The Courage Tree - Diane Chamberlain [55]
“You are not to blame,” he said. His eyes were narrowed and serious, his voice firm with measured words, as if it were very important for her to believe him.
“You don’t know,” she said.
“I do know,” he said. “I’ve done some reading on Gulf War Illness because one of my friends was over there and got sick afterward. I think he really did pick up something there, or else he got it from the anthrax vaccination or those pills they gave them to protect them against nerve agents—”
“Pyridostigmine bromide pills.” She remembered those pills and the dizziness she’d experienced after taking them.
“Whatever.” Lucas smiled. “So I’m not arguing that the illness is all in their heads. But as I did research for him, I read about the kids being born with medical problems. None of them had renal disease. And here you have some pretty good clues that Sophie might have inherited her illness from her father’s side. A missing mother. Not a heck of a lot of information about his father. So, why are you tormenting yourself over this? You have enough to deal with without taking on that guilt.”
His words seemed so logical, yet he didn’t understand the core doctrine of the Donohue and Snyder family: whatever Janine did was wrong.
“What about experimental treatments for Sophie?” he asked. “You’re not that far from the National Institutes of Health or Johns Hopkins, right?”
“She’s in a study at NIH right now,” Janine replied. “They’re trying a new, miserably toxic medication to block the potassium buildup. That’s what she’s been on, and that’s why she’s throwing up all the time. Today, I told the doctor I wanted to take her off it, and he agreed that she’s only getting worse on it. I don’t want her to spend the last few months of her life sick all the time. Throwing up all the time.” She started to cry again, and somehow wasn’t surprised when he reached over to touch her arm, lightly, briefly. “I want her to be able to take some pleasure in the time she has left,” she said.
“Of course you do,” he said. “But don’t close your mind to all possibilities. I believe in miracles.”
She brushed the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand and smiled at him ruefully. What a surprise he was turning out to be! He was certainly kinder than she’d expected, and far smarter than she ever would have guessed. And he was on her side.
“I have to ask you something,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“This is going to sound…blunt, but I don’t think I have the strength right now to figure out a better way to say it.”
“Go for it,” he urged.
“My parents warned me not to speak to you or to let Sophie near you.”
“Why?” He looked truly surprised.
“My father said that when you first came here to look over the grounds, you showed…well, you seemed inordinately interested in the fact that a little girl lived here. And they’ve told me that whenever Sophie and I walk past you and they happen to be watching, you stare at her. Is that their imagination?”
He smiled and looked down at his hands. “No, it’s not their imagination, but I didn’t think I was being that obvious. I had no idea anyone thought I was—” He shook his head. “This is crazy. I could tell your parents didn’t like me. They treat me like I’m no better than the manure I spread in the garden. I thought it was some…class thing. The lowly gardener. At least now I know why.”
“So why would you stare at her?”
“I have a niece Sophie’s age,” he said. “My sister’s little girl. She lives in northern Pennsylvania, and I only see her on holidays. I don’t have any kids of my own, so she’s, in a way, the closest thing I have to my own child. I adore her. Spoil her rotten. When your dad told me there was a little girl living at Ayr Creek, I suppose my eyes did light up a bit.” He laughed. “I realized quickly, though, that Sophie and I weren’t going to get to be buddies, because you weren’t letting her anywhere near me. I thought you were a pretty cold fish. Now I know why.