(Author's Note: Hi all…it's been great reading your feedback, as well as encouraging during a time when Everwood hasn't been the most inspirational. Just a quick note to disclaim my utter lack of medical knowledge: I've researched a few things, but otherwise, not having a medical reference staff like the show, I'm asking you to forgive my vagaries. If you take offence to any of my medical implications and misconceptions, I ask that you resign yourself to my ignorance and not hold it against the general plotline. Thanks ~ Rilla)
Chapter 6: Blindside
There were four occasions in Ephram's 26 years that he could look back on as life-defining moments. Events that changed his compass forever, without warning or mercy. The first was his mother's death on the highway, and the hour-and-a-half after his recital when he waited in the empty concert hall with his chain-smoking piano teacher. He hadn't known when he was performing that his mom wasn't in the audience. After he struck the last note – holding the key down for five, beautiful seconds – he'd risen from the bench, bowed, and smiled slightly and bashfully into the blinding lights so that she could take the picture she'd demanded he pause for. In the glare, he couldn't tell that no flash went off.
The second was their move to Everwood and the wrenching guilt and anger that lived in his body for months, abating slowly, and finally dissipating the day his father explained his mother's wish.
Up until his dad's death, Ephram considered the spring night Amy confessed that she loved him, just a few days shy of high school graduation, to be another one of those moments. But in hindsight, the importance of that night was driven out by the sudden loss of his dad three years later. Moments that brought joy could rarely compete with sorrow for a place of importance in Ephram's heart.
Which is why the bitter-sweet meeting of he and Amy almost two years ago earned a spot on his life altering list. The crushing sensation he'd nurtured for weeks…months…after he'd come out of the shower to find a cold, empty bed was offset by the warm, lingering softness she'd brought back into his life. He'd told no one of their encounter, expect for a sleepy, tipsy conversation with his current girlfriend that eluded to closure, but with whom and how, he would not divulge.
Without any clear knowledge of why he was now in a hospital room with Bright and Amy's ailing mother, Ephram instantly recognized this as Moment Number Five. And as such, he thought it might be a good idea to note every detail, so that 20 years from now he could think back and say:
'Ah, yes. And I remember the air smelled nicer than it ought to have, because there was a pumpkin pie scented candle on the rolling table beside the teal water pitcher. Dr. Abbott was sitting beside his wife's bed with a newspaper. He put it down when we came in and stood up. It was the New York Times. Mrs. Abbott was wearing a pale pink robe and when she reached out to give Delia a hug, the wedding ring on her finger hung loosely. Dr. Abbott shook my hand and thanked me for coming, while Bright kissed his mother on the cheek and told her that the roads weren't bad. Then everyone was looking at me, then behind me. And I knew Amy had arrived.'
***
"Ephram?"
He turned away from the strange play taking place before him, aware that he hadn't memorized his lines and, in fact, couldn't discern the plot, to come face-to-face with Amy Abbott. A few years older, no less beautiful, but utterly careworn.
"Hi," he said softly.
She didn't smile, like the others had. She didn't pretend that this wasn't strange and confusing. And she didn't try to touch him. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I wasn't either." He didn't know how he managed an even tone since his hand his hands were shaking so badly he had to stuff them in his pockets.
"I'm glad you did. It means…" He waited for her to finish. What? What did it mean? "…a lot."
Then the vacuum in which they were existing ended in a rush of noise and action. Mrs. Abbott chiding her husband for not offering Delia and Ephram a seat. "They've had a long flight!" Bright edging past Ephram to give Amy a quick hug. "Hey, sis." After a short flutter of movement, Ephram found himself sitting in a folding chair underneath a precariously mounted TV, watching Mrs. Abbott praise Delia's beauty while Dr. Abbott left to, presumably, speak to a nurse, since he returned with one in tow.
"Harold, I'm fine. There was no need…"
He would have none of it, "You know spikes in excitement levels need to be avoided, Rose. Nurse…" He checked her name badge, "…Connie is just going to make sure everything's fine." Dr. Abbott was noticeably grayer, Ephram thought. And more fussy, if that were possible. But given the circumstances…
After some fidgeting on the part of the nurse and puffing on the part of Dr. Abbott, the room settled back into an excruciatingly awkward silence that gave Ephram a moment to rethink the situation. Amy wasn't sick. She wasn't dying. She was standing in the opposite corner behind her brother, looking out the window so intently he wondered if she might jump. While Mrs. Abbott's heart rate was steady, Ephram felt his own escalate until he could stand it no longer.
