Read Online Fever by Robin Cook - Free Book Online Page A

the left of the bed, reading by the window.
    â€œMarge,” whispered Cathryn.
    The masked and gowned woman looked up. “Yes?” she said.
    â€œIt’s Cathryn.”
    â€œCathryn?”
    â€œCathryn Martel.”
    â€œFor goodness sake,” said Marge when she was able to associate the name. She got up and put her book down. Taking Cathryn’s hand, she led her back into the anteroom. Before the door closed behind them Cathryn looked back at Tad. The boy had not moved although his eyes were open.
    â€œThank you for coming,” said Marge. “I really appreciate it.”
    â€œHow is he?” asked Cathryn. The strange room, the gowning . . . it wasn’t encouraging.
    â€œVery bad,” said Marge. She pulled off her mask. Her face was drawn and tense; her eyes red and swollen. “He had a marrow transplant twice from Lisa but it hasn’t worked. Not at all.”
    â€œI spoke to Nancy this morning,” said Cathryn. “I had no idea he was this sick.” Cathryn could sense the emotion within Marge. It was just beneath the surface like a volcano, ready to erupt.
    â€œI’d never even heard of aplastic anemia,” said Marge, trying to laugh. But the tears came instead. Cathryn found herself crying in sympathy, and the two women stood there for several minutes weeping on each other’s shoulder. Finally Marge sighed, pulled back slightly, and looked at Cathryn’s face. “Oh, it is good of you to come. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. One of the difficult things about serious illness is that people ignore you.”
    â€œBut I had no idea,” repeated Cathryn remorsefully.
    â€œI’m not blaming you,” said Marge. “I just mean people in general. I suppose they just don’t know what to say or maybe they are afraid of the unknown, but it happens when you need people the most.”
    â€œI’m terribly sorry,” said Cathryn, at a loss for something to say. She wished she’d called weeks ago. Marge was older than she, closer to Charles’s age. But they got along well, and Marge had been gracious and helpful when Cathryn had first come to Shaftesbury. The other New Englanders had been very cold.
    â€œI don’t mean to take it out on you,” said Marge, “but I feelso upset. The doctors told me this morning that Tad might be terminal. They’re trying to prepare me. I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t want him to die.”
    Cathryn was stunned. Terminal? Die? These were words that referred to old people, not to a young boy who just a few weeks ago was in their kitchen bursting with life and energy. With difficulty she resisted an urge to run back downstairs. Instead she hugged Marge.
    â€œI just can’t help but ask why,” sobbed Marge, struggling to control herself and allowing Cathryn to hold her. “They say the good Lord has His reasons, but I’d like to know why. He was such a good boy. It seems so unfair.”
    Marshaling her strength, Cathryn began to talk. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say. It just came out. She talked about God and death in a way that surprised her because she wasn’t religious in the traditional sense. She’d been brought up a Catholic and had even talked briefly of becoming a nun when she was ten. But during college she had rebelled against the ritual of the Church and had become an agnostic of sorts, not bothering to examine her beliefs. Yet she must have made sense because Marge responded; whether it was to the content or just the human companionship, Cathryn didn’t know. But Marge calmed down and even managed a weak smile.
    â€œI’ve got to go,” said Cathryn finally. “I’ve got to meet Michelle. But I’ll be back and I’ll call tonight, I promise.” Marge nodded and kissed Cathryn before going back in with her son. Cathryn stepped out into the hall. She stood by