“WhenIfirstgotsickinhighschool,kidswereprettysympathetic,butthesickerIgotand the more school I missed, the harder it was to keep up with the old crowd,”Donovanexplained.“SomeofthemtriedtounderstandwhatIwasgoingthrough,butunlessyou’vebeenreallysick…”Hedidn’tfinishthesentence.“I’veneverbeensick,”Megsaid,“butIreallydoknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”Hetippedhisheadandlookedintohereyes.“Ibelieveyoudo.”

Otherbooksyouwill enjoyBABYALICIA ISDYING,LurleneMcDanielALL THE DAYS OF HER LIFE, LurleneMcDaniel ANGELSWATCHINGOVER ME, Lurlene McDaniel TILL DEATH DO US PART, LurleneMcDaniel FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE, FOREVER, Lurlene McDanielUNTILANGELSCLOSEMYEYES, LurleneMcDaniel STARRY, STARRYNIGHT,LurleneMcDanielMOTHER,HELPMELIVE,LurleneMcDanielSIXTEEN AND DYING, Lurlene McDaniel IN LANE THREE, ALEXARCHERbyTessaDuderTHELASTSILKDRESSbyAnnRinaldiWORDSBYHEARTbyOuidaSebestyen

RL5,age10andupLETHIMLIVE

ABantamBook/February1993

Allrightsreserved.Copyright©1993byLurleneMcDaniel.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,includingphotocopying,recording,orbyanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,

withoutpermissioninwritingfromthepublisher.Forinformationaddress:BantamBooks.

eISBN:978-0-30780015-2

BantamBooksarepublishedbyBantamBooks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.Itstrademark,consistingofthewords“BantamBooks”andtheportrayalofarooster,isRegisteredinU.S.PatentandTrademarkOfficeandinothercountries.MarcaRegistrada.BantamBooks,1540Broadway,NewYork,NewYork10036.

v3.1

Contents

CoverOtherBooksbyThisAuthorTitlePageCopyright

ChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteenChapterTwenty

One

MEGAN CHARNELL WHIPPED her red convertible into the only empty parkingspaceinthecrowdedparkinggarageatWashingtonMemorialHospital.Shescreechedtoahalt,grabbedherpurseandnotebook,andraninsidetheglassdoors.Whenshereachedtheelevator,sheimpatientlypunchedthebutton.“Late,late,late,”shemuttered.Herfirstdayonthejob,andshewas

missing orientation. Her father wouldn’t be pleased. She’d hit anunexpectedtrafficsnarl.Usually, itdidn’t takethismuchtimetocomefromherVirginiasuburbtodowntownWashington.Ifhercarhadwingsshewouldhavemadeitinplentyoftime.Meg pounded the elevator button until the door slid open. She

barreledinsideandhitthebuttonforthefourthfloor.Itwasherfather’sidea, not hers. She didn’t want to become a candy striper for thesummer.“Your therapist thinksgetting involvedwillhelpyoucometotermswithwhathappened toCindy.Maybea jobwillbehelpful,”herfatherhad insisted.Megknewthather lastchoicewouldhavebeen towork at thehospital, but here shewas anyway. Part of herwanted tomove on and connect to people, and yet she still grieved for her lostfriend.Meg had been overcomewith grief at the news that her best friend

hadbeenkilled in a car accident. She’d seenCindyonlyweeks beforethe fatal crash.AfterCindyandher familyhadmovedaway,Meghadbeen afraid their best friendship might end. But Cindy had promised,andsohadMeg—“foreverfriends”—andthey’dmanagedtostayascloseasever,eventhoughtheywerenolongerneighbors.When Cindy’s parents calledMeg, she couldn’t accept the reality of

Cindy’sdeath.Now,ayearlater,thetherapistMeghadtalkedwithfelt

shewasreadytofacenewrelationshipswithtrustandcourage.Easyforeveryonetosay,Megthought,butshewasnervous.On the fourth floor, Meg raced out of the elevator and into theauditorium, grimacing as the door banged open. She was sure everyperson in the room looked up at her, including her father. He wasstanding on the stage, giving his opening remarks.Meg slunk into anempty seat in the shadowed depths and heaved a sigh. She moppedsweatfromherforeheadandwishedwithallherheartthatshecouldbeanyplacebuthere.“AsIwassaying,”Dr.Charnellcontinued,“volunteerslikeyou,alongwith our faithful Pink Ladies, are a vital link to the welfare of ourpatients here at Memorial. The nurses are already overloaded withduties,sovolunteersarenecessarytoenhancepatientcomfort.Withoutyourhelpinghandsandsmilingfaces,thisplacewouldbedrearyindeed.“For those who participated in our Saturday training program, youalreadyknowMrs.Stanton,ourvolunteercoordinator.”Awomanwithdark hair in a French knot waved from her chair beside the podium.“She’llhaveafewwordstosay,thenshe’llpassoutfloorassignments.”Others from the hospital staff spoke. When, at last, Mrs. Stantonwrapped up the orientation with an invitation for refreshments, Meghalfheartedlywalkedtoatablepiledwithdoughnutsandjuice.Becauseshe’dmissedbreakfast,sheloadedapaperplate,thenwenttocheckforher name on the assignment sheet posted on the auditorium bulletinboard.“Hi.Irememberyoufromthetrainingsessions,”saidatall,slimgirlwhowas standing besideMeg. “I’m assigned to pediatrics.How aboutyou?”Megfoundhernameonthelist.“LookslikeIamtoo.”“I’mAlanaHumphries.” The girl smiled andMeg felt she could likethispersonwhoseemedsofriendly.Megsmiledback.“MeganCharnell—butIpreferjustplainMeg.”Shewipedpowder-sugaredfingersonherwrinkledpink-and-whitepinafore,the uniformof the candy striper. “These stripesmakeme look like anoverripecandycane,”Megcomplained.Alanalaughed.“Charnell…AreyourelatedtoDr.Charnell?”Meg reddened. “My father.” She hated people’s knowing. She wascertaintheywouldthinkshewasgoingtobegivenspecialfavor,when

inrealitysheloathedthewholeidea.Alana’s eyes grewwide. “I thinkDr.Charnell is themostwonderfulmanintheworld.”“Youdo?”“Hehelpedsavemybrother’slife.”“Hedid?”“Mybrother,Lonnie,hadadiseasethatwasdestroyinghiskidneys.Hewas on dialysis for years. Your father put Lonnie in Memorial’stransplantprogram,andtwoyearsago,Lonniegotadonorkidney.He’stwentynowanddoingfine.Iguessmybrotherwasreallylucky.Hegotatransplantrightaway,whichaccordingtoyourdad,ishighlyunusualforAfrican-Americans. It seems that organs aremost compatiblewhenthe donor and recipient are of the same race, but not enough blackpeople are signing up to be donors. That’s really hurting black peoplewhoneedorgans.”Meghadneverreallythoughtaboutsuchthings.Herdadwasanaccomplishedsurgeonwhohadtakenoverasheadofthe organ transplant unit atMemorial five years before.Meg couldn’tcountthetimesshe’dheardthephoneringinthemiddleofthenightforhim. Neither could she recall one single holiday, one special familyoccasionthathadn’tbeeninterruptedbyacallfromthehospitalbecauseDr.FranklinCharnellwasneededtohandlesomeemergency.Foryears,shebelieved that thehospitalwashis truehome,and thathispatientswerehispreferredfamily.“I’mgladforyourbrother,”Megreplied.“That’swhyIsigneduptobeacandystriper,”Alanaexplained.“Togivesomethingback.Imean,moneycouldn’tbuyLonnie’slife,sothere’snothingIcouldgiveevenifIwasrich,whichI’mnot.TheleastIcandoisvolunteertohelpout,tryandmakethingseasierforpeoplewhoaresicklikeLonnieusedtobe.”Shepaused.“Didyousignuptoworkwithyourfather?”Megcouldn’tadmitthetruth—she’dbeenmadetosignuptohelpherpulloutofaprogressivedepression.“Dadsuggestedit,”shesaid,“anditsoundedlikeanokayideaforthesummer.”“Well,Ithinkit’sgoingtobefunwork.Andit’sreallycooltoknowI’llbeworkingwithyou.Imean,Dr.Charnell’sdaughter…”Meg squirmedunderAlana’sgenerous smile.How longbeforeAlanadiscoveredshewasafraud?

Herfathercameover,andMeghopedhewouldn’tmentionhertardyentrance.“Hello,Alana,”he said.“Lonnie toldmeyou’dbehere. I seeyou’vemetMegan.”“Wewerejustdiscussingourassignments.”Megnoddedvigorously.“Pediatrics.”“Iknow.IaskedMrs.Stantontoputyouthere.”AwarningbellsoundedinMeg’shead.“Super,”Alanasaid.“Ireallylikekids.”“Thefloor’sdividedintounits,”Dr.Charnellexplained.“Oneforkids

undertwelve,oneforolderkids.Bothsectionsneedextrahands.”“We’lldoourbest,”Alanapromised.Megonlynodded.“Myoffice is inthesamegeneralarea.”Hismotivesbecameclear to

Meg.Hewantedtokeepaneyeonher,andsheresentedit.Allatonce,hisbeeperwentoff.“That’sme,”hesaid.“I’vegottorun.”Megwatchedhimhurrytowardahousephone.“He’ssobusy,”Alanasaid.“You’ve got that right,” Meg replied, without elaborating. She and

Alanaheadedtowardtheelevatorthatwouldtakethemtopediatrics.“I’d like tobeadoctor someday,”Alana toldheras they rodeup to

theseventhfloor.“Howaboutyou?”“Noway.”“You’rekidding?Ithoughtmedicinewouldbeinyourblood.”“Ipreferdoughnutsinmyblood.”Alanagiggled.“Honestly,girl,you’resuchacomedian.”They emerged onto the pediatric floor. A huge painted picture of a

clown holding a sign that said “Kids World” adorned the wall. Megpausedtostudythecuteartwork.“Getoutof theway.You’re in themiddleof thedragstrip!”aboy’s

voicecalled.Megflattenedherselfagainstthewall,turningintimetoseeateenage

boypushinganIVstandwithlinesattachedtotheinsideofhisarm.Helopedbesideaveryyoungboywhowasrollinghiswheelchairashardashecoulddownthelengthofthehall.Astounded,Megwatchedthemflypastwithaclatterofmetalanda

cascadeoflaughter.WhathaveIgottenmyselfinto?shewondered.WhatdoesDadthinkhe’sdoing?

Two

AT THE END of thehall, theboywith the IV standhalted. “Youbeatme,Mark,”hesaidtotheboyinthewheelchair.Thechildgrinnedupathim.“ItoldyouIcould.”“Howaboutbesttwooutofthree?Givemeadaytorest,andwe’lltry

itagaintomorrow.”“Yougotit.”The older boy ruffled Mark’s hair, and Meg watched him approach

her,pushinghisIVstand.“SorryIyelledatyou,”hesaid.“Ididn’twantyoutogetmoweddown.I’mDonovanJacoby.”“Meg.”He glanced at Alana, and his eyes dancedmischievously. “You two

lookliketwins.”“Maybeit’stheuniforms,”Alanajoked.Donovan was tall and thin, with curling brown hair, gorgeous blue

eyes,andafabuloussmile,butMegsawthathisskinhadayellowcastand that he appeared slightly stooped.He leaned against his IV stand.“Excusemyfriendhere,butwe’reveryattached.”“Maybeyoushouldbeinyourbed,”Megsuggestednervously,aftera

quicksmileathisjoke.“That’swhereI’msupposedtobe,butit’sprettyboringinmyroom.I

waswalkingthehalllookingforactionwhenIsawMark.Now,I’vemetyoutwo,andthingsarereallylookingup.”“ThisisDr.Charnell’sdaughter,”Alanaannouncedproudly.Megcringedinwardly.“Nolie?”Donovanasked.“He’sawesome.”Myfather?Megthought.“We’reworkingherethissummer,”shesaid

hastily,“andaccordingtoourtraining,we’resupposedtohelppatients.

Whydon’tIhelpyoubacktobed?”“Youdosoundlikeyourfather,”Donovansaid.Yet,hedidn’tprotestreturningtohisroom.Meg followed as he led theway, half afraid he’d keel over and shewouldn’tknowwhattodo.“I’llmeetyouatthenurses’station,”Alanacalled.Donovan’s room was sunny and bright. Although it contained twobeds,onlyonelookedasifithadbeenoccupied.“Yours?”sheasked.“Howdidyouguess?IlostmyroommatelastFriday.”Meg’sheartsqueezed.“Lost?”Donovansawherlookofdistress.“Hewenthome.”She realized she’d been a doctor’s daughter too long. In her father’sworld, “lost” meant died. “Can I help you?” she asked as Donovanclimbedinthebed,tryingtokeephisIVlinesfromtangling.“Canyouholdthestandsteadyforme?”Shegrippedthecoldmetalandparkeditbesidehisbed.Helaybackonthepillow,andshesawaflashofpaincrosshisface.“ShouldIcallanurse?”“No.It’llpass.I—um—guessIoverdidthings.”Meg’s training had taught her to be helpful and polite, but notpersonallyinvolved.“Nowthatyou’resettled,IthinkIshouldbegoing,”shesaid.“Ihaven’tevenofficiallyreportedinyet.”Hishandreachedoutforhers.“Canyouvisitjustaminute?”“Maybeforjustaminute.”Shefounditdifficulttosayno.Sheglancedaroundatthebed,desk,windowsill,andcurtainthatseparatedhisbedfromtheotherone.Shesawachild’sdrawingspinnedtothecurtainandtapedtothebottomofthesill.Therewasaphotoonthebedsidetableofagap-toothed,brown-hairedboyandaprettywomanwithgreeneyes.“Yourfamily?”sheasked.“Mymomandmybrother,Brett.ThoseareBrett’sdrawingsalloverthe place. He’s six and draws me a new picture for every day I’m inhere.”Meg’seyesgrewwide.Shebegantoquicklycountthedrawings.“Fifteen,”Donovan said, as if reading hermind. “Where do you go toschool?”heasked.“DavisAcademy.Ijustfinishedmysophomoreyear.Andyou?”“Actually, I’m not from theWashington area. Mom and Brett and Ilived in a small town on the border of Virginia and North Carolina.

When I got sick last March, Mom was determined to find the bestdoctorspossibleforme.ShesoldourhomeandmovedusherebecauseMemorial has one of the best liver specialists in the country on staff.She’srentedanapartment,but it’smilesaway,andshehas toridethebusjusttovisitme.”“Youhavesomethingwrongwithyourliver?”“You could say that. I had to drop out of school, but Iwould havebeenaseniorifwe’dstayed.”“Can’tyoubeaseniorherewhenschoolstartsinthefall?”“Maybe.” He shrugged. “So, tell me, what’s it like living with adoctor?”IttookMegamomenttoadjusttohisshiftinsubjects.“It’slikelivingwith a god. Occasionally, Zeus comes down from Mount Olympus tominglewithusmeremortals.”Herowncandor shockedher.Whywasshe saying such a thing to a guy she didn’t even know? She gigglednervously.“Justkidding.Dad’saprettybusyman,sosometimesitseemslikehe’shardlyathome.Howaboutyourdad?”sheasked.“Didhecomewithyou?”“Mydad skippedout five years ago.Address unknown.There’s onlythethreeofus.”“Hedoesn’tknowyou’resick?”“No,butsowhat?Mom,Brett,andIaremakingoutfinebyourselves.Whenthisisalloverwith,maybeI’lllookhimupandtellhimwemadeitwithouthishelp.”“IthinkI’dbettergocheckinatthenurses’desk,”shesaid,glancingatherwatch.“Sorry.Ididn’tmeantokeepyousolong.”“WantmetoturnontheTV?”“No,there’snothingworthwatching.”Megfeltsorryforhimandfeltasilenttug-of-warwithherconscience.“I’m scheduled toworkuntil three.Maybe I can stopby later and seehowyou’redoing,”shefinallytoldhim.“I’dlikethat.Momdoesn’tcomebywithBrettuntilaftersixbecauseshehastowork.”Shethoughthiseyeslookedtired,andinthesunlight,hisskin,aswellasthewhitesofhiseyes,lookedquiteyellow.“I’mnotgoingtoseeyouinthehallracinganymorewheelchairs,amI?”

“Nottoday.”Agrimaceofpaincrossedhisface,buthestillmanagedoneofhisilluminatingsmiles.“Nopromisesabouttomorrowthough.”Meg left Donovan and found her way to the nurses’ station. At the

desk, an older nurse,Mrs. Vasquez, said, “So, there you are. I’ve sentyourpartneronanerrand,butIneedbothofyoutohelpwithactivitytimeintheplayroomforthechildrenunderageten.”“Iwaswith a patient namedDonovan,”Meg explained even though

Mrs.Vasquezhadn’taskedforanexplanation.“Alanatoldme.He’sonenicekid.Hasafriendlywordforeverybody

andaspecialaffinityforthesmallerkids.Wedon’tgetmanyasniceashim.”Megitchedtoaskmoreabouthim,butjustthenAlanacamedownthe

hall.“Missionaccomplished,”shetoldMrs.Vasquez.“Thenit’stotheplayroomforbothofyou.”Insidetheplayroom,Megdiscoveredtwelvekidsranginginagesfrom

four to tenpreparing fora sessionwithanart therapist.Somewere inwheelchairs,otherswereincasts,afewwerebald.“Fromchemotherapy,I’llbet,”Alanawhispered.Megfeltoverwhelmed.Sherealizedhowisolatedshe’dbeenfromher

father’sworld.Thehospitalwaslikeaseparatecity,withahierarchyofpeople incharge.But in thiscity,peoplewere sick, someof themsickenough to die. Seeing the children, small and vulnerable, carryingaroundbasinsincasetheyhadtovomit,andwithapparatusesattachedtotheirarmsorprotrudingfromtheirchests,madeMegqueasy.Anditbrought back the memory of Cindy much too vividly. Meg didn’t seehowshewasgoingtolastthesummerinsuchanenvironment.“Youallright?”Alanaasked.“Youlookalittlegreen.”“Toomanydoughnuts,”Megmumbled.“Doesn’tthisbotheryou?”she

asked.“Lonniewasondialysissolong,Igotusedtocomingtothehospital.I

sawlotsofsickpeople.Now,Iwanttohelpthem.”Megwishedshecouldfeelthesameway,butallshereallywantedto

dowasgohome.Shebegantothinkshe’dmadeamistakebyagreeingtoworkat thehospital.She reallywasn’tup to the task.Shemadeupher mind that at the end of the day, she’d tell her father that shecouldn’tmanageit.Thatitwastoopainfulforheremotionally.Attheendofhershift,shestoppedbyDonovan’sroom.Hewassound

asleep, and she didn’t wake him. She studied his drawings from hisbrother carefully. There were many of a house with the words “OurHome”and“WheretheJacobysLive.”Nervously, she approached her father’s office, where she discoveredhim hunched over his desk, doing paperwork. He looked up andbeckonedherinside.“Howwasthefirstday?”“I’mnotsosurethisissuchagoodideaforme,”shesaid.“Sitandtellmeaboutit.”“Itriedtohelpwithactivitytime,butIdidn’tdoaverygoodjob.Thearttherapisthadtohelpmemorethanthekids.”“You’llcatchon.”Shefeltcowardly,wishingshecouldsimplycomeoutandtellhimthetruth.“IalsometaboynamedDonovan.”Herfathernodded.“He’sonesickkid.”“What’swrongwithhim?Iknowit’ssomethingtodowithhisliver.”“I’mafraidhis liver’sshot.That’sreallywhyhe’shere.Hisphysicianreferredhimtomebecauseourprogramishisonlyhope.”Megfeltherhandsturnclammy.“Yourprogram?”“Donovan needs a liver transplant.Without one, I’d say he has lessthansixmonthstolive.”

Three

“DONOVAN’SGOINGTOdie?Buthe’snotmucholderthanme.”“He’s almost eighteen, but age has nothing to do with it. He’s in

advanced stages of cirrhosis brought on by a non-A, non-B strain ofhepatitis.Cirrhosisisdeadly.”“Howdidhegetsuchathing?”“His hepatitis is idiopathic.” She looked perplexed, and her father

added,“That’smedicaltalkfor‘Wedon’tknowhowhegotit.’Frankly,atthislatestage,itdoesn’tmatter.”“Theremustbesomekindofmedicineforit.”“I’m afraid not. And the virus has all but destroyed his liver.

