either of his own race or of hers. And now, suddenly, the life of her son depended on him
.
“What’s he like?” she suddenly asked.
Marsh looked at her curiously. “Does it matter?”
Ellen hesitated, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t suppose so,” she replied. “But I used to know him, and he was always … well, I guess he seemed arrogant, and sometimes he was almost scary. None of us ever liked him.”
Marsh smiled tightly. “Well, he hasn’t changed. He’s still arrogant, and I don’t like him at all. But he might be able to save Alex.”
Once more Ellen hesitated. In times past, she and Marsh used to spend hours discussing their problems, listening to each other, balancing their thoughts and feelings, weighing what was best for them. But in the last few months—or had it become years?—that easy communication had been lost. They had been too busy—Marsh with the expanding Medical Center, herself with the expanding social life that had accompanied the building of the Center. What had been sacrificed, finally, was their ability to communicate with each other. Now, with Alex’s life hanging in the balance, she had to come to a decision.
She made up her mind. “We don’t have a choice, do we?” she asked. “We have to try.” She picked up the pen and signed the waiver, which she had not bothered to read, then handed it back to Marsh. A sudden thought flashed through her mind.
If Raymond Torres thinks it will work, why won’t he take responsibility for it?
Then she decided that she didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
CHAPTER SIX
Carol Cochran covered the telephone’s mouthpiece with her right hand and called up the stairs, “Lisa? It’s for you.” She waited a few seconds, and when there was no answer, she called out again: “Lisa?”
“Tell whoever it is I’m not here.” Lisa’s voice was muffled, and Carol paused a moment, wondering if she ought to go upstairs and insist that Lisa take the call. Then she sighed. “She says she isn’t here, Kate. I’m sorry, but she just doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I’ll have her call you back, all right?”
Hanging up the phone, Carol mounted the stairs, and found Kim standing in the hall.
“Her door’s locked, and she won’t come out,” the six-year-old reported.
“I’ll take care of it, dear. Why don’t you go find your father?”
“Is he lost?” Kim replied with the same look of innocence Jim always wore when he tortured her with the same kind of response.
“Just go, all right? I need to talk to your sister.”
“Do I have to?” Kim begged. “I could talk to her too.”
“I’m sure you could,” Carol observed. “But right now I want to talk to her alone.”
Kim cocked her head, her eyes narrowing inquisitively. “Are you gonna talk about Alex?”
“Possibly,” Carol parried.
“Is Alex going to die?”
“I don’t know,” Carol replied, sticking to the policy of total honesty she’d always followed in raising her children. “But that’s something we won’t talk about until it happens. I hope it won’t. Now, run along and find your father.”
Kim, who had long since learned when she’d pushed her luck as far as it would go, headed down the stairs as Carol tapped at Lisa’s door.
“Lisa? May I come in?”
There was no answer, but a moment later Carol heard a click as Lisa turned the key from the inside. The door opened a few inches, and Carol saw Lisa’s retreating back as the girl returned to her bed, sprawled out on her back, and fixed her gaze on the ceiling. Carol stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. When there was no reply, Carol crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Lisa moved slightly to one side to make more room. “Well, I want to talk about it,” Carol went on. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”
Lisa’s tear-streaked face turned slowly toward her
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