Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Sorry, sweetie.” Mom kisses Raven’s bald head. “The doctors say you’re looking great and that there’s no reason to believe the transplant won’t be successful.”
“Falcon…” Raven says.
I go to her, and Mom moves out of the way.
“Yeah, Ray?”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I’ve told you before. No thanks needed. I’d do anything for you.”
“I’d do anything for you too.”
“I know that, sis.” I kiss her head, carefully avoiding Mom’s lipstick mark.
“All right,” a nurse says. “We’re ready to begin. I can only allow two visitors in the room at one time during the transplantation process, which can take up to four hours.”
“Falcon stays,” Raven says.
“You got it, sis.”
“The rest of you can go.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “Raven…”
“Mom, I love you all, but the last thing I need is another person hovering over me. I want Falcon. It’s his marrow that’s being pumped into me. I want him here because he’s part of me now. But I can’t handle anyone else. Please try to understand.”
Mom nods, though her eyes are glistening slightly. “We do understand, right, Hawk? Robin?”
“Of course.” Hawk squeezes Raven’s hand. “You’re going to do great.”
Robin simply squeezes Raven’s leg through the bedcovers, and the two of them leave. Mom follows, after kissing Raven’s head once more.
“They don’t get it,” Raven says.
I squeeze her hand. “No, they don’t, but I do.”
“I knew you would. It’s like when you first went to prison—not that I’m equating prison with getting a bone marrow transplant.”
I nod. “I understand. I didn’t want anyone visiting me at first. I didn’t want my family to see me there. In prison orange, freshly deloused. It was humiliating. But you don’t have any reason to feel humiliated, Ray.”
“No, and it’s not humiliation I feel. It’s just…” She frowns. “This is something I need to do alone. Like you had to do it alone.”
“Then why do you want me here?”
“Because I meant what I said. You’re part of me now, Fal. Whether I live or die—”
“You’re going to live.”
“Let me finish.”
“But Raven—”
“Don’t make me play the sick sister card, Fal. Let me fucking finish.”
The woman knows how to push a button. “Okay, okay. Go ahead.”
She pauses a moment, closes her tired eyes, and then opens them. They’re so dark. The darkest of all of us, even darker than mine.
“Don’t interrupt me.”
I cross my heart.
“Whether I live or die, I’m going to find a way to be worthy of the gift you’ve given me.”
How will she be worthy if she dies? She’s going to live, damn it. But I don’t interrupt her.
“I know you think that doesn’t make any sense,” she says, as if reading my mind. “How can I be worthy if I die? But I’ll find a way, Falcon. I swear to you I’ll find a way.”
“Can I speak now?” I ask with a weak smile.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“First, Ray, you’re already worthy. You’re a beautiful person inside and out and you’ve got more worthiness in your little finger than I have in my whole body.”
“Hey—”
“Your turn not to interrupt. Don’t make me play the ‘I’m giving you my bone marrow’ card.”
She laughs softly. “Touché.”
“Second, you’re not going to worry about having to find some way to be worthy beyond the grave because you’re not dying, Raven.” I clench my hands into fists. “You’re not. There’s no reason in the world to believe that this transplant won’t take. You’re young and strong.”
“Hardly.”
“Yes, you are. And so am I, which means my bone marrow is young and strong too.”
I’m well aware that I’m making this up as I go along, but one thing I do know is that believing you’ll live is as important as the best medical care in the world.
I want Raven to believe.
I need Raven to believe.
I already lost eight years of her due to my time in prison. I won’t lose any more.
“You’re going to live. That bone marrow from my hip is going to help you heal, but it’s only part of it. The rest is up to you. Get on board, Ray, because this train has a long way to go. Fifty more years, at least.”
She smiles. Then she nods.
I pat her hand.
A team of nurses and a doctor enter then. “Ready, Raven?” the doctor asks.
“I am,” she says.
“Good. I understand you want your brother in here with you. Would you like him to leave while I set up the transplant?”
“It’s not necessary,” Raven says. “It’s his marrow.”
“Very well.”
One of the nurses hands the doctor a clear plastic pouch full of reddish goo.
My bone marrow. My hip aches as I look at it.
“You’ll get your brother’s marrow through your central venous catheter, Raven, as you know.”
I want to ask about the central line, about where it goes to and what its function is, but I don’t. I can’t do anything to make this more difficult for Raven.