Sometimes, cirrhosis can be reversed, but not in Donovan’s case. Theliver filtersout toxins—poisons.Once itbegins to fail, toxinsbuildup.Eventually, the liveratrophiesaltogetherandthevictimdies.Theonlyhopeisatransplant.”“Willhebeabletogetone?”“Onlyifwecanlocateacompatibledonor.”“What’sthatmean?”Meg’sheadbegantoswimwiththecomplexityof

Donovan’scircumstances.“Adonorhastomatchinbloodtype,plusbeaboutthesameweight

andheightastheintendedrecipient.Theliverisalargeorganandcan’tbeexpectedtofunctionproperlyifit’smismatched.Andtheresimplyarenotenoughdonororganstogoaroundtoallthepatientsneedingthem.”“Why not?” Meg recalled how her dad would hurry off to perform

surgerywhenever an organwould be specially flown in for one of hispatients.Hewasonvirtualtwenty-four-hourcall.“Ah,Meg,”herfathersaidwithasigh.“That’sacomplicatedissue.To

beofanyusefortransplantation,organsneedtobefreeofdiseaseand

injury, so donors are most often healthy individuals who dieunexpectedly and traumatically—often with a massive head injury.Anyway, families have to be approached about donation when theirlovedoneisonlifesupport,whenheorsheisdeclaredbraindead.It’saverytryingtimeforeverybody,andfamiliesareinshock.“It’snotalwayseasy for them toacceptwhat’shappened,much lessagree to donate organs. Yet, people working with transplant servicesattempt tohelp families see thatorgandonation is sometimes theonlypositive thing to come out of such tragedies as premature death. Thebestwayforafamilytodealwiththeissueistoknowhowmembersofthe family feel aboutdonating theirorgans.That requiresdiscussing itbeforeatragedyhappens.”“DoesDonovanknowhowsickheis?”Megasked.“Hismother’sawareof thegravityofhiscondition,buteventhoughI’ve had several talks with him, I’m not sure he’s totally accepting it.Kids,especiallyyou teens,believeyou’re invincible,bigger thandeath.Also,theconditionitselfoftenbringsonboutsofconfusionandextremefatiguethatdullsavictim’sperceptionsabouthisillness.”HadCindy thought shewas invincible?Megwondered.Didn’t everyonehavetherighttogrowupandgrowold?“So,onceyoufindhimadonor,he’llbeallright,won’the?”Again, her father shook his head. “It doesn’t alwayswork thatway.The transplantation operation and recovery period aside, he’s not theonlypersonhereatMemorialawaitingalivertransplant.Ihavealistofpatients.”“Butyousaidhe’ddiewithoutone.”“They’llalldiewithoutone.”Meg felt as if she’dwandered into amaze. “Still, there’s hope, isn’tthere?”“There’s always hope. That’s what keeps us going.” His beepersounded.“Excuseme.”Hepickeduphisphoneanddialedhisexchange.Meg had grown to hate the sound of the beeper, and she feltparticularlyirritatednowthatshehadsomanyquestionsaboutDonovanandhisnecessarylivertransplant.Shewaitedwhileherfathercarriedona clipped conversation andhungup.He stood. “Meg, tell yourmom Iwon’tbehomethisevening.”“What’swrong?”Shelookedupathim,watchedasheremovedhislab

coatandslippedonhissuitjacket.“ThatwasacolleagueinBaltimore.He’sgotadonorheartforus,andI’vegotathirty-three-year-oldmotheroftwowhodesperatelyneedsit.AccordingtotheNationalNetworkforOrganSharing,thetwoofthemareamatch.”“Can’tsomeoneelsegogetit?”“Time is critical, and I want the retrieval done properly. Nothing’smore frustratingthanhavingaperfectlysuitableorgangobadbecauseof improper surgical proceduresor storage conditions. It’s best if I usethehospital’sprivatejettogoretrieveitmyself.”“I’lltellMom,”shesaid.Hewasalreadyoutthedoor.Megstoodandshook off a chill. Images of her father, Donovan, and the hospitalbombarded her, but the sound of the beeper took on a newmeaning.Oneday,itmightsoundforDonovan.Oneday,itmightmeanmedicalscience had located a donor liver for him. Still, she kept seeing theimageofCindy’s face.ForCindy, therehadbeennohope,notwithanorgan transplant, not with hospitalization, not with any assortment ofnewandexperimentaldrugs.Meghurriedtotheparkinggarage.Allshewantedtodowasgohomeandputtheentiredaybehindher.Andalsotoforgetwhathadhappenedtoherverybestfriend.

At dinner that night, Meg shoved green beans and broiled chickenaround on her plate. She didn’t havemuch of an appetite. Her sister,Tracy, kept jabbering about her upcoming stay at gymnastic camp forthesummer.Meglistened,halfheartedly,stillbroodingaboutDonovan.“Howwasyour firstdayasavolunteer?Doyou like it?”Megheardhermotherask.“I’maroundsickkidsallday.What’sfunaboutthat?”“Honey, it’s good for you tobe active, remember?Youweregettingtoointrospective,andyourfatherandIwereconcernedaboutyou.”That’swhyit’scalleddepression,Mom,Megfeltlikesaying.Thephonerang,andTracyhoppeduptoanswerit.Shereturned,saying,“Mom,it’sMrs.HotchkissfromtheJuniorLeague.”Megwasrelieved,knowingthathermotherwouldget involvedwithher Junior League responsibilities and forget about delving intoMeg’s

day.Later, inherroom,Megfloppedacrossthebed.Shewonderedifher

father’sefforttoretrieveadonorheartandsaveapatientunderhiscarehadgonewell.ShethoughtaboutDonovan’sneedforsomeonetodiesothathecouldlive.Meggotasensethatshewasviewingsomekindoflow-budgethorror

film.Maintaininghumanpartsand flying themaround thecountry foruse in dying people sounded so bizarre. But she was able to see thenecessity for the process in a new light because a stranger namedDonovanhadbecomearealperson,notacase.Sadness engulfed her, and she tried to recall the last time she’d felt

happy. Somehow, since the accident, she didn’t feel right about beinghappy because Cindy could no longer be happy. Her therapist hadhelpedhersee thatshehadtoovercomethat feeling.SherememberedthenightCindyhadbeenwithherforasleep-overandithadbeengreat.“So,whatdoyouthink,Meg?WillIalwaysbethetallestgirlinourclass,

orwillmyhormonesgiveupandleavemeinpeaceforawhile?”Megsatuprightandlookedaroundherroom,halfexpectingCindyto

be sitting on the floor, complaining about her height. The room wasempty. Of course, she’d imagined her friend’s voice. “You’re going tohave sporadic periods of renewed grieving,” Dr. Miller, her therapist,hadoften explained and tried to reassureher. “We call them ‘grievingpangs,’ and they’renormal. It’swhenaperson can’t riseupoutof thespiralandgoonwitheverydaylifethatheorshegetsintotrouble.”Suddenly, Meg realized she was tired of feeling grieving pangs.

Agitated,shecircledherroom.Shedidn’twanttothinkaboutthelossofCindy. She wanted to forget the pain. What could her father and Dr.Millerhavebeenthinkingtosuggestthatsheworkaroundsickpeopleatthehospital?Thiswasn’tgoingtohelpher.Itwasharmingher.Megwent toherdeskandpickedupCindy’sclassphoto.The image

grinnedout at her—a slimgirlwith aheadofwild, frizzy brownhairand frecklesonher face.“Iwishyoucouldmeet thisguy I sawtoday.Eventhoughhe’ssick,he’scute.You’dprobablythinkhewastoothin,butthat’snothisfault.Iwish…”Meg’svoicetrailed.Shecarefullysetdownthephotograph.Itwasstupidtobetalkingtoa

picture.Sheglancedat thebedsideclock. Itwasonlynineo’clock,butshe suddenly felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. “Excessive sleeping is a

sign of depression,” the therapist had informed Meg when she’d firststartedseeingherinApril.“Sowhat?”Meg said to thememory of Dr.Miller’s face.Without asecondthought,sheflippedoffthelightandcrawledbeneaththecovers,intotheblessedarmsofadeep,forgetfulsleep.

Four

WHENMEGARRIVEDatthehospitalthenextmorning,sheheadedstraighttoDonovan’sroom.Oncethere,sheskiddedtoahalt,seeingawomanandayoungboybesideDonovan’sbed.“Meg,”Donovangreetedher.“Comemeetmymomandbrother.”“Donovan’s been talking about you,” said the woman with hair the

samecolorasherson’s.“Hesaidyouwerepretty,”theyoungboyblurtedout.“Youare,butI

don’tlikegirlsverymuch.Ithinkthey’remean.BonnieOakland’smean.She’sinmyclass,andshealwaysbuttsinlineandmyteacherdoesn’tdoanythingaboutit.”“Brett, that’snotpolite,”hismotherscolded.“ExcuseMr.Chatterbox

here.Today’steacherconferenceathisdayschool.IaskedmybossifIcouldcomeinlatesothatIcouldmeetwithBrett’steacher.”ShepattedDonovan’sarm.“Andonourwayhome,westoppedtoseeDonovan.”“Nice to meet you,” Meg said, her mind still dwelling on Brett’s

commentaboutDonovan’sthinkingshewaspretty.She’dstruggledwithherweightmostofherlife,andboyshadneverseemedtonoticeherthewaytheydidslimmergirls.“I’mgladyoudidn’tgorighthome,”DonovantoldMeg.“Iwantedyou

tomeeteachother.”“It’snothome,”Brettinterrupted.“It’sanapartment.AndIhateit.”“It’shomefornow,bigguy,”Donovansaid.“Comeonandclimbup

onthebedwithme.I’vegotsomethingforyou.”Eagerly, Brett scrambled up on the bed. Meg knew she should say

something about its being against the rules for anyone other than apatienttobeinthebed,butshecouldn’tbringherselftospoilthelookofdelightonBrett’sface.

Donovan reached under his pillow and pulled out a toy laser gun.Brett’seyesgrewlarge.“Wow.Thanks.”“Where’dyougetthat?”hismotherasked.“I coaxed one of the night-shift nurses into buying it for me.” Heofferedhismeltingsmile,andMegrealizedthathecouldprobablycoaxEskimosintobuyingicecubes.“Don’tworry—Ipaidforit.”“Butthemoney—”“I’vebeensavingwhatyougiveme.”HeruffledBrett’shair,whiletheyoungerboybusilyremovedthepackagingfromthebrightplasticpistol.Meg noted thatMrs. Jacoby seemed genuinely concerned about theexpense.Megcouldn’timaginenothavingenoughmoneytobuyasmalltoy.“Ionlywantyoutohaveenoughforthethingsyouwantandneedforyourself,”Mrs.Jacobysaid.“WhatIneed,Ican’tbuy,”Donovanreplied.The expression on his mother’s face tore at Meg’s heart, and afterMeg’s conversation with her father, she understood exactly whatDonovanmeant.“Letmeseethat,”Megsaid,liftingBrettoffthebedandbendingdowntoexaminethegun.While she kept Brett occupied, Donovan and hismother had a low,quietdiscussion.Minuteslater,Mrs.Jacobysaid,“Weneedtobegoing,Brett.They’reexpectingyouattheday-carecenter.”“Ihatethatplace.”“What’s worse? The center or school?” Donovan asked, distractingBrett.“School,”theboyansweredglumly.“Thenluckyyou,”Meginserted.“Noschooltoday.”Brettlookedthoughtful,andMrs.JacobysmiledwarmlyatMeg.“Wecan’tgetbackuntilSunday,”Mrs.JacobytoldDonovan.“IgetpaidtimeandahalfifIworkonSaturday.”“No problem,” Donovan assured her, butMeg could see he dislikedbeingalone.Oncetheyweregone,evenMegfeltthehollownessintheroom.Shecouldgotowork,butDonovanwasstuckwithanotherlongdaytofacebyhimself.“Doyouliketoread?”sheasked.“I’msupposedtogotothehospital library and pick out books for the patients. Maybe I couldchoosesomethingjustforyou.”

“Reading’sallright,butwhatI’dreallyliketodoisgetoutsideonthegrounds.”“Youcandothat?”“Ifsomeonetakesmeinawheelchair.”Hemadeaface.“Ihatebeingpushedaround,butifit’stheonlywaytogetoutdoors…”“IcouldtakeyoudownafterIfinishmyshifttoday.”“Whathappenedtoyouyesterday?Ithoughtyouwerecomingbytoseeme?”“Idid,butyouwereasleep.”“You should have awakened me. Really. I hate sleeping in thedaytime.ThatmeansI’mawakehalfthenight.Youknowhowlongthenightscanbearoundthisplace?”“Twelvehours—sameasthedaytime?”“Technically,that’strue,butitfeelslikeahundredhourswhenyou’realonewithnothingtodoandnoonetotalkto.”She didn’t dare admit that she knew exactly what he was talkingabout.Herperiodsofexcessivesleepingwereoftenfollowedbyboutsofsleeplessness.“Iguessthenightscanseemprettylonginthisplace.”A lab technician strolled through the doorway. “Time for mybloodletting,”Donovansaidwithagrimace.Megbackedawayasthetechputdownthebasketfilledwithsyringes,swabs, and glass tubes for blood samples. “Doctor’s orders,” the techsaid.“I’ll seeyou later,”Megpromised, and slippedoutof the room.Shedidn’twanttowatchneedlespokedintohim.Atthenurses’station,Alanagreetedher,andtogethertheywentovertheschedulefortheday’sactivities.“I’lldothebookmobile,”Megsaid.“Ialreadyknowmywayaroundthelibrarydownstairs.”“And I already promised Mrs. Vasquez I’d handle the afternoonreadingtimeintheactivityroom,”Alanasaid.“Seeyouforlunch?”“Surething,”Megsaid.Butshenevermadeit to lunch.Thehospitallibrarywas so devoid of appealing books for kids thatMeg called hermother and asked if she could go through some of the Junior Leaguebookdonationsstoredintheirbasement.At noon, Meg rushed home, rummaged through boxes and sacksearmarked for the store the Junior League ran to raise money forcharity,andchoseanarmfulofnewreadingmaterial.Shecameacrossa

setofTheChroniclesofNarniabyC.S.Lewisanddecidedtoofferthemto Donovan. By the time she returned to the hospital, lunch was amemory.Thehospitallibrarianseemeddelightedwiththenewbooks,butMeg

had topromise tohelpher catalog themonSaturdaybefore she’dputthemoutonloan.Theafternoonpassedsoquickly,Megcouldscarcelybelieve itwhen

Alana told her good-bye for the day.Meg rememberedher promise toDonovan, checked out awheelchair, andwas on herway to his roomwhen shemet her father in the hall. He looked tired, butwas freshlyshaven, and she knew he’d probably ducked into the upstairs doctors’lounge for a shower and a change of clothes. “How’s your heartpatient?”sheasked.“The transplantwent smoothly,andshe’s in intensivecarenow.The

next forty-eight hours are critical. If she hangs on and doesn’t have aseriousrejectionepisode,I thinkshe’llmakeit. I’mhopingwe’llhitonthebestcombinationofimmune-suppressantdrugsrightoffthebat.”Forthefirsttime,henoticedthewheelchair.“Goingforastroll?”“IpromisedDonovanI’dtakehimoutside.”“That’sniceofyou.Thenursesaresobusy,we’realwaysshorthanded.

Andthepatientsneedtheseextratouches.”HisapprovalpleasedMegmorethanshecaredtoadmit.“Willheever

bewellenoughtogohomeandwaitforhistransplant?”sheasked.“We’retryingtostabilizehim.He’smuchbetterthanhewaswhenhe

checkedinaweekago.Evenifhedoesleave,hemuststayclosetothehospital.He’llwearabeepersothatwecanpagehimifasuitabledonoris found. Dr. Rosenthal, his primary physician, and I aren’t ready toreleasehimquiteyet,butIwillgivehimapass.”“Apass?”“I’lllethimcheckoutofthehospitalforafewhourstogohavesome

fun.Unfortunately,there’snottoomuchforkidshisagetodouphere.Toobadhismotherdoesn’thaveacar.I’dreleasehimforanafternoontohercare.”“Imet her andBrett thismorning.”Meghesitated, then askedwhat

hadbeenonhermindmostoftheday.“Theydon’thavemuchmoney,dothey?”“No.”

“Thenhowcantheyaffordalivertransplant?”“Money, or lack of it, isn’t a criterion for transplant consideration.Needis.There’refederalfundingprogramsforthosewhocan’taffordatransplant.It’scomplicated,andthepaperwork’saheadache,butIsawtoitthatDonovanwouldbecoveredfinancially.”“Youdid?”Her father gave her a tired smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I do itfrequently.Iwanttosavehim,Meg.Iwanthimtogetthetransplantandlive a long time. I want to save everybody who needs a new organ.Unfortunately,sometimesthemoney’seasiertogetthantheorgan.”Hesqueezed her shoulder. “You’d better get going. I knowDonovanwellenough to know he’s sitting on his bed, dressed and ready to getoutdoors.”Megan hurried off to Donovan’s room and went right in. “Noticeanythingdifferent?”heasked.Donovanwaswearingjeans,ashirt,andabaseballcap.“You’reaBravesfan?”His smile litup. “True,butalso I’ve lostmy lingeringattachment tomy IV.”Hehelduphis arms. “See—no lines.”He scootedoff thebed,but even though he tried to act as if all was well, she could see hisunhealthy,sallowcoloringandtheslow,painfulwayhebentover.“Let’sgetoutofhere,”hesaid.“Thisplacedepressesme.”Megcouldn’tagreewithhimmore.

Five

WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL was a large complex, located near theBeltway,anexpresswaythatcircledDC.Gardenswithwindingpathshadbeencreatedoffapatioareanexttothecafeteriainanattempttobuildamorerestfulenvironmentforpatientsandpersonnel.Shrubs,flowers,and gurgling fountains lent the area a serene, peaceful atmosphere, inspiteofrush-hourtrafficthatmovedbeyondthecomplex.As Meg pushed Donovan’s wheelchair along one of the paths, she

recalledhow the gardenshadbeenoneof hermother’s Junior Leagueprojects.Meghadbeenonly tenat the time theLeaguehadraised themoneytocreatethem,butshecouldstillrememberthedaythegardenshad been dedicated. She and Cindy had raced throughout the loopingtrails,pretendingtheywerelostinAlice’swonderland.“You’requiet,”Donovansaid,interruptingherthoughts.“Sorry. I was thinking how pretty it is here.” She pushed aside

memoriesofCindy.“Doyoulikeit?”“Yes.Therewasaparknear thehousewhere I grewup in southern

Virginia.WhenBrettwasababy,MomandIwouldtakehimandhavepicnics on the grass in the summer. I used to play on a Little Leagueteam there.Why, that parkwas sort of the social center of our town.Everyonespenttimethere.”“Yousoundlikeyoumissit.”“Imisseverythingabouthome.”“Brettsoundsasifhemissesitalottoo.”“The apartment is really small, and it’s up on the fifth floor, so he

can’tjustrunoutsideandplaywithhisfriendsthewayheusedto.Plus,Momworkssuchlonghours.It’susuallydarkbeforeherbusgetstoourstop.”Hesighedandstretchedbackinthechair.“Everything’schanged

becauseofme.”Megstoppedpushingandwalkedaroundtothefrontofthechair.“It’snotyourfaultyougotsick,”shesaid.“Iknowthatuphere.”Hetappedthesideofhishead.“Butwhydoesit botherme somuchdownhere?”Heput his handover his heart. “Iusedtogetboilingmadaboutit,butIdon’thavetheenergytobeangryanymore.”Megunderstoodjustwhathewassaying.Hadn’tshebeenangryaboutwhat happened to Cindy after the shock had worn off? She still gotangrysometimes.Itwassounfair!“So,ifyou’renotmadanymore,whatareyou?”sheasked.“Tired.Andscared.”Meg rememberedwhat her father had toldher aboutDonovan’s notrealizingthathewasdying.Hadhefigureditout?“ScaredthatI’llbumpyouintoatreewhileI’mpushingyou?”“You’renotthatbadadriver.No…I’mscaredbecauseIdon’tknowwhatwillbecomeofMomandBrettifsomethinghappenstome.Allwehave is each other. It’s especially hard for Brett. He was just a babywhenDadleft,andhelookstometobehisdadaswellashisbrother.Momdependsonmetoo.”Meg thought Donovan seemed too young to have so muchresponsibility on his shoulders. Although she had often resented hercircumstancesbecauseofherdad’smedicalobligations,shehadhadtwoparents and a beautiful home to growup in.And she’d beenbasicallyhappyuntilCindy…“Whataboutyourfriendsbackhome?Doyouhearfromthem?”sheaskedabruptly.“Not much. When I first got sick, in high school, kids were prettysympathetic, but the sicker I got and the more school I missed, theharder it was to keep up with the old crowd. Some of them tried tounderstand what I was going through, but unless you’ve been reallysick…”Hedidn’tfinishthesentence.“I’ve never been sick,”Meg said, “but I really do knowwhat you’retalkingabout.”Hetippedhisheadandstareddeeplyintohereyes.“Ibelieveyoudo.”Shefeltherfaceflush.ExceptforDr.Miller,thiswastheclosestshe’dcometodiscussingher feelingsof lonelinessandofbeingoutside life’smainstream.“Iguesspeopleget so involvedwith theirown lives, they

sometimesforgetthere’sawholeworldofpeoplewhodon’tquitefitinforonereasonoranother.”Donovannodded.“Yousaidit.Evenmygirldumpedme.”Meg feltapinprickof jealousyover thegirlhe’d liked,whoever shewas.“Thatwasnastyofher.”Heshrugged.“Iguessitwasn’tallherfault.Iwasprettyhardtolivewithwhenthedoctorstoldmemyliverwasshot.Iwasrudeandmean.Ihelpedpushheraway.”Meg could remember acting hateful herself during the past severalmonths.Sheevenhadstoppedstudying,andforthefirsttimeinherlife,her grades plummeted. That had been another reason her parents hadinsisted she seea therapist. “What’s theold saying?Youonlyhurt theonesyoulove?”Megsaid.Donovangrinned.“I’veheardthatbefore.Truthfully,Laurenisbetteroffwithoutme.Shestarteddatinganotherguyrightaway,soIguessshethoughtsotoo.”“Maybe thingswill get back to normal for you after you have yourtransplant,”Megsuggested.“Maybe.Listen,Ididn’tmeantositherehavingapityparty.Ireallyappreciateyourtakingtimetobringmeoutside.”“Idon’tmind listening,andbesides, it’sbeen funseeing thegardensagain. For the record, I don’t think you’re feeling overly sorry foryourself.What’shappenedtoyouhasn’tbeenanypicnic.”Hereachedoutandpluckedaflowerfromanearbybush.“Don’teverhaveyourlivercrash.Itleadstoweirdness.”“WhydoIget the feelingthatyou’dbeweirdeven ifyour liverwashealthy?”“I guess I can’t fool you.”His eyes glowed, and for amoment,Megsawhimashemusthavelookedbeforehegotsick.Arealheartbreaker,she thought. “Here.” He handed her the flower. “A token of mygratitude.”She accepted the flower and tucked it into a buttonhole on heruniform. “Do you knowwe’ve been out here for an hour?” she asked,glancingatherwatch.“I’llbetthey’rebringingthesuppertraystoyourfloorbynow.I’lltakeyoubacktoyourroom.”“Areyoutryingtopunishme?”Meglaughed.“Thefood’snotthatbad.”

