Chapter 3 "I've Got it All; And You Don't"
"Mr. Yao told you about my son?"
Ken leaned forward, "He said he has leukemia. He showed me a picture."
"Yes." She bit her lip. "He's doing fine right now, but doctors give him only three to five years unless he has a bone-marrow transplant. We can't find a donor who matches. Would you be willing?"
"That's why I'm here." He frowned. "Isn't his the usual childhood leukemia? I thought doctors were doing wonders with chemotherapy."
"They are." Her throat wanted to close, which surprised her. She and Jason had lived with the bogeyman for two years now; she'd explained the illness over and over again to teachers and principals and the parents of Jason's friends. Why was it hard now to describe the monster inside her child?
Somehow she kept her voice steady. "Jason – has a more unusual form of leukemia for children, called chronic myelogenous leukemia. It was such a shock. He started having stomach cramps. We though he had the flu. A week later he felt better and did his usual routing, like playing. But then the cramps started again. He was in agony. Of course, I took her to the doctor." Barbie looked down to find that she was wringing her hands. With an effort she separated them.
"That must have been frightening."
She let out a breath in a laugh that held no humor. "Terrifying is a better word. When I was a child, my best friend died of leukemia. They couldn't do anything then. She just... came home until she was too sick, then went into the hospital to die. To have Jason get it, too..." Why? She cried inside. Dear God, why him?
Ken stirred, as though he would have liked to cover over to her. Or was he longing to bolt, instead? Barbie had discovered that many people were so uncomfortable with the subject they avoided her.
"Jason had lumps, too, around his ankles. He'd noticed them and just ... shrugged them off, I guess. He was only three years old. As soon as he was diagnosed, they started chemotherapy. He lost all his hair and was horribly sick. He responded well, though. But the doctors warned us that this form of leukemia is essentially curable without a transplant. All they could do was buy time."
"When was this?"
She scrubbed at suddenly wet cheeks. "Two years ago."
"Then Andy was alive...?"
"No." Oh, how angry she'd been to him! He'd been dead a month when he got sick.
He made a sound in his throat. "Did you have anyone to ...?"
"Friends." She tried to smile. "Strangers. People. They were wonderful."
His dark eyes didn't waver. "Then what happened?"
"We couldn't find a donor. I have such a small family, and none of us comes close. The donor registry hasn't fond anyone. Two months ago, Jason got really sick again." Barbie fought for composure. "This time the doctors used both chemotherapy and radiation. If... if he gets that sick again, he might be too weak to survive the procedure. He desperately needs the bone-marrow transplant."
"Was she sure to match either Andy or you?"
"No." Did she sound as helpless as she felt? Barbie wondered. "A patient can have a large family and not be a close enough match with any of them. But the odds are a lot better with you than they would be with someone unrelated. Then the odds become something like one in twenty thousand."
He rose as though he couldn't bear to sit any longer. "I'll do anything."
She stood slowly, her eyes blurred, "thank you, she whispered."
He came around the end of the coffee table, this man who looked so much like her husband. There he stopped, as though unsure what to do or uncertain of her reaction. If he'd opened his arms, she would have stepped into them, laid her head against his chest, accepted his strength and comfort. It was disquieting to know how easily she could have accepted almost anything from him, a total stranger. She didn't like to think she would have pretended he was Andy.
This man's eyes were unreadable, dark, but he lifted a hand and carefully brushed away the tears from her cheek. The gesture was heart-stoppingly intimate, and yet innocent. Any adult might do the same to a hurt child.
"I..." Her voice was high, breathless. "I'd better call the hospital. Make... make arrangements."
He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I can go anytime."
She blinked at the reminder of everyday details, and was a little ashamed she hadn't asked any questions about his life. Not even where he lived.
"Do you live around Shanghai" Or did you fly in?"
"Flew. I'm from Taiwan."
"Maybe they could still do the blood test today. You haven't checked into a hotel already, have you? I have an extra bedroom."
He shook his head immediately. "I'm afraid I can't stay overnight. Not this time. I have an early-morning meeting back in Taiwan."
She wondered if he'd planned it that way to give himself an escape. Would they ever see him again after the procedure? Did it matter? She asked herself impatiently. He was here now; that was what counted.
"Um... would you like a cup of tea? Or anything else?"
"Thank you." He said, "but no."
"Then excuse me for a moment."
"Mrs. Chu?" His voice stopped her in the doorway.
"She turned, "Yes?"
"Mr. Yao didn't tell me your name. He kept calling you the widow."
"Barbie." She actually smiled, if tremulously. "I'm Barbie Chu."
The touch of his dark eyes was as palpable as a knuckle brushing her cheek. "Barbie. Barbie and Jason."
"Does it feel strange?" She flattened her hand against the door frame. "To be here like this when you didn't even know we existed?"
"Very strange," he admitted, "but right."
She gave a small nod and left him in her living room. In her bedroom she sat down on the bed, reached for the phone – and suddenly felt herself trembling all over. She squeezed her hands into fists and closed her eyes. It was just reaction – the shock of finding her husband's double on her doorstep and the knowledge that he could be the gift of life to Jason.
She knew she was crying again, but didn't care. He'd come without hesitation. He was willing. For the first time in a long while, she had hope.
The house was too silent after his brother's widow left the room. Feeling the tension in his neck and back, Ken listened for her footsteps or her voice. Nothing. It was though she'd never existed, as thought he'd imagined finding her. He began to pace.
He had pictures of Andy, too, a couple of boxes of albums that had been faithfully kept by his mother, stashed in a seldom opened closet. He'd gone straight to the mansion as soon as he was through with Mr. Yao. When he pulled the albums out of the box and flipped them open, he'd found only the kid his brother had been: cheeky, smart-mouthed, too charismatic for his own damned good. His twin. That part of himself he'd savagely excised. None were of the man Andy had become. He had cried finally, howls of agony he'd kept corked tightly inside for too many years. With the knowledge of Andy's death, the seal had failed, and the poison his bitterness and loneliness poured out. It was the most terrible night of his life, worse than discovering how his brother had betrayed him, or worse than their fight.
And now he would be confronted with the man his brother had become. Bracing himself, Ken approached the living room. Andy was there alright, in half-a-dozen photos, grinning that crooked lazy way women always had found irresistible. He tried to look away from the photos until he could control his reaction, but the hunger to see his brother's face was too great. Andy hadn't changed very much from Ken's memory of him, which didn't gibe with Andy's having been a married man. Maybe the change was all on the inside.
Andy and Jason. They really looked alike, like him to Andy. But the ones he found himself most reluctant to look at were those that included Barbie, the studio portraits. In them, they were the perfect family; broad-shouldered handsome man hovering protectively his delicate wife and cute son. Andy's expression seemed to hold a little smugness; I've got it all, Ken imagined him saying. As a kid, Andy would have added, And you don't.
Ken swore under his breath and muttered, "Grow up." He wasn't talking to his brother. He was shocked to discover how much competitiveness he still felt. No wonder, until now he's not married.