiting for a better donor in the registry. I’m hoping you’ll have better luck.”
“If she wouldn’t tell you, why do you think she’d tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Nobles answered, massaging her temples. “Maybe you can blackmail her again.”
*
Visiting hours were nearly over by the time I reached Callie’s room. This time, the door was open, the television still blaring, and Callie pointedly kept her eyes focused on the screen. She was a predictable thing.
I sat in the chair again and leaned forward, bringing my hands together. I decided to go all in, guns blazing, with a gamble.
“So,” I said, “you’re a liar. Your parents are alive.”
She flinched before turning toward me and I knew I was right.
“Go away.”
“I should have guessed,” I said, ignoring her. “Anyone who breaks the law like you have isn’t generally an honest person in the first place. But why lie about your parents being dead? Why lie when you told me that there was no one I could contact?”