“Whydon’tyoutryitsometime.”“Likewhen?”“Liketonight.”Meg felt her heart beat a little faster.He seemed to like beingwith

her.Thenotionpleasedherimmensely.“Ican’ttonight.Mykidsisterisleavingforgymnasticcamp,andMomwantsmetocometotheairporttoseeheroff.Dadcan’tmakeit.”“Noproblem.”Helookedaway,andMegrealizedthathethoughtshe

wasmakingupanexcusetoputhimoff.“HowaboutSaturday?”Sherememberedthathismomcouldn’tcome

foravisitonSaturday.“Ithoughtyoudidn’tworkonSaturdays.”“I don’t, but I promised the hospital librarian I’d help catalog some

books. I could come seeyouwhen I finish.Maybe I couldbringalongsomevideosandwecouldorderinapizza.Ihaveacar.Icouldpickoneupandbringitbacktothehospitalwheneverwegethungry.Canyoueatpizza?”“Mydoctorsaystherearenorestrictionsonmydietrightnow.Ithink

he’dlikemetogainsomeweight.”“Youcanhavesomeofmyweight,”shesaid.“I’vebeenlookingfora

placetodumpitforyears.”“Ithinkyoulookterrific.”“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. Honest. It’s just that being

overweight is something I’ve always struggled with.” Meg wished shehadn’tbroughtitup.Shedidn’twanthimknowinghowinadequateandineptshefeltaroundguysherownage.“You don’t have to fish,” he said. “I wouldn’t have told you so if I

didn’tmeanit.”Feeling inordinately pleased, Meg pushed him back to his room,

chatteringenthusiasticallyalltheway.Aftermakingsurehewassettledandcomfortable,shegavehimtheC.S.Lewisbooks.“UntilSaturday,”she said, andhurried home to put her sister on a plane for gymnasticcamp.Morethanever,shewishedshecouldcallCindyandtalktoher,butofcourse,thatwasimpossible.

“You’recertainlydressedupjusttohelpinthehospitallibrary,”Meg’s

mothersaidasMeganstartedoutthedoorearlySaturdaymorning.Meg felt her cheeks turning red. “I’m sick of wearing my uniform.Can’tIwearsomethingdifferentforachange?”“I’m not complaining,” hermother added hastily. “I think you looknice.It’sgoodtoseeyoutakeaninterestinyourlooksagain.”Meg wondered if she should go change. If her mother thought shelookednice,maybeshehadoverdressed.Shehadwantedto lookgoodforDonovan,wantedhisapproval.“I’llbeatthehospitaluntiltonightifyouwantme,”Megtoldhermother,thenhurriedoutthedoor.Atthehospitallibrary,Megworkedquicklywhilethelibrariantalkedabout how much she appreciated Meg’s extra effort. She seemed sograteful thatMeg promised to bring inmore books and help on otherSaturdays.Megbegantorealizejusthowvaluablevolunteerhelpwastotheplace,andwassorryshe’dresistedtheideaofvolunteeringwhenherfatherhadfirstmentionedit.It was noon when she got to Donovan’s room. He was dressed andsitting inachair, flippingthroughTVchannels.“I’vegot twogames,adeck of cards, and a video for us,” she said, breezing into his room.“What’syourpleasure?”He clicked off the set with the remote control device and turnedtoward her. “Can you getme awheelchair and takeme outside?” Hesoundeddistractedandpreoccupied.“Sure,ifthat’swhatyouwant.Why?”“Please,justdoit.Doitrightnow.”

Six

MEG GOT THE wheelchair, and Donovan climbed in it, clutching a smallleather shavingkit inhis lap. “Am I takingyouout for a shave andahaircut?” she asked, trying to joke with him. He looked tense andnervous.“We’lltalkoutside,”hesaid.Bewildered,shepushedhimdownthecorridor,intotheelevator,and

outintothegardenarea.Thesunbeatdown,wrappingtheafternooninablanketofhumidsummerheat.Manyotherpatientsandtheirvisitorswere out too, and finding a spot alone was difficult, but Meg finallyparked the wheelchair beneath a willow tree that was off the beatenpath. The tree’s filmy leaves grazed a pond, where dragonflies flittedabovethemotionlesswater.“I think this is as alone aswe canget today,”Meg said. She settled

herselfatthefootofhischairandgazedupathimanxiously.“Wanttotellmewhat’sgoingon?”Donovanfingeredtheleatherkitandglancedabout.“I…um…guess

Imustbeactingprettystrange.”“Not at all.Howexciting cangamesandavideomoviebe to aguy

whohasadeathgriponhisshavingkit?”For the first timesinceshe’dseenhimthatday,a smileappearedat

thecornersofhismouth.“Nowthatwe’reouthere,I’mnotsurewheretostart.”“Startatthebeginning.Takeyourtime,we’reinnohurry.”“IadmitI’vebeenhoggingyourtime,”Donovansaid.“I’llbetyou’ve

gotother things todoonSaturdays. Idon’tmeantocrowdyouorputsomethingonyouyoumightnotwant.”“Idon’tmind,”Megsaid,suddenlyrealizingthatitwastrue.Howhad

shebecomesoinvolvedwithhiminsobriefatime?Yet,sheknewthatshehad.“IfeellikeI’veknownyouforages.”“It’saphenomenon,”heremarked.“Whatis?”“Thewaysicknessmakesyouclosetopeopleyou’dnevermeetorbewithintheregularworld.”Had Donovan felt the uniqueness of their relationship too? Had hesensedthecuriousbondingthathadseemedtosweepawaybarriersofawkwardnessthatusuallyaccompaniedtheinitialstagesgettingtoknowsomeone?“Yourdadcalls thephenomenon ‘intimatestrangers’,”Donovansaid.“He says that people will tell a stranger sitting next to them on anairplane the secrets of their soul, when they won’t tell their closestfamilymemberthesamething.”“‘Intimatestrangers’…interesting,”Megsaid.“It explained some things tome. You see, I had a roommate in thehospitalbackinmyhometown,andItalkedtohimabouteverything.Hewaswhattheguysinmyschoolwouldclassifyasanerd,buthewassickalso, and we got real close over the weeks we were hospitalizedtogether.”“Whathappenedtohim?”“Hegotwellandleftthehospital.Hecametovisitme,butovertime,thebondbetweenusweakened.MaybeIwasjealousbecausehegotwellandIdidn’t.Maybeitwasbecauseweneverhadatruefriendship,justthe intimate strangerbusiness.”Donovan shookhishead,as if toclearoutthememories.“So, is that what we are?” Meg asked. “Intimate strangers? Whenyou’rewell,will you forget all aboutme?”Meg couldn’t believe she’deverforgethim.“I think we’re friends, don’t you?” A smile lit up his face, causingMeg’s heart to skip. She hadn’t had a really close friend since Cindy.“Because ifwe’re friends—andnot strangers—I can tell you somethingandmakeitoursecret.”“Is it something to do with your transplant?” Meg was genuinelypuzzledbytheodddirectionofhisconversation.“Inaway.”“Whatisit?Havetheyfoundyouadonor?”

YourForeverFriend,

“If theyhad, I’dbe throwingaparty.No… it’s somethingelse.”Hechewed his bottom lip. “It has something to dowith your father in aroundaboutway.”“Myfather?”“I’mconfusingyou.”Herakedhishandthroughhishair.“It’sjustthatIwant to tell you something… show something to you… thatmightaffect our friendship. I mean, once you see it, youmight have to tellyourfatheraboutit.”“I won’t if you don’t want me to. Doctors are asked to keepconfidencesallthetime.Mydadwillunderstand.”Donovanappearedhesitantforamomentlonger,thenhezippedopenhis shaving kit and pulled out a folded envelope. “I can’t keep this asecret any longer. If I do, I’ll bust. I’m going to trust you to keep itbetween us.” He thrust the envelope at her. “Read this. I woke upyesterdaymorningwithitonmypillowandnotaclueastohowitgotthere.”Gingerly,Meg took the envelope.Donovan’s namehad beenwrittenonthefrontinbeautiful,flowingcalligraphy.Redsealingwax,stampedwiththeinitialsOLWandbrokenwhentheenvelopehadbeenopened,covered the flap. She pulled out a handsome calligraphed letter andbegantoread.

DearDonovan,

Youdon’tknowme,but Iknowaboutyou,andbecause Ido, Iwant togiveyoua special gift.Accompanyingthisletterisacertifiedcheck,mygifttoyouwithnostringsattachedtospendonanythingyouwant.Nooneknowsaboutthisgiftexceptyou,andyouarefreetotellanyoneyouwant.

WhoIamisn’treallyimportant,onlythatyouandIhavemuchincommon.Throughnofaultofour own, we have endured pain and isolation and have spent many days in a hospital feelinglonelyandscared.Ihopedforamiracle,butmostofall,IhopedforsomeonetotrulyunderstandwhatIwasgoingthrough.

Ican’tmakeyoulivelonger.Ican’tstopyoufromhurting,butIcangiveyouonewish,assomeonedidforme.Mywishhelpedmefindpurpose,faith,andcourage.

Friendship reaches beyond time, and the truemiracle is in giving, not receiving.Usemy gift tofulfillyourwish.

JWC

Megdidn’tknowwhattosay.Blankly,shelookedupathim.“There’s more,” he said, reaching into the kit again. He pulled out

anotherpieceoffoldedpaperandhandedittoMeg.She unfolded it and saw that it was a checkmade out to Donovan

Jacoby in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. It was signed,“Richard Holloway, Esq., Administrator, One Last Wish Foundation.”Meggaped.“Doyouthink it’s legit?”Donovanasked.“Doyouknowanythingat

allaboutthisfoundation?”“I’ve never heard of it.”Meg racked her brain for the names of the

charitable organizations that supported the hospital. “Money usuallycomes to thehospital, not to any individual in thehospital. Especiallynot a patient.” She held the check up to the sun, but saw only awatermark forabank inBoston,Massachusetts. “DoyouknowanyonewiththeinitialsJWC?”“I’ve been thinking all morning, and the only person that comes to

mind is a guy in my school named Jed Calloway—I don’t know hismiddle initial. But it couldn’t be him. He’s poor as dirt and not verycharitableeither.No,itcan’tbeJed.”“HowaboutthisRichardHolloway?”“Neverheardoftheguy.What’sthatE-s-qmean?Doyouknow?”Megpuckeredherbrow.“I’veseenitinoldbooks.It’sanabbreviation

for‘esquire,’anold-fashionedtermforalawyer.Iguesshe’sinchargeofthisfoundation.Maybehe’sinthephonebook—wecouldlookandsee.”Donovanmoistenedhislips.“It’salotofmoney,isn’tit?”“Webothknowthatitis.Whywouldsomeonegiveittoyou?”“I don’t know.All the letter says is that this JWCunderstandswhat

I’mgoingthroughandwantsmetospenditonsomethingIreallywant.”“So,whatdoyouwant?”“Anewliver.”Hegaveamirthlesslaugh.“ButwebothknowIcan’t

buyoneofthose.”“Theremustbesomethingelse.”“There’relotsofsomethingelses.Ihavetothinkaboutit.Ican’tblow

thismuchcashonmyself.”“Ithinkthat’swhatJWCwantsyoutodowithit.”Heglancedofftowardthewillowtree.“There’sanotherproblem,”hesaidslowly.“Tellme.”“It—it’shardformetosayit.”“Youcantellme.”Megfeltherpulsethrobbinginherthroat.“It’sthepartthatinvolvesyourfather,”hesaid.“Howismydadinvolved?”“I’mafraidifheknowsaboutthemoney,he’lltakeitawayfromme.”

Seven

“TAKEITAWAY?Mydadwouldn’tdothat!”MegwasbothstartledandhurtbyDonovan’ssuggestion.“Idon’tmeanhe’dtakeitawayonpurpose.Buthemighthavetotake

itaway.”“Butwhy?Obviously,JWCwantsyoutohaveit.”Donovanshrugged,

andMegcouldtellhewashavingtroubleputtingwhathewantedtosayintowords. She tried tomake it easier by rising up on her knees andclaspinghishand.“It’syourmoney.Whywouldmydadwantit?”He touchedhisotherhand toherhair, smoothing itback.Her scalp

tingledfromhistouch.“Myfamily’spoor,Meg.Iknowwe’reacharitycase for this hospital. Mom explained how your father got us onMedicareinordertohelppayforallofthis.”“Money’snot supposed todecidewhogetsorgans.” She recalledher

conversationwithherfather,andhowheassuredherthatneedwasthemainfactorindeterminingwhogotorgansfortransplantation.“Iknowthat,butnowthatIhavemoney,willIhavetouseitforthe

operation?”Megcouldn’t answerhisquestion. “What if youdid?Would itmean

you’dgiveupthechancetogetthetransplant?”Hestareddownatthecheck.“It’salotofmoney,andmyfamilycould

useitforlotsofthings.”“Howcanyouconsiderusingitonanythingelse?Iknowyourmother

would spend every cent on keeping you alive.What difference does itmakeifithastobespentonyourtransplant?”“Itmakesadifferencetome,”Donovansaidquietly.“That’swhyI’m

holdingyoutoyourpromisetokeepitasecretfromyourfather.Ifit’sreallymymoney,IshoulddecideonhowIspendit.”

“But—”“You promised,” Donovan interrupted. He softened his words bystrokinghercheek.“Friendskeeppromisestofriends.That’safact.”Hetuggedherupward.“Comeon.IthinkIcanbeatyouinMonopoly.Wanttogivemeachance?”Megwanted to discuss the One LastWishmoney somemore. “But,Donovan—”“MaybeIshouldn’thavetoldyou.Idon’tmeantoputyouinatoughplace.Ijustneedsometimetothinkitthrough.”“I’mgladyoutoldme,butIdon’tknowhowtohelpyouwithit.”“Thenlet’sgoinsideandtalkaboutitlater.Rightnow,Iwanttohavesomeofthatfunyoupromisedme.”Meg spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Donovan,playing board games and watching the video movie in the recreationroom.Severaloftheyoungerkidsjoinedthem,andMegsawhowfondthey were of Donovan. He had a way with them, a friendly, openmannerthatputpeopleatease.Sheknewshefeltcomfortablewithhim.Bytheendoftheday,Donovanwascompletelywornoutandcouldn’teatthepizzaMegbroughttohisroom.“Youdon’tmind?”heaskedashecrawledintohisbed.“Whoneedsthecalories?”Shekeptherquestionlight,assheshovedtheunopenedboxtothesideandfluffedhispillow.Hiscoloring,whichlookedmoreyellowthanithadthatmorning,botheredher.“Maybeyoupushedtoohardtoday,”sheobserved.“Iwouldn’t have traded today for anything. I really appreciate yourspendingyourfreetimewithme.Itmeantalot.”“Ihadfun.”Megmeantit.Thetimeshe’dspentwithhimhadseemedto fly. “YourmomandBrettwill comeby tomorrow, and then it’ll beMondayagainandthestartofabrand-newweek.”“Anotherweekinparadise,”hemumbledcynically.Hiseyelidslookedheavy, andMeg watched them close. “Don’t forget your promise,” hewhispered.“Iwon’t forget,” she said.Hewasasleep instantly,butMegcouldn’tbring herself to leave. His breathing sounded shallow, and she wasconcerned about him. Shewished her father were there to assure herthatDonovanwasall right.She fiddledwith thebedcovers, smoothingthemthewayshe’dbeen taughtduringhercandystriper training.She

keptthinkingabouttheletterhehadreceived,andthecheck.MegrealizedthatshehadbeenraisedquitedifferentlyfromDonovan.She’dbeengivenmanymaterial thingsandhadnevertrulywantedforanything.Atsixteen,sheattendedatopprivateschool,woreexpensiveclothes,hadherowncar.Notthatherparentshadn’ttaughthervalues.Manyatime,hermotherhadlectured,“Wehaveadutytohelpotherswhoarelessfortunate.Yourfather’sprofessionisaimedtowardhelpingandhealing. Iworkhardwithmycharitiesbecause itgivesmeadeepsenseofsatisfactiontoknowI’mdoingsomethingusefulforothers.”Untilnow,Meghadn’tpaidmuchattention.ButJWC’sgenerousgifttoapersonheor sheclaimed tonotevenknow,causedMeg topauseand reevaluate her parents’ philosophy of life.Whywould a completestranger give Donovan so much money?Who was this JWC anyway?Megfoundherselfnotonlycurious,butalsoalittlejealous.Notthatshedidn’t want Donovan to have the money—she did. The money didn’tthreatenMegatall.Itwasthecaring,theconcern,fromananonymous,facelesspersonthatintimidatedher.“Don’tpout.Itwon’thelp.”MegheardCindy’svoiceinthebackofhermind.“Butyoudon’tunderstand.Mydadthinksmoreofhispatientsthanhedoesofme!”Megrecalledwailingtoherfriendthedayshe’dgraduatedfromeighthgradeandanemergencyhadmadehimmisstheceremony.“Doctors don’t belong to just their families,Meggie. They belong toeverybody,” Cindy commented. “Sort of like the President, I think. I’llbethefeelsheowessomethingtothepeoplehetakescareof.”“Thenwhydidmyfatherevenbothertohaveafamily?Whydidn’thejustdevotehimselftohumanityandforgetabouthavingus?”“Probablybecausehewantedyou,”Cindy answered. “Who says youcan’thaveboth?”Now, years later, standingnext toDonovan’s hospital bed,watchinghis chest rise and fall with labored breathing, Meg recalled theconversationwithvividclarity.DidJWCfeelheorsheowedsomethingtothesickanddying?WasthatthemotivationbehindtheOneLastWishFoundation?And if so,wheredid thatkindofcompassioncome from?Did Meg have it within herself to feel the same way? The way herparentsdid?She longed to talk it over with Cindy. Her best friend would have

helpedhermakesenseofit.But,ofcourse,therewasnoCindy.Stricken,feelingmoredepressed thanshehad inweeks,Megpushedaway fromDonovan’sbedandquicklyleftthehospital.

“YourfatherandIaregoingtorunouttothecountryclubandplayafew rounds of golf. Want to come along?” Meg’s mother asked herSundayafternoon.“Notreally.”Megfeltlistless,asifherenergyhadbeendrainedaway.