"Mrs. Abbott…"
"Oh, call me Rose, Ephram," she scolded, kindly. "You're not a child anymore."
Ephram paused, and began again. "I'm so sorry you're…here. In the hospital, that is." She smiled with the gentle eyes he remembered from town meetings, the pool, graduation night, and it encouraged him to go on. "I had no idea you were sick, or else I would have…" Called? Come to visit? What would he have done? Ephram didn't know and no one responded, except to look at each other with pained expressions. "But I don't really know why… Why are Delia and I here?" Dr. Abbott sighed in response, but otherwise, the group was motionless. Ephram's discomfort grew, as did his frustration. "I thought you were…" he began, looking to Amy with eyes torn between relief and accusation. She refused to meet his gaze, so he turned his attention on Bright for some kind of explanation. His old friend squirmed under the scrutiny.
"Bro, I'm sorry. I knew that's what you'd think. But I couldn't…" Bright trailed off and stared down at his hands.
Sensing the situation was about to spiral into a difficult place, Rose took up the thread. "Ephram, this was my doing. Before anyone says anything else, you should know that I'm responsible for the awkwardness…and necessity of this," she gestured with a hand that had a needle stuck just under the skin, "situation. Three months ago, I was diagnosed with an unusual strain of bone cancer. It was rather advanced and chances were slim. But there was a new option, a treatment that hasn't been perfected yet." Dr. Abbott took her hand as Delia shifted in her seat. She wasn't as comfortable in hospitals as Ephram. "Generally, I could have had some hope through a normal bone marrow transplant, but this is something different. The donation isn't as routine. There are…risks." Rose's gaze darted to Amy for just a second, but it was enough to make Ephram's stomach drop.
Dr. Abbott squeezed Rose's hand and cut in, "It's a complicated procedure, Ephram. One that harvests bone marrow from the pelvic and breast bones of the donor, which are difficult locations. Once accessed, the bone marrow is treated with a cocktail of inhibitors and reinserted into the donor who will play host for a new form of marrow to grow. That altered marrow will combat the strain of cancer Rose is fighting once its re-harvested and transplanted. It's because of the dangers of this procedure that you were asked to come here." His tone was professional, clinical even. But his face belied fear.
"And the donor is…" Ephram prompted, already knowing the answer in his gut.
"I'm the donor."
Dr. Abbott smiled at his daughter with pride and regret, "Amy is the only one who matches her mother and she has very bravely offered to be the donor."
Amy returned his smile with a small one of her own and then, finally, looked to Ephram. "But I couldn't do this without talking to you first." The explanations ended there, as though they were all waiting for Ephram to connect the dots. He'd followed them this far, but now he felt rudderless.
"I don't understand, Amy…"
He rose to his feet to go to her; seek explanations. None of this made sense! He wanted to take her out of this room where everyone was staring and demand to know why she'd left without saying goodbye. And what that meant for them now?
"Knock, knock!" sang out a voice from the doorway. All eyes swung to see a woman holding a small boy – maybe just a year old – in her arms and smiling broadly. "We got a little chilly playing outside, so Ben and I decided to come in and give Grandma a special rock…we…found." She sputtered to a stop as she became aware of the strangers in the room, and looked anxiously from Ephram to Amy and back to Ephram.
The child – Ben – extended his hand, closed around the rock, to Rose who called to him with a laugh and open arms, "Do you have a present for your Grandma? Come here, sweetheart," and in an aside voice, "Thanks for taking him, Eve." The woman, Eve, walked to the bed to hand Ben to Rose, as Delia and Ephram looked on with stunned expressions. But at the last moment, the child lurched his body to the side with a short, demanding cry and reached both arms toward Amy and Bright. The rock plopped on the bed and Ephram watched it bounce twice on the snug blanket wrapped at Rose's feet. All the pieces were falling into place and even before it was confirmed, Ephram watched as the true nature of his role come into focus.
Amy stepped forward as Ben lunged into space, and then into her arms. She snuggled him close to her as he flopped his head under her chin, sticking his finger in his mouth to suck contentedly. There was a short moment of peace as Amy brushed her thumb across his cheek in greeting and kissed him on the head, before facing the room. Before facing Ephram.
"Ephram, this is Ben." She stared Ephram in the eyes as his own vision tunneled to include only her. "My son."
He considered her eyes as she held his gaze over the ashy brown hair of the child; intent and defiant. And a little afraid.
"Your son?" he asked.
"Your son," she answered.