“I’dratherlieherebythepool.”“Ifthat’swhatyouwant.”Shesawhermotherhesitate.“Iseverything

okaywithyou?”“Thingsarefine.”“You seem tobe a littledown today.And lastweek, you seemed so

muchmoreanimated.Didsomethinghappenatthehospitalyesterday?”“Nothinghappened. I hada good timewithoneof thepatients. I’m

concernedabouthim.”“TheJacobyboy—yourfather’stoldmeabouthim.”Megsatupright.“HasDadsaidhowDonovan’sdoingtoday?”“I’m trying to get him off for a little relaxation. I asked him not to

evencallintoday.Ifhe’sneeded,he’llbepaged.”Meghadseenhermother’seffortstoprotectherfatherfromoverwork

before. She planned frequent getaways and weekend minitrips. Still,mostjauntswereinterruptedbycallsfromthehospital,moresonowthathewasheadofthetransplantunit.“Goontothegolfcourse,”Megsaid.“I’mperfectlyfinebymyself.”Once they were gone, Meg tried to lounge by the pool and read a

book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Her thoughts keptreturning to Donovan, his medical prognosis, JWC, and the One LastWishFoundation.Aroundfiveo’clock,shegaveup,dressed,andleftherparents a note: “Went for a drive to buy some frozen yogurt. Don’tworry,Mom.I’llgetthelow-fat.Honest.”She hoped the note’s levitywould keep them from being concerned

abouther.Shewas in thepitsemotionallyandwasattempting to takehertherapist’sadvice—“staybusy,stayinvolved.”Megwasn’t surehowsheendedupnear thehospital,butbeforeshe

knewit,shewaspullinghercarofftheexitrampthatwouldtakeherto

Memorial.Theneighborhoodaroundthecomplexwaswellkept.Olderhouses,oncethehomesofWashington’selite,dominatedtheareatothenorth,awayfromtheexpressway.Tothewestsideofthehospital,signsannounced theconstructionof sleeknewmedicalofficebuildings.Megsaw thewholeareaas anoddmixtureof theoldand thenew,withasturdymedianstriplinedwithcherrytreesseparatingthepastfromthepresent.AsshenearedtheentranceofMemorial,MegrecognizedMrs.JacobyandBrettwaitingatthebusstop.Shepulledtoahaltinfrontofthem.“Howareyou?”sheasked.Brettwaved.“Hi,”hesaid.“Irememberyou.”Mrs.Jacoby’sfacelookedlinedanddrawn,andMeg’sheartwentouttoher.“Comeon,”Megurged,throwingopenhercardoor.“Letmegiveyouaridehome.”“Welivetoofar,”Mrs.Jacobysaid.“Noproblem.I’dlovetotakeyou.”“Areyousure?”“Positive,” Meg replied, knowing instantly it was the truth. Shewanted toknowDonovan’s familybetter, and shewanted tohelp.Shecouldn’tchangethepast,butshecouldaffectthefuture.“HopinandtellmeallaboutDonovan.Ihaveatonofquestionsforyou.”

Eight

BRETTBOUNDEDINTOthebackseat,andDonovan’smotherwearilygotintothefront.“Thisisveryniceofyou.Forsomereason,thebusdoesn’tseemtorunonscheduleonSundays.”“Hey,thiscarisneat!”Brettblurted,bouncingontheleatherseat.“Is

ityours?”“It’smine,”Megsaid.“Putonyourseatbelt,”hismotherinsisted.“That’stheruleinmycar,”Megtoldhimashebegantoprotest.When

sheheardthebucklesnapintoplace,sheasked,“So,howwasDonovantoday?”“Crabby,”Brettannounced.“Hewasn’t feelingwell,”Mrs. Jacobyexplained. “Dr.Rosenthal said

hiselectrolyteswereimbalancedandhispotassiumlevelswereelevated.It’s happened before, and it always makes Donovan spacey andincoherent.Thedoctorsaysit’shardonhishearttoo.”“Hekepttalkinglikewewerebackhome,”Brettchimedin.“Hekept

tellingmetocallLaurenforhimandtellherhewaspickingherupfortheirdate.That’sdumb.”“I explained it was because his bloodwasmessed up,”Mrs. Jacoby

saidoverhershoulder.“Hedidn’tknowwhathewassaying.”“Hedidn’t even listenwhen I toldhimabout the fort I’mmaking in

mybedroom.”“Please,Brett,hecouldn’thelpit.”Meg thoughtMrs. Jacoby sounded on the verge of tears. “I have an

idea,” Meg said. “Before I take you home, how’d you like some icecream?Mytreat.”“Yeah!”Brett’svoicefilledthecar.“Chocolate.”

“Don’tgooutofyourwayforus.”“I was going to get some for myself when I saw you. There’s aminimallnottoofarfromhere.”“It’skindofyou,”Mrs.Jacobysaid.“Idon’twantany,butBrettwillfollowyouanywhereifyoufeedhim.”Meglaughed.Whenshereachedasmallstripcenter,sheparkedandthethreeofthemwentinsideanice-creamparlordecoratedlikeanold-time country store. They ordered, andwhile theywaited,Mrs. JacobyhandedBretttwoquartersforagamemachinetuckedbackinacorner.While he was preoccupied, Mrs. Jacoby leaned against the booth andshuthereyes.“I’mexhausted.Thanksagainforofferingusaride.”“Toobadyoulivesofarawayfromthehospital.”“Believeme, I tried toget closer,but the immediatevicinityhadnorentalapartments.I’mafraidthehomesthereareoutofmyleague.”“DonovantoldmeaboutyourhomeinVirginia.Hemissesit.”“Sodo I,butoncewewere toldhehad tohavea liver transplant, Iknewwehadtobeclosertothetransplantcenter.Thecallcouldcomeanytime,dayornight.Thecloserweare,thesoonerwecangethere.I’msureyouunderstandhowcriticaltimingisforsomethinglikethis.”Megnodded.“Maybethecallwillcomesoon.”“Maybe.Ihavemixedfeelings,however.”“Youdo?”“Thinkaboutit.Hislife,theliverhesodesperatelyneeds,dependsonsomeone else’s dying. I think about that. I think about some motherlosingher child, and itmakesmyheart ache. Butmy son is living onborrowedtime—everydayisonelessthathehastolive.Andeverydaybrings him closer to either dying or surviving with a part of anothermother’s child inside his body. These days, medical science gives usstrangechoices.”“SometimesitseemslikedoctorsplayGod,doesn’tit?”Megasked.“Don’t getmewrong… I’mgrateful for the technology, grateful formenlikeyourfatherwho’vedevotedtheirlivestobringingrecoveryandlongevity to thedying.Organ transplantation isawonderful thing,buthuman beings are always involved, and that makes it complex, notsimple at all. Life and death never is.” Mrs. Jacoby studied Meg andsmiledsheepishly.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantogetsophilosophical.It’sbeenalongday.”

“Now that you’ve moved to the city, will you stay even afterDonovan’stransplant?”“I assume so.He’ll need to be checked regularly, and of course, hisdosageofimmune-suppressantdrugswillhavetobecarefullyregulated.Washington’snot suchabadplace to raise two sons.There’splentyofhistoryhere.And the suburbs reallyare lovely,although I’mpositive Icouldn’t afford anything too grand. Still, there must be some niceneighborhoods I’ll be able to afford someday.” She laughedwryly andadded,“Tonight,I’dtradeamansionintheboondocksforaroomwithaviewnearerthehospital.Thiscommuteisthepits.”Onceagain,Megrealizedhowshelteredherownlifehadbeen.She’dlivedinthesamehousesinceshewasababy,andshetookherlife-styleforgranted.“Ifyouhadacar—”shestarted.“I couldn’t afford the insurance.No, fornow, this is simply thewaythingshavetobe.I’mresignedtoit.”Theicecreamarrived,andBrettboltedovertothetableanddugin.Megenjoyedhisenthusiasm,andsoonthethreeofthemwerelaughingoverhisstoriesabouttakinghislaserguntoschool.Yet,subconsciously,MegkeptmullingoverMrs.Jacoby’sdilemma.Howterribleitwouldbetohavesomeoneinthehospitalandnowaytogettohimquickly.ShewonderedifDonovanwouldwanttospendaportionofhisWishmoneyon transportation for his mom. She decided that as soon as he wasfeelingbetter,shewouldaskhim.

WhenMegarrivedforworkMondaymorning,shewentbythenurses’station in order to get an update on Donovan’s medical status. “Hisbloodworkhasn’tcomeupfromthelabyet,”Mrs.Vasquezsaid.“Butheseemsmorecoherentthismorning.”“Mybrotherwould get the samewaywhenhis blood chemistry gotoutofwhack.OnceDonovan’sbalanced,he’llbebackinhisrightmind,”AlanatoldMeg.Megtriedtofeelencouraged,butshedidn’twanttoseeDonovannotin control of his facilities. Something cautioned her that he wouldn’twanther to seehim thatwayeither.Around lunchtime, sheovercameherinhibitionsandwenttohisroomanyway.Helayonhisside,staringintospace.

“Hello,” shesaidcautiously.Hiseyes slowly focusedonher face.Heattempted to situp,but sheputherhandonhis shoulder tokeephimdown.“Ican’tstaybutaminute.”He nodded and held his arm slightly aloft. An IV line led to a pole

besidehisbedwhereclearplasticbagshung.“Asyoucantell,myfriendandIarereattached.”Donovan’svoicesoundedhoarse.“That’swhatfriendsarefor.”“Ihatethisone,”hewhispered.“Hecrampsmystyle.”“I’msureyouwon’tneedhiminacoupleofdays.”Shetoldhimabout

taking his mom and Brett for ice cream and then home to theirapartment.“Whatdidyouthinkofourcastle?”Shecouldn’ttellhimthatshefoundtheplacesmallanddepressing.“It

wasinteresting.YourMom’sfixeditupprettynice.”Hisgazeneverlefther face, and soon she felt her cheeks burning. “You should call Brettlater.He thought youwere beingmean to him yesterday because youweresooutofit.Hecan’tquitecatchontowhat’shappening.”“Meeither,”Donovansaidglumly.“BrettsaidyoukeptaskingforLauren.Doyoumissher?”Megwasn’t

surewhyshewasasking.Itwasn’tanyofherbusiness,butshewantedtoknow,neededtoknow.“No. Imisswhat she represents—freedom from thisplace.The life I

usedtohavebeforeIgotsick.”“Afteryourtransplant,you’llbeabletohaveyouroldlifeback.”“How can a person go back after he’s been through something like

this?HowcanIeverfeelnormalagain?”Shewantedtotellhimsheunderstoodperfectlywhathewassaying.

Shewantedtotellhimaboutwhatshehadbeenthroughduringthepastyear. Instead, she asked, “What’s normal anyhow, and who decides?Let’smakeourown‘normal.’”“Ineedafavor,”hesaidafteramoment.“Nameit.”“I need you to find out if the money from the Wish Foundation is

really mine to spend on whatever I want. When I got sick, I startedthinking I coulddieandnever spend themoney,and thatwouldn’tberight.Myfamilyneedsthemoney.”“I’ll see what I can find out,” Meg assured him, even though she

hadn’taclueastohowtogoaboutit.“You have to figure out a way of getting the information withouttellinganyoneIreceivedit.”“I’lltakecareofit.”Shehopedwitheveryfiberofherbeingthatthemoneywouldbehiscompletely.Donovandeserved it.JWCmust thinksotoo,orwhyelsewouldDonovanhavebeenchosen?Meg returned to work, determined to find out what she could. Shehungaroundthehospitalafterhershiftended,untilsheknewthatherfatherwas alone inhis office.Meghurried to cornerhimbefore somemedicalemergencycalledhimaway.“Are you busy?” she asked, stepping into his office and closing thedoor.“Notatthemoment.Comeonin.”Hewasallsmiles,obviouslyinagoodmood,andshedidn’twanttoruinit.“Youlookhappy,”shesaid.“Myheart transplantpatient isdoingso splendidly that I’mgoing toreleaseherattheendoftheweek.Iloveitwhenthingsgooffwithoutahitch.”“That’s super.”Meg feltherhearthammeringagainsther ribsas shestruggledwith a way to phrase her questions on Donovan’s behalf. “Iwaswonderingifyoucouldtellmesomething.”“I’lltry.”Megtookadeepbreath.“Cansomeonewho’sbeenacceptedforyourtransplantprogrambekickedoutofit?”

Nine

“KICKED OUT?”MEG’S fathersoundedpuzzled.“It’snotasocialclub,Meg.Wedon’tadmitpeopleintotheprogramlightly.Weconductmedicalaswell as psychological tests—interviews with psychiatrists and otherdoctorstodetermineifapersoncanhandleundergoingatransplant.Noteveryone is a candidate, but once a patient is admitted, he stays untileitherwefindamatchingdonororhedieswaitingforone.”“And so if the money part’s already handled, it won’t matter if

someonewaiting to get a transplant gets rich all of a sudden?What Imeanis,whatifsomeoneneedsatransplantandhe’sacceptedandthecost is already covered and then that person wins the lottery orsomething.Willhehavetopayforhisowntransplantjustbecausehe’sgottenfilthyrich?”“Oncefundshavebeenallocatedforapatient,hismedicalprocedures

are covered, no matter how rich he gets. But there are many costsfollowingthetransplantthatthepatientwillincur,”herfatherreplied.“Suchas?”“A changed life-style. The immune-suppressant drugs. They can run

upwardoftenthousanddollarsannually.”“That’s a lot ofmoney.”Meg’s elation overDonovan’s being able to

keephisWishmoneyquicklyvanished.“Butthosedrugsallowapatientyearsmoreoflife.Howcanyouputa

priceonthat?”Hesteepledhisfingerstogetherandeyedherquizzically.“Whyallthisinterestinfinances?”Meg thought quickly, then replied, “I’ve been noticing things this

hospitalcoulduse.”“Suchas?”“Forinstance,whyisn’tthereahotelnearbyforapatient’sfamilyto

stayatwhiletheywaitaroundforatransplant?”“I admit it would be very helpful, but land around here is at apremium. This area was all residential until Memorial was built, butslowly,overtheyears,peoplehavemovedtothesuburbs.Eversincethetransplantprogram’scomein,Memorial’sgrownevenmore.”“ItbothersmethatpeoplelikeMrs.Jacobyhavetolivesofaraway.I’llbetDonovanwouldliketohavehercloser.Anditmustreallybehardon littler kids. I see their parents sleeping in their rooms in chairs, oreven on the couches in the waiting rooms. They don’t look verycomfortable.”“You’re right. Iwishwehada specialhouse forpatients’ families.Abig corporation talked about building one years ago, but then theythoughttheneedwasgreaterforonenearthechildren’scancerfacilityinMaryland,sotheybuiltoneupthere.Withouttheirfinancialbacking,ourprojectnevergotofftheground.”“ButMemorialstillneedsone—especiallynow,forpeoplewaitingfortransplants.”“Itwouldtakeacoupleofyearstogetsuchaprojectgoing.”“Why?”“I remember when we looked into it before. All monies had to beraisedfromscratch.Anarchitectwasneededtodrawupplans,buildingmaterials had to be bought or donated, furnishings acquired, not tomention kitchen and bathroom fixtures, recreational areas for leisuretime,people tomanage the facility,volunteers tohelpout—I’mtellingyou,Meg,it’samammothundertaking.”“Butitseemstomeasifyouneeditnowmorethanever.”Shetriednottobedismayedoverthelengthofhislist.“I agree, but even if we had the land and the money, the actualbuildingofthiskindoffacilitycouldtakeclosetoayearofconstructionwork.”“You have to start sometime.” Meg wasn’t sure why she felt sostronglyinfavoroftheidea.She’dneverbeenacrusader.Maybeitwasseeing how Donovan’s mother was struggling to keep her familytogether.Orhaving to comfort someof the kids on thepediatric floorwhentheyweresobbingbecausetheymissedtheirmothers.Ormaybeitwas knowing what Cindy’s family had gone through. All the thingstogethercausedhertoimaginesuchahousevividly.“Ican’tbelievethis

hospitalcan’t spare someof its land tobuildahomeaway fromhomeforpatients’families.”Her fathereyedher thoughtfully. “The land’sonlyonehurdle.Whatabouttherestofit?Moneydoesn’tgrowontrees.”“Whatifsomegrouptookitonasaproject?”“Thatwouldbenice.Anyideas?”“Acouple.”“Thengoforit.”“What?”Hisanswerdrewherupshort.“Medosomething?”“You’retheonewiththeideas.AndIknowhowdeterminedyoucanget once you set yourmind on something.” She opened hermouth toargue,buthe continued, saying, “Aren’t you thegirlwho stageda sit-down strike in the school cafeteria in the eighth grade to protest thequalityofthefood?”Ofcoursesherememberedtheevent,butCindyhadbeenhercohort,andtogethertheyhadmastermindedthedemonstration.“Andwon?”herfatheradded.“Thatwasdifferent.Thisisserious.”“I know it’s serious. I’mnot tellingyou to raise themoneyyourself,onlyto findagrouptospearheadsuchaproject. Ihavefaith inyou. Ithinkyoucandoit.”Megwanted toargueagainst the idea. Shewanted to tellher fatherthatallshe’dagreedtodothissummerwasbeavolunteer.Butevenasshesilentlylistedherreasonsfornottacklingsuchaproject,sheknewitintriguedher.Andallbecauseof someonewhose initialswereJWC. Ifthisanonymouspersoncouldcalmlydroponehundredthousanddollarsinto Donovan Jacoby’s lap, then why couldn’t Meg do something ofequalorevengreatervalueforhim?All the way home, Meg warred with herself about such anundertaking.Apartofhersaid,“You’resixteen.Youcan’tdothis.”Butanotherpartofherargued,“Whynot?Allyouhave todo isdiscuss itwithMom and ask how one of her Junior League projects gets going.Maybe the League could be the spearhead group that Dadmentioned.Theworstthatcanhappenistheideawon’twork.”Thatevening,shebroachedtheideawithhermother.“Wehavemanyworthwhileprojects,”hermothertoldMegaftershe’dlistenedcarefully.“Don’tyouthinkthisoneisworthwhile?”

“Yes, I do. However, I’m only one boardmember. There are otherswho’llneedconvincing.”“Can’tyouconvincethem?”HermotherputherhandonMeg’s shoulder. “I couldneverdo it as

wellasyou.Perhapsyoucanspeaktothematournextboardmeeting.”Meggroaned.Whathadshegottenherselfinto?

A week later, Meg found herself standing in front of the JuniorLeague’sboardofdirectorsinherownlivingroom,herhearthammeringasshemadehercase.“IhaveafriendatMemorialwho’sdying.Heneedsatransplant,and

heneedshisfamilynearhimwhilehewaitsforone.Youprobablycan’thelphimwithhistransplant,butyoucanhelphisfamilygetcloserthananhour’srideawayfromhim.”Meghadpreparedforthepresentation.Shehadstatisticsandlogical

arguments.Shemadeastrongcase foran immediateandconcentratedfund-raising effort. Appealing to the emotions of those women in theroom,shespokeofamother’s love forherchild,a family’sneedtobeinvolvedwiththeirlovedone’scare,apatient’slongingtohavesomeonehelovesnearhimtoeaseemotionalandphysicalsuffering.WhenMegwrappeduphertalk,sheknewbythewomen’sexpressions

that she had had an impact. She silently hoped it had been strongenoughtopersuadetheboardtotakeuptheprojectofbuildingaspecialguesthouse.“Thankyou,Meg,”Mrs.Hotchkiss, thepresident,said.“We’lldiscuss

yoursuggestionandgetbacktoyou.”Megwasdisappointed.Shehadhopedthey’dsayyesonthespot.The

nextdayoverlunch,sheconfidedinAlana,who’dbecomeapal.“Ithinkit’sadynamiteidea,”Alanasaid.“Mybrotherwilltoo.Infact,

I’ll bet if we get endorsements from all the people who’ve gottentransplantsatthisplace,wecouldmakeonefinefund-raisingletter.”“I’llbetyou’reright,”Megagreed,warmingtothesuggestion.“Maybe

we could ask local reporters to feature stories about former patients.WouldLonnievolunteerforaninterview?”“Of course. Especially if his sister strong-arms him.” Alana giggled.

“Lonnie’sworking for a big company inWashington.Maybe theywill

coughupsomebigbucks.Maybewecantalk folks intobeingSanta inJuly.”“Whynot?ForeverygiftSantaleaves,hecouldtakeupadonationforourcause.”“We’llbeSanta’sspecialelves.”Meg laughed. The home away from home for the families of sickpeoplewasnolaughingmatter,butsomehowthejokingmadethetaskseem less insurmountable. Laughingwith Alana about grandiose planssuchasbuildingaplacewasjustplainfun.Fun.Wasn’t thatwhathadbeenmissing inher life for over a year?Whatanoddplace toget it,Meg thought.Throughthe livesofpeopleshehadn’tevenknownsixweeksbefore.

Ten

BY THE END of theweek,Meg had no news about her project, but goodnews about Donovan. His blood chemistry had stabilized, his IV hadbeen removed, and he was in good spirits. “It’s a six-hour pass forSaturday from your father,” he said, waving a piece of paper underMeg’snose.“Wheredoyouwanttotakeme?”“Wheredoyouwanttogo?”“Besides Alaska? I’d like to go home.” His expression grew wistful,

thenhe said, “Momwantsusover fordinnerat theapartment.Wouldyoucomewithme?”“I’d love to,” Meg said, realizing she was his sole means of

transportationandthatwithouther,itwouldcosthimafortuneincabfaretogettohismother’sapartment.“I’llbetyourMom’sagoodcook.”“Eventhedyinggetafinalmeal.”“Don’tjokeaboutthat.”Donovan took her hand. “Sorry. Being cooped up for so long has

blackenedmysenseofhumor.Promisemesomething.”“What?”“Beforewegotomymom’s,let’shavesomefunonourown.”Shesmiled.“You’reon.”DonovancheckedoutofthehospitalonSaturdayafternoon,andMeg

started their outingwith a drive down Pennsylvania Avenue, past theWhite House. “Think we should stop in and say hello to the Prez?”Donovanasked.“Ithinkheshouldallocatemorefundingfortransplants.There’snotenoughmoneyforpeoplewhoneedthem.”“He’soutofthecity—toohotthistimeoftheyear.”“Great.Where’sgovernmentinactionwhenIneedit?”“Have you seen theWashingtonMonument?How about the Lincoln

Memorial?” She tried to think of things that didn’t require muchwalking,sinceDonovanwasstillrecovering.“I’veneverseenthem,”headmitted.“ThemostI’veseenistheinsideofMemorialHospital.”Meg took him to theWashingtonMonument first. The great obelisksoaredupwardfromthegreengrassintothebrightbluesky.Peoplehadspread blankets on the grass, and children ran squealing and trailingkites.Megthoughttheairhumidandmuggy,butDonovaninsistedthewarmthfeltgood.“I’vebeencoopedupsolonginthehospital,Ifeellikeamushroom,”hetoldher.They walked toward the Lincoln Memorial, along the rectangularReflecting Pool, then sat beside the cool water, where Meg watchedreflections of clouds float on the water’s surface. She hoped Donovanwasn’toverlyexertinghimself.“DoyouknowhowtiredIamofbeingsick?”Donovanaskedwithasigh.“SometimesIdon’tthinkthey’lleverfindadonorforme.”“Suretheywill.”Megtriedtosoundconfident.“You’vecomethisfar.”“Far?”He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Far fromwhat?My home?Myfriends?Lookwhatmymother’shadtosacrificeforme.Ithinkaboutallshe’shadtogiveupbecauseI’msick.”“Don’tthinkaboutit.Thinkaboutallthethingsyou’llgettodoonceyourtransplantisover.”“Likewhat?”“LikespendyourWishmoney.Youcouldbuyyourmomacar.”Meghad already told himhow shehad talked to her father and confirmedthat Donovan’s medical expenses would be covered regardless of hispersonalfinances.TheOneLastWishcheckwashistokeepandspendashewanted.“No…Iwanttogethersomethingreallyawesome.Shecoulduseanewhouse.”Donovansatupstraighterthemomentthewordswereoutofhismouth.HeturnedandlookedatMegwithanexpressionoftotalrevelation. “That’s it. That’s what I can buy her. I haven’t told heranythingyet.”“Ahouse isabigdeal,all right.Don’tyou thinkyourmothermightliketopickoutherown?”“But then itwon’t be a surprise. That’s the part thatwouldmake itspecial.She’dbesurprised—thewayIwassurprisedwhenIdiscovered

theWishmoneyanddecideditwasforreal.Ican’ttellyouhowitfelttoopenthatletterandseethatcheck.Andthentoknowitwasmine—allmine—to do anything I wantedwith.Well, what Iwant is to buymymotherahouse.”“Housescostlotsofmoney.”“Ihaveatonofmoney.”“Butitstillmaynotbeenough.”“I won’t know until I start looking.” Donovan took her by hershoulders.“Youcanhelpme.”Megblinked.“How? Idon’tknowthe first thingabout looking forahouse.”“Howhardcanitbe?WhenwesoldoursinVirginia,Momhiredarealestate agent. She showed the house to a bunch of people, and one ofthemboughtit.Thatseemssimpleenoughtome.”“Iknowhowtheprocessworks,”Megsaid.“Ijustdon’tknowwhatIcandotohelp.”“Youcanhelpmefindanagent.YoucantellherhowmuchmoneyIhave to workwith. And about how I need to be near the hospital. Itneedstobeaniceneighborhood,onewithgoodschoolsforBrett.”Meg noticed that Donovan had excluded himself from the schoolagenda.“Gee,Idon’tknow…”“Meg,please,Ineedyou.IneedyoutobemyarmsandlegswhileI’mstuckatMemorial.”Shelookedintohiseyesandsawquietdesperation.Heneededher.Hisappeal sliceddeep intoherheart. Sheneededhim too.Neededhim inher life, even though she couldn’t explainwhy to either one of them.“Well,IguessIcouldaskaroundforyou.”“IknewIcouldcountonyou.”Shewantedtotellhimnottogethishopesup.“I’mnotevenpositiveIcanpersuadearealestateagenttotalktome.Imean,Idon’tlookoldenough to have the kind ofmoney it takes for a house.An agentwillthinkI’mafraud.”“So tellheryou’re a rock star.”Hegrinned. “Everybodyknows rockstarsareyoung,rich,andweird.”“Arockstar!Whowouldbelievethat?”“You’llthinkofsomething.Ihavecompleteconfidenceinyou.”Megdidn’tfeelconfidentatall,butsheknewshewouldtryherbest

forhissake.“Listen,Mr.Moneybags,ifIsomehowmanagetobamboozlesome agent and get her to takeme, you, on as a client, and I line upsomehousesforyoutosee,thenyouhavetodoyourpart,understand?”“What’sthat?”“Youhavetostaywell.”Hecuppedherchininhispalm.“I’mdoingmybest.Withmyluck,I’ll

findtheperfecthouseandjustbeforeIclosethedeal,mybeeperwillgooffandyourfatherwillwanttogivemeatransplant.”Meggazeddeeplyintohiseyes.“Mayyouhavesuchgoodluck,”she

said.“Mayyouhavesuchgoodluck.”

The meal Donovan’s mother prepared for them that evening wassimple,buttasty.“It’sterrific,Mom,”hetoldher.Meg agreed, looking around the apartment atMrs. Jacoby’smeager

belongingsandwell-wornfurniture.Throughthewalls,Megcouldhearababycryingandatelevisionblaringinneighboringapartments.Brett bounced enthusiastically inhis chair. “We can spend thenight

together,”hesaid.HisfacefellwhenDonovantoldhimthathehadtoreturntothehospital.“Butthat’snotfair.Whycan’tyoustay?”“BecauseI’mstillsick.Idon’twanttogoback,butIhaveto.”“You’vebeengonealongtime.Iwantyoutocomehome.”“Ican’t,Brett.”Brettpushedawayfromthetable.“Youcouldifyouwanted.Meand

Momcantakecareofyou.”“Ihavetoleave.”“Ihateyou!”Brett shouted,hiseyes fillingwith tears. “Idon’twant

youtocomehome.Stayatyourstupidhospitalforever.”“Brett—”Mrs. Jacoby called as he ran down the hall and slammed

intohisbedroom.“I’llgogethim.”Donovanstood.“No.Letmetalktohim.It’smehe’smadat.”“Hedoesn’tmeanit,youknow.”“Iknow.”Donovandisappeareddownthehall.Meg understood perfectly how Brett felt. Hadn’t she been angry

—furious—aboutCindy?Inherpain,hadn’tshewantedtostrikeoutateverybody? “He’ll get over it,” Meg said in the awkward silence thatremainedintheroom.“He’llfeelsorryforbeingmeantoDonovanand

will want to see him as soon as possible, just tomake sure his angerdidn’tharmDonovaninsomeway.”Mrs. Jacoby looked at Meg. “You’re right. It’s happened before. Hecriesandworriesthathisbrotherwillgetsicker.Howdidyouknow?”Meg averted her eyes. “I’m a doctor’s daughter, remember? I couldcallhimlater,afterIcheckDonovanbackintothehospital,andlethimknowthatall’swell.”“You’ddothat?”“Sure.Brett feels leftout,andthatmakeshimfeelworsebecauseheknowsDonovan’sreallysickandhecan’tmakeitgoaway.”“You’re a smart and tenderhearted girl,Meg. I appreciate all you’redoing.Forbothmysons.”Meg shrugged. She liked Mrs. Jacoby and Brett. And she likedDonovan too. Liked him more than she knew she should, given hiscircumstances.He’sgoingtobeattheodds,shetoldherself.TheNetworkforOrganSharingwouldfindhimaliver,andhe’dhavethetransplant,recover,andbeallright.Hehadtobe.Meg checked Donovan back in to the hospital that evening. “Don’tforgettohelpfindmymotherahouse,”hesaidashecrawledintobed.He looked awfully exhausted to Meg. “I won’t,” she promised. Shedrove home and went to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep. She was stilltossingwhensheheardthephoneringattwoA.M.Sherealizeditwouldbe for her father, and felt a vague sense of foreboding she couldn’texplain.Whensheheardhisfootstepsinthehall,shegotoutofbedandmethimatthetopofthestairs.“I’msorryifthephonewokeyou,”hesaid,startledbyherappearance.“Gobacktobed.”Something in the way he averted his eyes made her ask, “What’swrong? Is there something wrong with someone I know? WithDonovan?”Her father lookedather fully,hesitated, then said, “Thatwas a callfrom a hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. I’m driving over there nowbecause theyhaveanaccidentvictimon thevergeofbraindeath,andhisbloodtypeisthesameasDonovan’s.”

Eleven

“AREYOUSAYINGthey’vefoundadonorforDonovan?”Meg’sheartbegantoraceinanticipation.“Don’t jump to that conclusion. All I know is that the victimmeets

severalcriteriathatcouldmakehimamatch.I’mgoingovertheretobeavailablefororganretrieval,justincase.”“Iwanttocomewithyou.”ThewordsjumpedfromMeg’sthroat.“Meg, that’s not necessary. The family hasn’t even been approached

aboutdonatingyet,andtherewouldbenothingforyoutodobuthangaroundthewaitingroom.”She caught his arm. “Please, Dad, let me come along. I-I’ve never

askedforanythinglikethisbefore.Don’tsayno.It’sreallyimportanttome.”Her father studied her intently, as if weighing his medical

professionalismandhisroleasherfather.“Ineedtoleavenow.”“Fiveminutes,”shepleaded.“Icanbedressedtogoinfiveminutes.”

Herhearthammeredasshewaitedforhisreply.“All right,” he said, jangling the keys in his pocket. “I’ll leave your

motheranote.Meetmeinthegarage.”Megspun,rantoherroom,tuggedonclothes,grabbedherpurse,and

raceddown the stairs.They rode in silencealong theBeltway throughsparsetraffic,towardtheMarylandexit.ShewatchedherfatherpickuphiscarphoneandcallMemorial.“IwantyoutoprepDonovanJacobyfor surgery,” she heard him tell an assistant on his transplant team.“Start him on the donor protocol, and I’ll let you know as soon aspossibleifI’mabletoretrieve.”“Will Donovan know hemay get the transplant tonight?” she asked

whenherfatherhungupthereceiver.

“He’llknow.We’lldobloodwork,anEKG,andXrays.Thenwe’llstarthimonantibioticsandantirejectiondrugsrightaway.”“Whatifhedoesn’tgettheorgan?”“We have to prepare as if he will. We have to lower his risk forpostoperative infectionandgivehimaheadstartonorganacceptance.Asfortheother—well,thespecterofdisappointment,ofnotgettingtheneworgan,issomethingallpotentialtransplantrecipientshavetolearntolivewith.”Megwatched the lampposts flash past the carwindowas her fatherspedalongtheexpressway.Shefelteventswerehurtlingbyjustasfast.ShepicturedDonovan’sfaceasheheardthathemightgethisnewliver.Sheknewhowhelongedforthewaitingtobeover.“Ihopethisisitforhim.”“Ihopesotoo.”At the Bethesda hospital,Meg followed her father up stairwells andthroughamazeoflongcorridors.Hepausedinfrontofasetofdoubledoorsmarked “Personnel Only Beyond This Point.” He glanced about.“There’ll be awaiting roomnearby.Go there andwait formewhile Icheckwiththetraumateam.Thepatient’sonlifesupport,butIwanttomakesurehe’sbeingwelloxygenated.”Megfoundherwaytoacubbyholeofaroom,wheresixpeopleweregathered together ina smallhuddle.Theirgriefhither likeawall themomentshewalkedinsidetheroom.Shewantedtobackoutslowly,butrealized they had taken no notice of her, so she slunk to a chair.Herpalms felt clammyandhermouthdry.She fumbled inherpurse foramint.“Wecan’tlosehim,”Megheardawomansob.“They’re doing all they can, Peggy.We just have towait,” themanbesidehersaid.Megsuckedinherbreath.Thishadtobethepotentialdonor’sfamily.Meg lowered her gaze, trying to make herself as small and asinconspicuousaspossible,wishingshe’dchosenanyroombutthisonetowaitforherfather.“He’s stillalive,”anotherwomansaid. “Thepolice saidhewasalivewhentheambulancelefttheaccident.”Meg experienced a wave of horror. The person they were talkingaboutwasn’talive.She’dheardherfathermentionbraindeathonhiscar

phone.Shefeltguiltywithholdingtheinformation,butknewtherewasnothingshecoulddoorsay.“Remember when Blake was little?” the woman asked. “Rememberhowhe’ddrivehis trike to theendof thedriveway forhoursonend?Then,whenhegothisdriver’slicense,hewashappy.Sofulloflife.”“Don’tdothistoyourself,Mama,”ayoungwomansaid.“DoIremember?HowcouldInotremember?Hewasmybaby.”Shebrokeintoquietsobs,andthemanbesideherputhisarmsaroundher.Megfeltdesperatelysorryforthem.Deathmeantgoingawayforever.Itmeantleavingfamiliesandfriendsbehind.Itmeantleavingaholeintime and space that only that one special person could fill up. Sheunderstood that part—understood it very well. She began to growqueasy.Twomenandawomanenteredthewaitingroom.Megcouldtellataglance that they were medical personnel. “Dr. Burnside!” the womancried.“How’sBlake?How’smyson?”Thedoctortookherhandsandpulledhertoherfeet.“Peggy,Iwantyouandyourfamilytocomeintotheconferenceroomwithme.Iwantmycolleagues to talk toallofyou.”Henodded toward theothermanandthewoman.“Are they surgeons? Does my Blake need some special kind ofoperation?Whateverheneeds,doctor,doit.”“Come, let’s go where there’s more privacy.” Dr. Burnside’s gazeflickedoverMeg.Hercheeksburned,andshestaredstonilyintospace.Oncetheyalllefttheroom,Megreleasedherbreath,startledthatshe’dbeenholdingitallthistime.Theroomseemedtooquiet,andshewishedherfatherwouldcome.Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She had no ideahowlongtheoperationtoremovetheboy’s—shecouldn’tbringherselfto say his name—organswould take.Not long, she figured. She knewhowcriticala factor timewas in transplantation.Justa little bit longer,Donovan,shetoldherself.Hiswaitwaspracticallyover.Meglosttrackoftime,butwhenherfatherappearedatthedoorway,shewassurprised.Somehow,itdidn’tseemlongenoughforhimtohavecompleted his tasks. There was no liveliness about him either, noundercurrent of raw energy, as she often saw when he was facing atransplantsurgery.“Areyoufinished?”sheaskedhaltingly.

He came over and sat heavily in the chair beside her. For the firsttime,shenoticedlinesoffatiguearoundhiseyesandmouth.“Thereisn’tgoingtobeanysurgery,”hesaid.“Thereisn’t?Whynot?”“Thefamilyrefusedtograntpermission.”Hiswords hit her like stones. “B-but they have to.Don’t they know

Donovan’sdying?”Herfathertookherhand.“Honey,theydon’tknowDonovan.Allthey

knowistheireighteen-year-oldsonisdead.”“Didn’t you try to change their minds? Didn’t you tell them how

importantitwas?”“Organdonationisvoluntary,Meg.Peoplecan’tbeforced.”She felt panicwell up inside her. “So,whatwill they dowith him?

Just shovehim into the ground? Just let his organs go towastewhentheycouldbeputintosomeoneelseandhelphimlivelonger?”“You can’t think about it that way. You have to understand and

respecttheirfeelings.”“Well, I don’t!”Meg tore her hand fromher father’s and stood.Her

legs felt rubbery, but she began to pace. “It’s not fair. Why wouldn’tthey?Whywouldn’ttheysayyes?”“Peoplehaveahundredreasons.”Heshookhishead.“They’reafraid

ofdisfiguringtheirlovedone—whichwedon’t.Theyfeelit’sfreakishtotransferbodypartsfromonepersontoanother.ToomanyFrankensteinmovies,” he added. “Whatever their reasons, we can’t intervene. Wecan’teverforceanyonetoagreetodonation.It’satoughthingtoevenbroachwithgrievingrelatives.Itoldyouthatoncebefore.”She remembered, recalling her own feelings about transplantation.

Hadn’tsheherselfoncebeenturnedofftothewholeidea?Yet,nowthatsheknewDonovan,her feelingshad completely changed. “So,whydoyou even bother to ask at all? Why get somebody’s hopes up fornothing?”“First of all, we ask because it’s the law. We have to ask. Second,

becausetherearemanypeoplewhorealizethatthisistheultimategifttoothersandanopportunity todosomethinggoodandkind.This isawayfortheirlovedonetocontinueliving.”“But not these people,” Meg said. “These people don’t care about

othersatall.”

Herfathercamequicklyalongsideher.Hetookherarmsandturnedhertofacehim.“Don’teversaythat,Meg.Thesepeople justhadtheirsondie,andtheyareinconsolable.”Meg began to tremble, understanding exactlywhat inconsolable feltlike.Itwasadeep,blackhole.Abottomlesswelloftearsandanguish.Aplacewithoutsunlightorevenair.Herlipbegantoquiver.“Idon’twantDonovantodie,Daddy.”Herfatherdrewherintohisarms.“I’mdoingallIcan,Meg.There’llbeanotherdonorforhim.Youhavetobelievethat.”Shenodded, forcingdownthetears thatweretryingtoburst free.“Ithoughtthiswasitforhim.Ithoughthiswaitingwasover.”Helookeddownintoherfacewithtroubledeyes.“Meg,medicineisastrangebusiness.It’slifeanddeath.Sometimesit’smakingchoicesthatno one but God should have to make. I know what you’re feelingbecause I’ve felt thatwaymyself. Iwant to tell you something, and Iwantyoutolistenclosely.”“I’mlistening.”“Theonlywaytotreatpatientsandnotgocrazyistodistanceyourselffrom them.You can’t allow yourself to become so personally involvedthatyouloseyourprofessionalperspective.DoyouunderstandwhatI’mtellingyou?”“Yes.YouthinkI’moverreacting.”“No, your concern is all too human. But you can’t become toopersonallyinvolvedinanyonecaseorinanyonepatient’slife.It’sthefirstruleofthedoctor-patientrelationship.”She took a deep breath, forcing down a retort. Shewasn’t a doctor.Nordidsheeverwant tobe.Medicinewasher father’sworld,andshewas sorry she’d gotten mixed up in it at all. “Don’t you ever getinvolved,Dad?Doesn’tsomeoneeverbecomespecialtoyou?”He shrugged and glanced away. “It’s a fine line to walk. I have towatchmyself.Mypatientsarejustthat—patients.NomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tsavethemall.”She tried toapplybrakes toher runawayemotions.She tookadeepbreath and attempted to distance herself from the drama she had justwitnessed.“I’mallrightnow,”shesaid.“I-I’msorryIgotsoangry.”“It’sunderstandable.”Heranhishandthroughhishair.“Now,I’vegotthetoughjoboftellingDonovan.”

“Willyoutellhimnow?”“I’ll takeyouhome first, thengo checkonhim.My transplant team

knowstherewon’tbeanysurgery.Donovanwillbefairlygroggyforthenextcoupleofdays,butsooneror later,he’ll figureouthedidn’thavethe transplant. You’re right about one thing—he’s going to be a verydisappointedyoungman.”Her heart squeezed as renewed concern for Donovan swept through

her.Shewasgoingtohavetofacehisdisappointmentalso.Megtookadeep breath and followed her father out into the hall. If professionaldistancewasoneofherfather’srules,sheknewshewasintrouble.She’dalreadybrokenitandcouldfigurenowaytoturnthesituationaround.

Twelve

“YOU’RE DRAGGING AROUND today,Meg.Didyouhaveahotdate lastnight?”Alanaasked.Meg shookherhead in responseand sippeda soda,hoping the cola

would revive her sagging energies. The lunch crowd in the hospitalcafeteriaseemedespecially loudtoher.“Iwishithadbeenahotdate.No, I’m afraid last night was a real downer for me.” Quickly, sherecountedherandherfather’sfalsealarmruntoBethesdaforDonovan.“Ididn’tgettobeduntilfourA.M.andthenIcouldn’tgotosleep.Ifeellikeazombietoday.Sorryif I’mnotcarryingmyshareoftheworkonthefloor.”“Forgetit.I’mjustsorrythedonordidn’tworkoutforDonovan.Have

youbeenbytoseehimthismorning?”“Notyet.Frankly, I’mnot looking forwardto talking tohim. Iknow

howdepressedhe’sgoingtobe,andIfeelsohelpless.Idon’tknowwhattosaytohim.Imean,howdoyougoaboutconsolingsomeonebecausehe didn’t get a transplant? Someone who’s still living on borrowedtime?”Alana’sexpressionwassympathetic.“YouknowIunderstandbecause

ofmybrother’ssituation.IwishIcouldhelppeopleunderstandthat.”“Iwish I couldhelp thewholeworldunderstand it,”Megcountered.

“The truth is, unless it happens to someone you care about, it isn’timportanttoyou.”Alana started stacking the empty plates fromMeg’s lunch tray onto

her own. “You’ve got some free time.Why don’t you go seeDonovannow?”“He’s still in ICU and won’t be brought back to his room until

tomorrow.Maybe by tomorrow, I’ll feel bettermyself. I don’twant to

makehimevenmoredepressed.”“Hedoesn’thavetoknowaboutyourgoingtotheotherhospitalwithyourfather.Andallyouhavetodoisholdhishandandlistentohim.Don’t feel you have to be responsible for making him cheerful.Sometimes,it’sokaytoletapersonworkthroughhisangerbyhimself.”MegthoughtAlanasoundedverywise.“Thevoiceofexperience?”sheasked.Alananodded.“SometimesallIcoulddoformybrotherwaslisten.Heneededtogetitout,andIwastheonepersoninourfamilywholethimsayanythinghefelt likesaying.”Shesmiledimpishly.“Andsometimesthatboyhadsomeprettyshockingthingstosay.Ididn’tknowheknewsuchwords.”Meg felt a flood of gratitude toward her friend.Maybe it would bebestnottotellDonovanhowupsetshe’dgottenoverthefamily’srefusalto donate their dead son’s organs. “I’ll rememberwhat you said.” ShetouchedAlana’sarm.“Andthanksfortheadvice.”Alanasmiled.“Anytime.”Two days later, Meg could visit with Donovan. Even after he wasbrought down from ICU, hewas still incoherent.Meg spent timewithMrs.Jacobyduringoneofhervisitstothehospital.Theymetinoneofthepediatricplayrooms,whereBrett,welloutofearshot,wasbuildingaspaceshipwithgiantsnap-togetherblocks.“Thenight thehospitalcalledme, Ialmostwentdeliriouswith joy,”Donovan’smothertoldMeg,sighing.“Ithoughtitwasfinallyhappeningforhim.IbundledupBrettandtookacabtothehospital.Thetwoofuswaitedandwaited.Brettfellasleep—thankheaven—butIcouldn’tthinkaboutanythingexceptDonovan’ssurgery.”“And then therewas no surgery,”Meg commented. “Youmust havereallyfeltcheatedwhenyoufoundout.”“Ifeltbothdisappointedandrelievedatthesametime.”“Idon’tunderstand.”“Disappointed for the obvious reasons. Relieved because theunknownsaresoscaryforme.Imean,oncehehasthetransplant,hehasa long roadof recovery ahead.Also, once it’s done, there’s no turningback.Ifhisnewliverrejects,orifsomethinggoeswrong,Donovanwillcertainly die. I know I shouldn’t borrow trouble, but that fear alwayslurksinthebackofmymind.”

Meg swallowed her own taste of fear. “I guess you’re right. Eventhoughhe’ssick,eventhoughhisownliver’sfailing,atleasthe’salive.”Mrs. Jacoby patted Meg’s hand. “I shouldn’t dump my doubts andfears on you. Forgive me. There are people here at the hospital—psychologists—Ishouldbetalkingto.”“Idon’tmind,”Megsaidquickly.“No, it’s not fair to you.Myonly excuse is that you’re so genuinelyconcernedaboutmyson.”“Iam,Mrs. Jacoby. I careabouthimsomuch.”Meg felther cheeksreddenafterher impassionedwords.Donovan’smothermust think shesoundedlikeamoonstruckchild.Mrs. Jacoby smiled with understanding. “He had a girlfriend backhome. Iwishshe’dbeenhalfascaringandsensitiveasyou. I’mafraidshereallyhurthim.”“Itwasherloss,”Megsaid,realizingshewasn’tDonovan’sgirlfriendinthesenseMrs.Jacobymeant.Still,shetrulycaredabouthim.“I agree.Have you heard anythingmore about building that specialhousewhereparentscanstayandbeneartheirkidswhilethey’rebeingtreated here at Memorial?” Donovan’s mother changed the subject.“Believeme,Isurewishedforonetheothernight.IthinkthatcabridebacktotheapartmentafterIlearnedtherewouldbenotransplantwasthelongestrideI’veevertaken.AllIwantedtodowastuckBrettinandcurlupandgotosleepmyself,butIcouldn’t.Wehadtotraipseallthewaybackacrosstownfirst.”Megshookherhead.“Sorry…Ihaven’theardanythingyet.”“Oh,well…Itisabigundertaking.”Shemadeaface.“Poorchoiceofwords.”Undertaking.Megcaughtthemeaning.Undertaker.Sheshivered,eventhoughtheplayroomwassunnyandwarm.

Thenextday,whenMegwenttoDonovan’sroom,hewassittingupinbed,flippingthroughTVchannels.Seeinghimuprightandalertcausedarushof relief. “Youmustbebetter,” shesaid,coming inside.“You’rescanningtheTVwasteland.”Heflippedoffthescreenandheldouthishandtoher.“I’mbetter,”hesaid.“Whateverthatmeans.”

Shetookhishand,noticingthathiscolorlookedstrange—somewherebetweenyellowandpastywhite.Buthisvoicesoundedstrongandlucidonce more. “It means that you’ll be hanging around until anotherpotentialliverdonorcomesalong,”shesaid.“Iwasprettyoutofit,wasn’tI?”“Doyourememberanything?”“Irememberbeingawakenedinthemiddleofthenightbysomenurse

promisingmeawildandcrazytime.”Meggiggled.“Shedidn’tlie,didshe?”“They put me on a gurney and wheeledme down to the operating

room.TheydidabunchoftestsandforcedaKrom’scocktaildownme.”“What’sthat?”“Themost foul-tasting stuff ever invented bymedical science. It’s a

decontaminant for your intestinal area, you know—to kill off all thenasty germs lurking inside the body. That way, once you have thetransplant,yourbodyhasabetterchanceofacceptingtheneworgan.”“Toobaditwasfornothing,”Megsaid.“Yeah…toobad.But,then,Ineverdidhavemuchgoodluck.”Shebracedherselfagainstawaveofpityforhim.She’dlearnedthat

patients don’t want pity, they want understanding. “You’ve had somegoodluck.Youmetme,”shequipped.AsmilesoftenedDonovan’sface,andinspiteofhisgauntness,shefelt

herpulsequicken.“Okay,soI’llgiveyouthatone.”“Whatelsedidtheydotoyou?”“Theygavemeapreopshotthatsentmeofftonever-neverland,soI

waskindofspacedout.Iremembermymomcomingintoseeme.ThenI don’t remember anything else for the next twenty-four hours. I justwoke up in ICU. It tookme awhile to figure out that something hadgonewrongwiththetransplant,becauseIknewI’dhavebigstaples inmy side from the operation and I didn’t.” He shook his head, as ifclearingoutthememory.Hisgriphadtightenedonherhand.Shewantedtosaysomanythings

tohim,butrecalledAlana’sadvicetosimplylisten.“Iwasdisappointedinamajorway,”hesaid.“Andmad.Iwastrappedinmedicalpurgatory,and therewasabsolutelynothing I coulddoabout it.There’dbeennooperation,andwhatwasworse,Ihavetogothroughthewholethingalloveragainwhentheydofindmealiver.”

Heglancedupather,andhisintenseinnerstrugglewithself-pitywaswrittenonhisface.“Anyway,hereIam.Stillwaiting.”“Allofusfeltbadforyou,”Megsaidsoftly.“Italkedtoyourmother,andnowmorethanever,Ithinkweneedthatfamilyguesthouse.”“Maybeso.Butnowmorethanever,Ithinksheneedsahomeofherown.How’syoursearchcomingalong?Anyprospectsyet?”Crossingher fingers andhopinghedidn’t seehow shewashedging,she mumbled, “Not yet.” In truth, she hadn’t looked at all. So manythingsweregoingonthatshe’dnotdonea thingaboutherpromise tohim.“Idon’twantthisWishFoundationmoneytogotowaste,”Donovaninsisted. “If anything, this check fromJWC iswhat’s keepingme fromgoingnuts.”“Howdoyoumean?”“Because I know it’s there.Because I know it canbuymymomandBrettafuture.ItwasallIthoughtaboutwhenmyheadstartedtoclearinICU.IkepttellingmyselftohangonsothatIcouldgetwellenoughtogetoutofthisplaceandtakemymothertothehouseI’mgoingtobuyforher.”Meg swallowed guiltily. She was holding up his dream by notfollowing through with her promise to find a realtor and go househunting.“Well,youkeepgettingstronger,allright?IswearI’mgoingtofindsomehousesforyoutopickfrom.”“Justthink,Idon’thavetorecuperatefromtransplantsurgerybeforeIbuy, do I? All I have to do is survive until the next time.”He lookeddirectlyintoMeg’seyes.“Ifthereisanexttime.”

That evening, asMegwearily let herself into her house, hermotherhurried up to hug her. “I’ve beenwaiting for you to get home. Guesswhat,honey?TheJuniorLeagueboardhasapprovedyourproject.We’regoing toworkon raisingmoney tobuildahomeaway fromhome forpatients’families.Isn’tthatexciting?”

Thirteen

MEG SET DOWN her purse and car keys on themarble-topped table in thespacious foyer. “The project’s been approved? That’s great, Mom. Weneedthehousesomuch.”MegkeptthinkingaboutMrs.Jacobyandalltheparentslikeher.“Iknewyou’dbepleased.Itwasyourbrainchild.”Hermotherhooked

herarmthroughMeg’s.“We’llhaveameetingFridaymorningwithanarchitect.He’sarelativeofBettyHotchkiss’sandiswillingtodonatehisservices.That’sthekey,youknow—togetasmuchdonatedaspossible.Ithinkitwouldbeniceifyoucouldattendthemeeting.”“I’llbeworkingatthehospital.”“You’reonlyavolunteer.Youmayhavetoreexamineyourpriorities

now.”Megdidn’twanttoreexamineherpriorities.Shewantedtobearound

the hospital. Around Donovan. “People are counting on me up inpediatrics.”“This idea was yours, and your presentation to the Junior League

boardwassopersuasive.Inaturallyassumedyou’dwanttobeabigpartofit.I’mproudofyou,Meg.Thisissuchagoodidea,butitwillrequirealotofwork.Wecandoitifweallpulltogether.”Meg had assumed that once the Junior League took it over, she

wouldn’t be involved. She remembered the ideas she and Alana hadjokedaboutregardingfund-raising.“Ihadthoughtaboutafund-raisingletter,”shesaidtentatively.“A letter!We’lldomanyof them.Youknow,aprojectof this scope

needs the support of the entire community.We have to get everyoneinvolved,fromschoolchildrentohigh-levelpoliticians.However, ifyouhaveanideaforsuchaletter,goaheadandworkitup.”

Meg felt a growing respect for hermother. All her life,Meg hadn’ttaken hermother’s charitywork seriously. Perhaps itwas because shewasalwaysgoingoff to some luncheonorparty,hardlywork toMeg’sway of thinking, but now Meg saw how significant all her mother’scontacts were. Without the help of importantWashington people, theprojectwouldnevermaterialize.“You’re needed at the planning stages also, Meg. Your ideas areimportant,”hermothersaid.My ideas? Meg thought. All she had been interested in was a placenearthehospitalwhereMrs.JacobycouldstayclosetoDonovan.Her mother continued, “We’ll be having a brainstorming sessionSunday afternoon. I’ve invited some of the hospital personnel, severalcommunityandbusinessleaders,andsomepoliticians.I’mcertainwe’llselectaspecialboardofdirectorsfromthisgroup,sincethey’llbepeoplewithavestedinterestinourproject.EachoneofthemhasaspeciallinktoMemorial—afewhavelostsomeonetheyloved.”MegthoughtofCindy’sparents.Toobadtheylivedsofaraway.“Willbig foundations support us?”Megwas thinking aboutDonovan’sWishmoneyand the“invisible”OneLastWishFoundation.Perhaps it couldbeflushedoutintotheopenandaskedforamajordonation.PerhapsshecouldlearntheidentityofJWC,maybeevenmeetthepersonwhohadwrittenDonovan’sletterandbeenresponsibleforauthorizinghischeck.“There’slotsofcompetitionforcharitabledollars,butwehaveaveryvalid project that will benefit the whole community. I don’t see howfoundations and corporations can refuse. They require a special touch,however. Fortunately, some of the people attending Sunday’s meetinghaveexperienceinthatarea.”“Andyouwantmetoattendthatmeeting?”“Absolutely.”“HowaboutmyfriendAlana?Herbrotherhadatransplant.”“Bringthemboth.YourfatheralsothinksweshouldaskMrs.Jacoby.She’sgotasoninneedofatransplant.Whobettertospeakupabouttheproject?”“Mom,thanksforallyourhelp.”Thewordssoundedinadequate.Hermomsmiled.“Ithinkourfamilyisextremelyblessed,Meg.Yourfather,myself,ourchildren.Itrulybelievethatgivingsomethingbacktoshow appreciation for our blessings is our duty. I know you’ve had a

roughyear,butitdoesmyheartgoodtoseeyoupullingoutofit.”Aroughyear…youcouldsaythat,Megthought.Andyet,hermotherwas right. Whole days now passed by when she didn’t think aboutCindy. A momentary twinge left her feeling disloyal, then the feelingpassed.Shehadothers to thinkaboutnow.ShehadDonovan,andshewantedtokeephim.Morethananythingintheworld,shewantedhimtolive.

“Twomilliondollars,Alana!Momsaidthearchitectestimatesthatthehousewillcostclosetotwomilliondollars.Howcanweraisethatmuchmoney?”“Itisalot.”Alanawassittingoutonthehospitalpatio,lickinganice-creamcone.“Morethaninthisgirl’spiggybank.”“We’llbeoldladiesbythetimethishousegetsbuilt.”“Atleastoutofhighschool.”“You’renottakingthisseriously.”“Yes,Iam.I justknowitwon’thelptogetallworkedupaboutthatsumofmoney.You’vegottothinkinbite-sizepieces.”Shetookanotherlickoffhercone.“Allweneedistwomillionpeopletogiveonedollar.Or one million people to give two dollars apiece. Or four bigcorporations to give five hundred thousand dollars each. Two milliondoesn’tseemsooverwhelmingwhenyouthinkofitthatway.”Meg opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. Alana’s logic madesense. “The other thing Mom told me was that the architect wasconcernedaboutthesite,theplacetobuildthehouse.”“Dotheyhaveasite?”“Right now, land’s pretty scarce around the hospital. Most of it’salreadybeenboughtbydevelopers,anditreallyisexpensive.There’saplacehereontheMemorialproperty,butit’sbeendesignatedforanewparkinglot.”Alanawrinkledhernose.“Ahouseforparentsismoreimportantthanaparkinglot.”“Weknowit,butthehospitalboardhastoapprovethechange.It’llgointo a committee for study—I swear, this is going to take forever.”Feelingglum,Megslouchedinherchair.“But itwillhappen,”Alanaassuredher.“Itmayseemlike it’s taking

forever,butoneday,you’ll lookoutacross thegrounds,” shegesturedwithherarm,“andyou’llseethiswonderfulhousefullofparentswithkidsuponourfloor.AndyouandIwillsay,‘Wehelpedgetthishouseofftheground.’”“Okay.Iwon’tgettoodiscouragedthisearlyintheproject.Willyou

andLonniebeatthemeetingSunday?”“We’llbethere.Youwanttogotothemallwithmetomorrow?Ineed

something new to wear if I’m going to be with all those importantpeople.”Meg shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve already made plans.” She didn’t

explain, even thoughAlanawas looking expectant.Howcould she tellher that she was going house shopping? Especially when it wasDonovan’ssecret?

“MayIhelpyou?”askedthewomanbehindthefrontdeskoftherealestateofficewhenMegentered.Nervously,Meg lickedher lips and smiled. Shehad spent twohours

trying tomakeherself appear older than sixteen. Shehad selectedherfinest designer clothing and accessories and donned her best goldjewelry.Shewasgladthathermotherhadtaughtherhowtodressforastrong first impression. While she certainly felt more comfortable injeans,sheknewthebestwaytobebelievedwastoappearbelievable.“IhaveanappointmentwithMs.George.”Thereceptionistbuzzedan inneroffice,andsoona tallwomanwith

blondhaircameouttogreetMeg.IfshewassurprisedbyMeg’syouth,shedidn’tshowit.SteppingintoMs.George’soffice,Megtookaseatonasofa.“I’mpositive Icanfindyou just therighthome,MissCharnell.After

our phone discussion, I’ve chosen several houses I think youwill findsatisfactory,”Ms.Georgesaid.Megclearedherthroat.“AsItoldyou,I’mdoingthisforafriend.He

trustsmy judgment for thepreliminaries,buthe’llbemaking the finalchoice.”“Don’tthinkathingaboutit.Iunderstandcompletely.I’vedonemany

real estate transactions via third parties. Just last month, a wealthyforeign businessman sent his daughter to me. It seems that she’ll be

startingatGeorgetownUniversityinthefall,andhewantedhertobuyherselfahousenear thecampus rather than live in thedorms. It’snotonlyaplaceforhertolive,butaninvestmentforhim.”Meg returned the agent’s cheerful smile. “You understand that myfriendneedstobearoundtheMemorialHospitalarea.”“Soyousaid.”Theagentfrownedthoughtfully.“Imusttellyouthatitwon’t be easy. That area rarely has houses on the market.” Shebrightened. “But I havemany alternatives to show you. Lovely homesthatareonlyminutesfromMemorialviatheBeltway.”“Let’s take a look,” Meg said. “My friend wanted to get this housebusiness settled as quickly as possible.” She didn’t add her deepestconcern:“Becausehemightnothavetoomuchlongertolive.”They spent several hours looking at prospective homes. Meg likedsome, yet found only two she wanted to show to Donovan, and theyweren’t perfect. Frankly, she thought the residenceswere too far fromMemorialinspiteoftheirproximitytobusroutes.Whentheyarrivedbackattherealestateoffice,Ms.Georgetoldher,“Don’t bediscouraged. Finding the righthome takes time. It’s not likebuyingadressyoucantakebackifyoudon’tlikeit.”Megagreed.“Keeplooking,please.Andcallmeanytimeyouthinkyouhavesomethingtoshowme.”“Ishall.Yourfriendwon’tbedisappointed.We’llfindsomethingthat’sjustrightforhim.”Meg drove home, disappointed that she hadn’t done better in hersearch. She was feeling the pressure of time more acutely than ever.Donovanwasstableatthemoment,butsheknewthatcouldchangeintheblinkofaneye.ShegrippedthewheelandprayedhishealthwouldholduntilhisdreamwasaccomplishedtobuyhismotherahomewithhisOneLastWishmoney.

Fourteen

“HOWCANIhelp?”DonovanaskedonceMegexplainedherideatohim.“AssoonasAlanagetshere,Iwantthethreeofustoworkonafund-

raisinglettertogether.”“Whatkindofaletter?”“Itwasan idea Ihadwhen Iheardall thosepeople sharing ideasat

Sunday’s meeting. Everyone agrees that we need some letters to getpublicsupport.DidItellyouthatseveraloftheTVstationsarecarryingthestoryontheirsixo’clocknewsshowsthroughouttheweek?”“Mymomtoldme.She’sprettyexcitedabout theproject. It’sall she

talkedaboutwhenshevisitedmelastnight.”“Soabouttheletter…Ithought,‘Whynotdoaletterfromanactual

patient?Someonewhoknowsabouttheproblemfirsthand?’”“Youmeanme?”“Ofcourse,Imeanyou.IhadthisideabecauseIsawhowdifficultit

wasonyourmotherandBretthavingtobesofarawayfromyou.”“YoumeansomethinglikeJWC’sletter?”“Something like it, only different.”Meg admitted that the One Last

Wish letter and its personalized, informal feeling had impressed her.Surely,theycoulddosomethingsimilar,exceptusingittoaskformoneyinsteadofgivingawaymoney.“It’sagoodidea,butI’mnotmuchofaletterwriter,”Donovansaid.“That’swhyAlana and I are volunteering to help. If the three of us

writeoneterrificletter,theboardwillhavenochoicebuttouseit.It’llbeourcontribution.”“Soundsallrighttome.Whowillyoumailitto?”“Thenewboardfortheprojecthasabigmailinglistofpeoplewho’ve

beenpatients atMemorial, orwho are known to give contributions to

worthycauses—especiallymedicalones.Thiswholeproject isgoing totakeofflikearocket.”“Youreallythinktheplaceisgoingtogetbuilt?”“Ido.Firstofall,we’renamingittheWayfarerInn,ahomeawayfromhome.Doyoulikeit?”“Itsoundslikeahotel.”“Oh, it’ll bemore than a hotel. It’ll have ten to twelve bedrooms, acentralkitchen,aplayroom,aTVroom,agameroom,laundryfacilities,alibrary—”Shepausedtocatchherbreath.“Andanyfamilywhohasachild over here in Memorial for long-term treatment, like an organtransplant,canstayattheinnforonlyfivedollarsanight.”“I’mimpressed,”Donovansaid.“You’re impressed with what?” asked Alana, breezing through thedoorway.“I’mimpressedwiththeplansfortheWayfarerInn.”AlanapulledupachairalongsideMeg’sandsatdown.“I’msoexcitedabout the whole thing that I was awake half the night. Lonnie has agreatidea—afund-raisingmarathon.”“Itworksforme,”Donovanreplied.“AnddidMegtellyouourideasfortheschoolsnextyear?”“Ihaven’thadachanceyet.”“So,tellme.”Megmovedforward.“We’llgetkidsintheelementaryschoolstobringapennyaday forawholemonth toplop in jars ineachclassroom. Ifeverykidbringsjustapennyaday,we’llcollectafortune.”“Wefigureeverykidcanaffordapenny,”Alanainserted.“Forthemiddleschools,we’llhavewalkathonsandbakesales.Inthehighschools,we’llhavehighwayholdups.”“Neverheardofthem.Aretheylegal?”Donovanasked.“Sure are,” Alana said. “Certain kids get official badges to stand atbusyintersectionsandholdbucketsformotoriststotossintheirpocketchange. Everytime the light changes, there’s a new crop of cars and anewsourceofcoins.”“Whatelse?”“Well,wedon’twantyoutothinkMegandIhaveallthegoodideas,”Alanasaid.“Theothersatthemeetinghadafewtoo.Intwoweeks,theJuniorLeagueisplanningaMoonlightonthePotomaccruise.”

Donovan rolled his eyes. “That sounds pretty romantic—you know,notlikemudwrestlingorbowlingforcharity.”“Yougotsomethingagainstromance?”Alanachided.“Romancewithapurpose,”Meg insisted, swattinghisarmplayfully.“Wegetall theserichpeopleoutonariverboatonthePotomacRiver,feedthem,letthemdance,thenputonapresentationfortheWayfarerInnandaskeachpersonhowmuchheorshewantstogive.”“Noticewesaid,howmuch,notiftheywanttogive.”“Sortofacaptiveaudienceoutthereontheriver,”Donovanobserved.“Exactly.Eithertheygiveortheyswimhome.”TheysharedalaughoverMeg’sreasoning.“Willyoutwobegoingonthecruise?”Donovanasked.“Sure,”Alanasaid.“Someonehastokeepacheckondonations.”“Who are you going to take?” Donovan’s question was for both ofthem,buthiseyeswereonMeg.“She’dliketotakeyou,boy,butshe’stooslowinasking.”Megfeltherfaceturnbeetred,andsheshotAlanaaglancethatcouldkill.“Areyouinvitingme?”Donovanwantedtoknow.Megstraightened.“Iwasplanningonit,butinmyowntime.”Noonementionedwhatwasonall theirminds: Intwoweeks,hecouldbetoosicktogo.“Iaccept,”Donovansaid.“Youdo?”“Hedoes,”Alanareplied,standing.Shebrushedherhandstogether,asifdustingthemoff.“Thatwasaneasymatchup.Now,I’dbettergettoitandfindmyselfadate.FirstpersonI’maskingisCarlDouglas,onefinehunkofman.”“Now that we have your social life settled, how about that letter?”MeghauledAlanabacktoherchair.“Iwasgettingtothat.”Alanasatdown,andMegpassedherapencilandpaper.“Howshouldwestart?”“Donovan, if you could tell people one thing about how you feelconcerningtheWayfarerInn,whatwoulditbe?”Sobered,hecontemplatedMeg’squestion.Whenhespoke,thewordscame from deep inside him. “Waiting for an organ transplant is trulyhardwork. It’shardnot togetdiscouraged.Evenharderwhenyouget

psycheduptogothroughthesurgeryandhaveapossibledonationfallthrough.ButIhavetosaythatthehardestpartof thiswholeordeal isnotbeingabletohaveyourfamilynearyouwhileyou’rewaiting.“I’m seventeen and thought I was beyond the stage of needing my

family closeby.But I’mnot. Sometimes,when I feel so low, I think itwouldtakeacranetoboostmeoveracurb,Ineedtheclosenessofmymomandkidbrother.It’snotthatthehospitalpeoplearen’tgoodtome—theyare.Butsometimes,morethananythingintheworld, Iwanttoholdmymother’shand.”Donovan’svoicehadgrownthickwithemotion.Megfeltalumpinher

throat. She had thought she understood Donovan’s situation, but shehadn’t.Nottruly.Sherealizedthathersimpleabilitytocomeandgoasshe pleased, to be with her parents in her home, was something thatshe’dtakenforgranted.Donovanhadnohome,andhisfamilywasnotabletohelpmuchbecausetherewasnoplacenearbyforthemtostay.“That was pretty real, Donovan,” Alana said, her voice sounding

whispery.“Ifwecanputthatkindofemotionintoaletter,Iknowwe’llraiseatonofmoney.”Heglancedaway,obviouslyself-conscious.“It’scommonforlittlekids

towanttheirmommies,”hesaid.“Ithoughtitmightbemoreeffectiveifpeopleunderstoodthatbigkidsneedtheirstoo.”Heofferedasheepishsmile. “So, thatwas fromthebottomofmyheart.Now,on the lighterside, you can say that another reason for building the inn is to haveaccess toakitchenwheremymomcanbakeupabatchofher specialchocolatechipcookies.Thishospitalfoodgetsboring.”“That request alone should bring in plenty of contributions,” Meg

joked.“I alreadywant todonate to the cause,”Alanaadded. “Anyonewho

canbakechocolatechipcookiesdeservesaplacetodoit.”Theyworkedforanotherhour,eachmakingsuggestions,butallowing

Donovan to put his unique perspective into the letter above all else.When theywere finished,Meg felt satisfiedwith the results. “I’ll showthistoMomandDadandseewhattheythink,”shesaid.“Iftheylikeit,wecangetitoutsoon.”“Ihopeithelps,”Donovansaid.“Iknowitwill,becauseitcamefromyourheart.”“That’strue,”hesaid.“Straightfrommyheart.”

OnceAlanahadgone,DonovantookMeg’shandandsankbackontohis pillow.He looked tired. “I appreciate all you’re doing forme,” hetoldher.“It’s for every kid stuck in long-term hospitalization,” she said, butknewthathesensedthetruth—itwasmostlyforhimshewasdoingit.“I’mgoingtodoeverythingIcantostaywellsothatIcangoonthatcruisewithyou.”“You’dbetter.I’mcountingonyou.”“Unlessanewlivercomesalong,thatis.”“It’stheonlyexcuseI’llaccept,”shesaid.Then,onimpulse,Megbent,quicklykissedhischeek,andboltedfromtheroom.

Fifteen

“MEG, THIS IS wonderful.” Her mother put down the rough draft ofDonovan’sletterandwipedmoisturefromthecornerofhereye.“It’ssosensitiveandheartfelt.Ithinkyou’vedoneanexcellentjob.I’llpresentitto the board, andmaybewe can get itmailed out before the cruise. Iknowit’llraisesomemoneyforourcause.”Herfathertooktheletterandreaditasheate.Theywerehavingone

of their raredinners together,andMegwasactuallyappreciating theirtime with one another. “This is good,” her father said. “I told youDonovanwasaspecialkid.”“I’d like to takehimon thecruise ifyou’llgivehimapass fromthe

hospitalagain,”Megsaid.“Tobehonest,I’mplanningonreleasinghimfromMemorial.”“Ishewellenough?”“He’s well enough to wait around his apartment as easily as at the

hospital.Medically,Dr.Rosenthalhasdoneallhecanforhim.Now,it’sup to me and my team to find him a new liver. It’s still his onlyrecourse.”MegfeltnervousabouthavingDonovansofarawayfromthehospital

—andfromher.“Butwhatifyoufindadonor?Orwhatifhegetssick?Hismotherworksallday—”“He’ll be on a beeper,” her father interrupted gently. “If we get a

compatibledonor,hecanbebroughtherebyambulance inno timeatall. Same thing if he starts feeling bad. Calling for an ambulance is adecisionhecanmakeforhimselfifhegetssickandhe’salone.”MegwascertainthatMrs.Jacobywouldn’tlikeleavinghimaloneday

afterday.“Itjustseemsthathe’ssaferinthehospital,”shesaid.“He’sstablenow,andthere’snothingwecandoforhimatMemorial

forthetimebeing.Frankly,weneedthebedsforsickerpatients.”Howsick did a person have to be? Meg wondered. Needing a new liverseemedtoqualifyinhermind.Herfatherreachedoverandsqueezedhershoulder.“It’llbeallright,Megan.Itwillbegoodforhismoraletogetoutofthehospitalforawhile.IknowwhatI’mdoing.”Her fatherwas right about themoralepart.When she sawDonovanthenextday,hewasallsmiles.“I’mblowingthisplace,”hesaid.“Mom’scomingtohelpmepacktonightaftershegetsoffwork.”“I’lldriveyouhome.”“Shewasgoingtogetusacab.”“WhyspendthemoneywhenIknowtheway?”“Youdon’tmind?”“Ofcoursenot.Meg’sTaxi,atyourservice.”“You’llcomevisitme?”“EverychanceIget.”Shewatchedhimshuffleovertothedresserandremoveclothingfromthedrawer.Sherealizedhowmuchshewasgoingtomiss stoppingbyhis roomeveryday. She toldherself that thiswasgood for him, but itwas herself shewas thinking about. “I’ll call youduringmybreaks.”“I’dlikethat.”“AndIcandriveoverthisweekend.”“Mom’llfixusdinner.”“Andintwoweeks,wehavethecruise.”“Don’tworry.I’llbegoing.”Hecameovertoherandplacedhishandsonhershoulders.“Look,I’mscaredaboutleavingMemorialtoo.”“IhopeI’mnotmakingyoufeelthatway.”“You’re not. According to Dr. Rosenthal, it’s natural for me to beuneasy.AslongasI’mhere,IcanringforanurseifIneedanything.IknowwhenIstayathome,I’llhavetobeonmyown.EventhoughI’llhave my medications and the phone close by, it’s still scary. But I’dratherbescaredthanstuckhereanotherday.”Hegrinneddownather.“Besides, you should have heard Brett’s voicewhen I told him on thephoneIwascominghome.He’splanningsomebigsurpriseforme.”“I’ll bet.” She knew how much Brett had missed him. She wasbeginning to miss her sister, Tracy. Meg guessed that separation didmakepeoplelongforeachother.“Juststaywell,”shetoldDonovan.“I’ll domy best,” he said. “Maybe nextweek, I can go see some of

thosehousesyouweretellingmeabout.”“Maybe,”Meganswered,wishingshehadmorechoicestoshowhim.“Theagent’sstillworkingonit.”“Then,thingsarelookingprettybright,don’tyouthink?We’rehelpingtogetcontributions for theWayfarer Inn, I’mshopping forahouse formymom—thanks to JWC—I’m getting out ofHotelMemorial, and I’llsoonbegoingonamoonlightcruisewithaprettygirl.Thingsdon’tlooktoobadatalltome.”Except for your health, Meg thought. She longed to share hisenthusiasm, but she’d been with her father on that late-night run toBethesda.She’dnevertoldDonovanaboutit.Butshehadseenwithherowneyeshowquicklyjoycouldturnintomourning.

“Ididn’texaggerateonebit,didI?Isn’tthisplaceperfect?”Ms.GeorgeusheredMegandDonovanthroughthefrontdoorwayoftheoldhouse.Her heels clicked across the hardwood floors, sending echoes off thewalls. “I couldn’t believe anythingwould actually become available inthisneighborhood.AsItoldyouonthephone,theelderlywomanwhoowneditrecentlydiedinanursinghome.Shehadnorelativesandleftnowill.She’dtakenoutamortgagetohelppayhernursinghomebills,andwhenshedied,thebankputthehouseupforsale.”Ms.Georgewavedherhand.“Idon’tmeantorattleonabout it,butwhen my friend at the bank called and told me about this house, Ithoughtitsoundedjustperfectforyou.”Meg glanced about the house with dismay. It looked run-down andsmelled musty, of rooms too long closed up against fresh air andsunlight.“It’sreallyold,”sheobserved,fillinginthesilence.“It was built in the 1890s. I know it needs work,”Ms. George saidhastily. “That’s a big reason why the bank is selling it below marketvalue.But itsstructure issound,andyouwon’t findcraftsmanship likethisanymore.Wallpaper,newpaint,newapplianceswillfixtheplaceuplikenew.I’mtellingyou,it’sarealbargain.”Meg glanced at Donovan, who was taking his time touring theVictorian-eraroom.Hestoppedinfrontofthefireplaceandranhishandoverthemantel.“Thishasbeenhand-carved,”hesaid.“There’s another fireplace upstairs. Five bedrooms too.” Ms. George

chuckled.“Iknowthat’sfarmorespacethanyousaidyouneeded,butIfiguredIowedyourightoffirstrefusalonit.”MegandDonovanexchangedglances.Shewishedshecouldreadhis

mind.Washeasdisappointed in thishouse,ashe’dbeen in theothersshe’dselectedforhimtosee?“The thing I thought you’d appreciate most was its proximity to

MemorialHospital,”Ms.Georgecontinued.Sheturnedtowardtheopenfrontdoorwithitsbeveled,stained-glassinsets.“Onlytwoblocksaway.”“Yousaidit’sonadoublelot?”Donovanasked.“Yes,indeed.”Ms.Georgefairlybeamed.“Comethroughthekitchen.”MegtaggedbehindtheagentandDonovanthroughaswingingdoor.

The kitchen looked bleak and cramped, in need of renovation. Ms.George led them out onto a back porch and pointed toward thebackyard.“Thebankhiredacrewtomowandclearouttheovergrowth,butseehowgeneroustheyardis?”Megsawthatitslopeddownwardandahugeoaktreeloomedinthe

back corner like a giant sentry. “Brett would have fun playing backthere,”shesaid,tryingtosoundupbeat.“My mom loves Victorian houses,” Donovan said. “She’s always

buying magazines about them. She wants a garden and lots ofwildflowersonherlawneveryspring.”“Come see the upstairs,” Ms. George urged. “The staircase is solid

cherry,andthenewelposthasacarvedfigurine—veryunusual.There’sastained-glasswindowsetoverthestairwelltoo.It’satrueantique.”Astheyclimbedthestairs,thelate-afternoonsunslantedthroughthe

oldwindowandpepperedDonovan’sshouldersandheadwithshadesofred,yellow,andpurple,makinghim lookas ifhe’dsteppedoutof thepast, froma time andplaceMeghad only read about.As they passedfrom room to room, Meg could see the beauty of the house beneathlayersofgrimeanddust.Wainscoting,vaultedstenciledceilings,richoldwoods needing little more than lemon oil and buffing to make themgleam,caughthereye.“Itispretty,”shewhisperedtoDonovanastheycircledthemasterbedroom.“OurhouseinVirginiawasanimitationofthis,”hesaid.“Thisisthe

realthing.”“Brettwouldbeslidingdownthebanistereveryday.”“AndIcouldhavetworoomsformyself.Onetosleepin,oneformy

stereogear.”Hewalkedaround, touching thewalls. “Momcouldhaveanoffice of her very own,where she couldhelpwith the fund-raisingeffortfortheWayfarerInn.”Meg thought thatwasa strong feature too.Mrs.Jacobyhadbecomequiteinvolvedwiththeworkofraisingmoneyfortheinn.“Doyouthinkyoushouldlookatsomeothers?”Megasked.“No,thisisthehouseIwantformymom,”Donovansaid,facingMs.George.“HowdoIgoaboutbuyingit?”“I can have the paperwork started tomorrow. All I need is a downpayment.”“Icanwriteyouacheckrightnow.TellmewhatelseIhavetodo.”Megwasamazed thathe’dmadehisdecision soquickly. Itwas truethatthehousewasinaperfectlocation,butshewantedittobenewerandmoremodern.WhileDonovanandtherealtordiscusseddetails,sheformulatedaplantohelpspruceuptheplace.Asshewasdrivinghimbacktohisapartment,shesaid,“Wecanpaintitandcleanitup.IknowAlanawillhelp if I askher.Thereareothers tooup inpediatricswhowillpitch in.”Shethoughtofall thenursesandtechnicianswhocaredaboutDonovan.“I’dappreciateallthehelpIcanget.Icandosomeofthework,butIknowIcan’tdomuch.Idon’thavemuchenergythesedays.”Meg’sheartconstrictedwithhiswords.Shewantedhimtobewellandhealthy.“Wecandoit,”shesaidcheerfully.“Iwantmymomtoseeitatitsbest,”hesaid.“Butwecan’ttaketoomuchtimefixingitup.Idon’tmeantosoundungrateful,butIhavetothinkaboutgettingitdonequickly.”Hecuthiseyessideways.“Timeismyenemy,”hesaidsoftly.Meggrippedthewheel,knowingwhathesaidwastrue.“We’llgetitdone,” she promised. If JWC could supply the money for fulfillingDonovan’sdream,thentheleastshecoulddowashelphimpresenthisdreaminthebestpossiblecondition.“It’sabeautifulhouse,Megandit’smine.”Hetouchedherhair,gentlytuckingitbehindherear.“Allmine.”

Sixteen

THUNDER RATTLED THE windows of the old house, and rain pelted the glasspanes.“Thisissomestorm,”Alanaexclaimedassheclimbeddownfroma ladder with a bucket of paint. “I’m sure glad we’re on the insidelookingout.”Megpausedasshescrapedpeelingpaintoffofplasterwalls.“Maybe

we should take a break.” The empty room amplified the sound of thepoundingrain,makingitdifficulttoheartheportableradiopluggedinto thewall. She turned towardDonovan.Hewas sittingon abeanbagchairinthecenteroftheroom,watchingthemwork.“Upforasnack?”Megasked.“I’vebroughtfoodinanicechestIstashedinthekitchen.”“I’mokay,”he insistedwithawaveofhishand. “Butyoudeservea

break.”“Thanksforthepermission,”Megjoked.Sheknewitwashardforhim

tositandwatch,eventhoughitwasallhehadthestrengthtodo.Meghadorganizedacrew,andoverthepastweek,theyhadpaintedalmosteveryroom.Mostoftheday’svolunteershadleftbeforetheheavyrainhadstarted.NowtheonlyonesleftwereDonovan;Alana;herboyfriend,Clark;Alana’sbrother,Lonnie;andMeg.Fromupstairs,MegheardtherumbleofthefloorpolisherLonniewas

using.ShehopedLonnie’srobusthealthencouragedDonovan.TolookatAlana’s well-muscled, broad-shouldered brother, it was difficult tobelieve he’d been in complete kidney failure. Surely, Donovan wouldrally physically in a similarway once he had his transplant,Meg toldherself.“I’ll get the food,” Clark said, taking the paint bucket from Alana.

“Let’shaveanindoorpicnic.”“Whocaresifit’sraining,”Donovansaid.

“Noants,”Megadded.Clark pushed aside the door separating the front room from thekitchen.“I’llhelp,”Alanavolunteered,taggingafterhim.“It’snotthatheavy,”Megcalled.“There’shelp,andthere’shelp,”Alanareplied.“I’mthinkingIshouldhelpwithakissortwo!”“Iunderstand.”Meglaughed.Shesatcross-leggedonthefloorbesideDonovanandglancedaboutthepartiallypaintedroom.“How’sit look,boss?”“You have paint chips stuck in your hair.” Smiling, he picked offseveral.“Andonyournose,yourcheeks,yourneck.”“IpromisetogetthemalloffbeforethecruiseSaturdaynight.Youarestillcoming,aren’tyou?”“Irentedatux.Clarktookmetothemall.”“Thatwasniceofhim.”“He’snice,that’strue.AndheandAlanareallylikeeachother.”HiscommentleftMegfeelinguncomfortable.Shewonderedifhewasrememberinghis formergirlfriendandwishinghewaswithher.“Theymakeacutecouple,”Megsaid.“I’mlookingforwardtotomorrownight,”hesaid.“Ifoundagreatnewdress,”Megtoldhim.“Just forme?”He grinned. “But then, I know how girls like to buynewclothes…anyoldexcuse.”“Not ‘just for you,’ ” she sniffed. “I needed something new.”Ordinarily,shewouldn’thavetakenthetimetogoshopping.She’dtriedon her best dress and discovered a lovely surprise—it was too large.When she’d gotten on the scale, she’d seen that she’d lost ten poundssincethebeginningofthesummer.“‘Needed,’”heechoedwithaliftofhiseyebrows.“YoumeanthewayBrettneedsanotherlaserwaterpistol?”“Whathappenedtotheoneyougavehim?”“Heshotonetoomanygirlsatsummerschool,soitwasconfiscated.”“He’sacutekid.Ireallylikehim.”Donovansighedandsurveyedtheroom.“Ihopehelikesthisplace.Ihopeithelpsmakeupforourhavingtoleaveouroldhouseandforlife’sbeingsohard.”HetippedhisheadandlookeddeeplyintoMeg’seyes.“Iappreciateallyou’vedoneforme,”Donovansaid.“Iknowyou’vespent

alotoftimeonthis.”“Idon’tmind.”Shehadn’trealizedhowmuchworkwentintobuyinga house until she’d helped him spend hisWishmoney. She’d had thewaterandelectricityturnedon.She’dselectedandluggedall thepaintandsuppliestothehouse.“Iwantyourmothertolikeit.Therealtorwasright—itneededpaintandcleaningup.Itreallyisagreathouse.”“Keepingitasecretfrommymom’sbeenhard,buttime’salmostup,isn’tit?”“Ifigurewe’llbefinishednextweek.”“Good.I’llfeellikeIcanresteasierafterIgiveherthekeys.”A loud clap of thunder shook thewindows. The lights flickered andthen went off altogether. From the kitchen, Alana gave a squeal.Overhead, the drone of the polisher stopped abruptly. “Uh-oh,” Megsaid.“Lookslikewe’realoneinthedark.”“Scaredofthedark?”Donovanasked.“Notabit.Unlessthishouseishaunted.”“I’llbetitishaunted.Justthink—alongtimeago,somesweetyoungthingsatinthisveryroom—andsomeguy—putthemovesonher.”“Maybeguysweren’tlikethatonceuponatime.”“Don’tbetonit.”Hechuckled.She felthishandcoverhers in thedark.Hisnearnessandthehuskysoundofhisvoiceinherearwerecausingherpulsetoflutter.“I’vereadthatbacklongago,girlsandguyswereneverwithoutchaperons.”“Ifchaperonswereneeded,thenthatjustprovesmypoint.”“Wedon’thaveachaperon.”“Doyouwishwedid?”“Whywouldweneedone?”Herheartbeatfasterashishandcoveredhersinthedark.“We don’t, I guess. You knowwhat Iwish?”His breath against herforeheadmadegoosebumpsskitteracrossherskin.“Thatthelightswouldcomebackon?”Shetriedtojoke,butherheartwasthuddinghardagainstherribcage.Shewantedhimtoholdher.“IwishyoucouldhaveknownmebeforeIgotsick. IwishwecouldhavedatedwhenIwaswell.”Meg considered his words, while the rain splattered on thewindowpanes. She doubted he would have even noticed her; she wasplainand,untilveryrecently,plump.“Ifyouhadn’tbeensick,wewould

havenevermet,”sheconcludedsoftly.“WhyelsewouldyoueverhavecometoWashington?”Hewas silent, but his handmoved slowly up her arm, to her face,

where his fingertips glided along her hair. “You’re right. Funny howgoodthingscancomeoutofbad.”Meg’s mouth went dry, and she felt lightheaded from his nearness.

Morethananything,shewantedhimtokissher.“IsthatwhatIam?Agoodthing?”“You’re theonly thing thatmakes thiswholecrazyexperienceworth

anythingatall.”Suddenly,aflashoflightninglittheroom,andforaninstant,Megsaw

Donovan’s face etched in eerie brightness. Shewanted to grabhold ofhim. Wanted to keep him from joining any ghosts that might behoveringoverthehouse.“AlanaandClarktotherescue!”Alana’svoicecalledfromthekitchen.

The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness. “Guesswhat Clarkfoundinhiscar?”SheflickedthelightoverMegandDonovan.“Itlookslikeyoutwodon’tneedrescuing.”Meg scrambled to her feet. “Noproblem,” she said.Her handswere

trembling.“We’refine.Howaboutyourbrother?”“Lonnie?”Alanacalled.“Youallrightupthere?”“Fine, sis. I’m just sitting here in the dark with my trusty machine

waitingfortheelectricitytoroll.”“YouwantClarktocomeupwiththeflashlightandleadyoudownto

us?Itmightbealongwait.”“Thatwouldbenice.”AlanahandedtheflashlighttoClark.Heflippedthebeamtowardthe

staircase. “I think we should pack it in for the night. I’ll bet theelectricitywillbeoffforquiteawhile.”“Suits me,” Donovan said, rising. “I wouldn’t mind hitting the bed

early.It’sbeenalongday,andI’vegotsomecruisetogoontomorrownight.Idon’twanttomissit.”“We’realmostthroughhere.Wecanfinishthingsupnextweek,”Meg

added,stillquiverywithemotion.Later,whentherainhadstopped,ClarkandLonnieloadedupthecars

while Donovan waited in the front seat of Meg’s car. Meg and Alanastood together on the front porch. The fury of the storm had left the

night freshlywashed and sweet-smelling. “Sorry I came into the roomwhenIdid.Ididn’tmeantointerruptanything.Mytimingstinks,”Alanasaid.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.DonovanandIwerejustwaitingforthelightstocomebackon.Nothingwasgoingon.”“Sure.AndI’mtheQueenofEngland.”“It’strue.”“Whydon’tyoujustadmitit,girl?You’recrazyaboutthatboy.”“BecauseI’mnot—notinthatway.”“Listen, you can deny itwith yourmouth, but notwith your heart.Thewayyoufeelabouthimisstampedalloveryou.”“Idon’twanttotalkaboutthis.”“Denying it won’t make it go away. I know what you’re thinking.You’rethinkingthatit’sstupidtolovesomebodywhomightupanddieonyou.”“Stopit.That’snottrue.”Yet,Megknewitwastrue.Shedidn’twanttobeinlovewithDonovan.“Friendsdon’tfibtofriends,”Alanasaid.“Don’tbesoscaredofwhatyou’refeeling.Ifhedoesdie,youwon’tbeabletotellhimhowyoufeel.Don’tletthisopportunitygetawayfromyou.”Megkeptthinkingabouttheloss—sosenseless—ofherfriendCindy.Ithadmadeheremptyandafraidwhenshe’dlearnedthatCindyhaddied.Shecouldn’tgothroughsomethinglikethatagain.AdmittingtoherselfthatshelovedDonovanwouldreopenwoundsthatstillweren’thealed,even though she knew she felt better after therapy. Why hadn’t shelistened to her father when he’d told her not to get emotionallyinvolved?Becausebythetimehetoldme, itwastoolate.Megansweredherownquestion.“Iknowyouthinkyou’rehelpingme,”MegtoldAlana.“ButIknowwhat I feel. It’s concern. It’soverinvolvementwithapatient. It’smorethanIshouldbefeeling.Butitisn’tlove.AndDonovanisn’tgoingtodieeither.Thehospitalwillfindhimadonor,andmyfatherwillsavehim.That’shisjob,youknow.He’ssavedothers,andhe’llsaveDonovantoo.”Alanashookherheadslowly.“Yourfather’sawonderfuldoctorandafineman,butdon’tputthatonhim.It’snotfair.He’snotGod,andhecan’tperformmiracles.”

“AreyousayingthatyouthinkDonovan’sgoingtodie?”“Notme. I’ve seen amiracle happen withmy own brother. All I’m

saying to you is to gowithwhat you’re feeling toward him and don’twastethechancetohavesomethingspecialbecauseyou’reafraid.”“I’mnotafraid,”Megsnapped.“We’reallafraid,”Alanasaid.Megcould thinkofnothing tosay toblotout thesearinghonestyof

Alana’swords.Shewrappedherarmsaroundherselfandshivered.Therain had cooled the night air, but she knew that her shiver had comefrom inside herself, and had nothing whatsoever to do with thetemperature.Notasinglething.

Seventeen

MOONLIGHT CUT A wide swath across the peaceful, dark waters of thePotomacRiver.Standingonthedeckofthehugeriverboat,listeningtothe chugof the engine andwatchingmoonbeamsglitter on thewater,Megfeltasifshe’dbeentransportedtoanotherworld.Behindher,fromtheballroom,themusicofanorchestrafloatedthroughtheporthole.“Havingfun?”Donovanasked.“Themost.Howaboutyou?”“I feel better tonight than I have in days. It’s like I’ve been given a

reprieve—youknow,adelayinmysentenceofsickness.”Alonewithhiminthemoonlight,shefeltasifhisillnessdidn’texist.

Forjustalittlewhile,shecouldforgettherealreasontheyweretogetherontheboat.“Iwishyourmotherhadcome,”Megsaid.“I did everything to try and persuade her, but she didn’t feel she

belonged with these people. We’re way out of this league financially.We’rehappytogetby,eventhoughnowtheWishmoneywillhelpus.I’veseensomepeopleIrecognizefromnewspapersandTV.Ifeeloutofplacemyself.”“They’rejustpeople.AndtheyallwanttohelpbuildtheWayfarerInn.

Weneedthem.”“IwonderifJWCisonthiscruise.Whatdoyouthink?”Meglookedthoughtful.“I’veseentheguestlist,butnoonewiththose

initialsstandsoutinmymemory.Whydoesitmatter?”“Areyoukidding?MymomwillownahomebecauseofJWC.Istill

can’tgetoverbeingchosentogetallthatmoney,soI’mreallycurious.”Megstraightened,feelingaslightprickofjealouslybecauseJWChad

givenDonovansomethingshecouldnot.“NooneIaskedatthehospitaleverheardoftheOneLastWishFoundation,”shesaid.

“Idon’tevenknowifJWCisamanorawoman.”“For that matter, you don’t even know if that’s the person’s realinitials.Maybethey’remadeup.”“Butwhy?”“Whoknows?”“Intimatestrangers?”heoffered.She recalled their conversation—Donovan’s explanation about howstrangerscouldbecomelinkedbytheintensityofasharedproblem.Shehadnoillnesstosharewithhim,asJWChad.“MaybeJWConlywantsprivacy.Richpeoplearelikethatsometimes.”“ButIkeepaskingmyself,‘Whyme?’I’msoordinary.”Hewasn’t ordinary toMeg, but she didn’t tell him that. “If you askme,Idon’tthinkJWCisplayingfair.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“Remaining anonymous is a cop-out. I think it’s sort of cowardly topassoutmoneyandthenhideintheshadows.What’sitprove?Imean,lookatyou.You’dliketosaythankyou,buthowcanyou?AndifJWChassomuchmoney,thenwhynotstepforwardandsupportourcause?”Donovanshookhisheadslowly.“Idon’tknow.Inaway,whatyou’resayingmakessense.Iwouldliketomeetthepersonwho’sbeensogoodtome,butJWCmusthavebigreasons forstayingoutof thespotlight.I’mnotsurethatifitwereme,Iwouldn’tchoosetodothesamething.”“Howso?”Donovan thrust his hands into the pockets of his tux and leanedagainst theship’srail.“All thosepeople insidearerich,andeverybodyknowsit.”“That’soneofthereasonstheywereinvited.”“I know. They expect to be asked for charitable donations. Maybesomeofthemgetjolliesoutofitbecauseitmakesthemfeelimportant.Butwhenyoudosomethingforsomeoneandexpectnothinginreturn,itmakes you feel good inside. It makes you feel …” he searched for aword,“fulfilled.Doingsomethingniceforsomeoneinsecrethasitsownreward.MaybeJWCknowsthattoo.”MegrememberedhowniceDonovanwastoeveryoneonthepediatricfloor.Why, the first time she’dmet him, he’d been racing a kid in awheelchair in spite of being so sick himself. And she thought of howdifferentsheherselfwas.Hadn’tshebecomeacandystriperbecauseher

father had coerced her into it? Helping others hadn’t been somethingshe’dlongedtodo,asitwasforDonovan,orAlana.Hadn’t she spent over sixmonths inmourning for her loss of CindywithoutmuchconcernforCindy’sparents?Hadshecalledthem,writtenthemrecently?No,shehadnot.Andhowaboutherownparents?Howworried they must have been about her when depression had all buttakenoverherlife.Losing Cindy hurt so much, she told herself. But at what point hadCindy’s death become a crutch that sheused for an excuse to insulateherself from friendships and relationships that might cause her hurt?Intimatestrangers.Didshewanttogothroughtherestofher lifenevermakinglastingfriendshipsagainbecauseshewasterrifiedofbeinghurt?HadAlanabeenrightwhenshe’dchallengedherthenightbefore?ShefeltDonovan’snearness,likeacomfortingembrace.Shecaredforhim somuch. How could she have not understood all of this before?How could a sick, possibly dying boy, and a stranger who donatedmoney anonymously, have given her so much? Why had she becomeinterestedintheWayfarerInninthefirstplace?Ofcourse,therewasaneedforone,butaslongasshewasbeingbrutallyhonestwithherself,shehadtoadmitthatitwasalsobecauseshefeltcompetitivewithJWCandwantedDonovantofeelindebtedtoherthewayhedidtoJWC.“Yousuregotquietallofasudden,Meg.DidIsaysomethingtoupsetyou?”Donovan’s question snappedMegout of her soul-searching.Quickly,shelookedupathim.Hisfacewassoftenedbymoonlight,andshefeltsomething stirdeep inside.A sleepingpartofherwasawakeningas iffrom a long drugged sleep. “No, Donovan. You said some things thatmademethink.”“Idid?Likewhat?”“Likefriends.Wearefriends,aren’twe?”He straightenedand tookherby the shoulders. “Sinceyou’veasked,MeganCharnell,you’rethebestfriendI’veeverhad.”Awarmmeltingsensationwentthroughher.“Look at them, will you, Clark? The two of them stand under aperfectlygorgeousmoon talking! I swear, I’veneverknown twopeoplewhospendsomuchtimeflappingtheirlips.”MegandDonovanturnedinunisontowardAlanaandClark,whohad

comeupbesidethem.Alanastoodwithherhandsonherhips,alookofpurefrustrationonherface.Donovansuppressedasmile.“Andwhathaveyoutwobeendoing?”“Nottalking,that’sforsure,”Alanasaidwithasaucyflipofherhead.Donovan glanced at Clark. Clark shrugged, spun Alana around, and

kissedherfirmly.Whenhepulledaway,hesaid,“It’stheonlywayIcanshutherup.”“Shutmeup!”Alanasquealed.“Seeyouguys,”Clarkcalledoverhisshoulder,anddartedacrossthe

moonlitdeck.Alanafollowed,promisingdirerepercussions.Watching them flee,Meg felt awaveof sadness comeoverher. She

didn’t want to feel sad. No matter what happened tomorrow, whatbecameofherandDonovan,nowitwassafeandlovely.SheturnedbacktowardDonovan.“Doyousupposeit’sokayforbestfriendstogiveeachotherakiss?”Heputhisarmsaroundheranddrewherclose.“Ithinkit’srequired,”

hesaid.“Onlyforthesakeofmakingthefriendshipstronger.”Sheslidherarmsaroundhim.“Andonlybecausewe’rebestfriends,”

shewhispered, liftinghermouthtohis.“AndonlytogetAlanaoffourcase.”He ducked his head downward. “Absolutely. That Alana can be so

testy.”Hislipsbrushedhers,softasasummerbreeze.

Eighteen

“THE FINAL TALLY is in,andweraisedabundleonthecruiselastSaturdaynight,” Meg’s mother said as she hung up the phone in the kitchen.“That was the treasurer of our board, and she’s very pleased. This,coupledwiththeletteryouhelpedwrite,isreallygoingtogetusofftoafantasticstart.”Onherwayout,Megpausedtohearhermother’senthusiasticreport.

“I’mglad.IknowIhadawonderfultimeonthecruise.”“We’llhaveotherfund-raisers.Rightnow,we’rediscussingapossible

charity softball game. Initial inquiries to several big-name stars havebeenencouraging.” SheeyedMeg,who stood janglingher carkeys. “Ithoughtyouhadthemorningoff.”“Ido.I’mtakingDonovanandhismothersomeplace.”“Oh.”Meg’s mother started clearing off the kitchen counter. “I was

hopingwe could do something together. Shopping, lunch—we haven’tdonethatoncethissummer.”Momentarilysurprisedbythewistfultoneinhermother’svoice,Meg

steppedclosertothecounter.“Ialreadypromisedthem,”shesaid.ThiswasthedaythatDonovanhadchosentotakehismomtothehouseandtellherabouttheWishmoneyandhowhe’dspentit.Megfeltanedgeofexcitement.Peoplehadworkedhardtogetitready.Shewantedtotellher mom what was going on, but thought it best to keep Donovan’ssecretforalittlewhilelonger.Besides,thenewswouldbringabarrageofquestionsfromhermother,andshedidn’thavetimetoanswerthem.“Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow after I get off work,” Megsuggested.“I’lllookforwardtoit.”Megcamearoundthecounterandkissedhermother’scheek,causing

hermothertoglanceatherwithsurprise.“I just felt like it.” Ever since the night of the cruise, she’d felt anaffection forherparents she’dnotexperienced ina long time,andshewasdeterminedtomakeuptothemforthestrainherpersonalproblemshad caused her family. Now more than ever, Meg appreciated howthey’d stood by her over the pastmonths since Cindy’s death and herdifficultadjustmenttoit.“Well, thank you. Anytime you feel like it is fine with me.” ShereachedoutandtouchedMeg.“You’redoingbetter,aren’tyou?”“YoumeanaboutCindy?Yes,Ithinktheworstisover.”“I’mglad.I’vemissedhavingmydaughteraround.”Meggaveheraquickhugandhurriedoutthedoor.

BythetimeMegstoppedhercar infrontof theoldVictorianhouse,herpalmsweredampwithnervousperspiration.Fromthebackseat,sheheardMrs. Jacoby ask, “Donovan, what is going on? The two of youhavebeenactingstrangeallmorning.”Meg andDonovan exchanged glances in the front seat. “Just a littlesurpriseMegandIcookedupforyou.”Megcouldn’thelpnoticinghowtiredandthinDonovanlooked.Aslightyellowcasttingedhisskin.Thiswasamomenthehadbeenlookingforwardtoforweeks,andshedidn’twantanythingtoruinitforhim.“Whereareweanyway?”Mrs.Jacobyasked,peeringoutthewindow.“My,whatalovelyoldhouse.”Donovan went around to his mother’s door and offered his hand.“Comeon.Iwanttoshowyoutheinside.”“Doyouhavepermission?Istheownerhome?”Meg walked with them up onto the porch, trying to see the housethroughMrs.Jacoby’seyes.The frontdoorwith its leaded-glasspanelssparkledinthemorningsunlight.Sherememberedpolishingeachpane.Donovan put the key into the lock, turned it, and swung open thedoor.“Comeon,Mom.Lookaroundandtellmeifyoulikeit.”“Donovan,areyousure—”Hepulledherin.“I’msure.”The smellof freshpaintand lemonoilhung in theair, and sunlightstreamed through the freshly washed front windows. Echoes sounded

whentheywalkedacrossthefloortothefireplace,nowcleanandemptyof old ashes. Donovan ran his hand over the ornately carved mantel.“Whatdoyouthink?”heasked.Hismother’sgazedartedeverywhere.“I think it’s themostbeautifulhouseI’veeverseen.Whoownsit?”Meg stepped back, lingering near the entrance. Shewanted them tohavethisspecialmoment,yetfeltthatshewouldburstifDonovandidn’ttellhismomthetruthrightaway.Hecrossedtohismomandtookbothherhandsinhis.“Iwantyoutoknowhowmuchwhatyoudidmeanstome.”“WhatdidIdo?”“You sold our house and moved us here just so I could be nearMemorialandhavethechanceforatransplant.”She shook her head. “It was your best chance, and I never thoughttwice about it.You’remy son, and I love you. Itwasmuchharder onBrettthanonme,althoughIthinkevenhe’sadjusted.”“Still,Iknowwhatourhomemeanttoyou.”“Itwas old and needed repairs.” Shewas obviously flustered by hiswords.“Itwasourhome,”Donovaninsisted.“Well,ifyoubroughtmeheretoshowmehowbeautifulahousecanbe,you’vesucceeded.Ithinkthisoneisexquisite.”“Youhaven’tevenseentheupstairsyet,”Megblurtedout.Mrs. Donovan turned to her and smiled. Her eyes narrowed. “Whathaveyoutwocookedup?”MeggaveDonovanahelpless shrug,andheheldup thehousekeys,opened his mother’s hand and settled them in her palm. “It’s yours,Mom.Thishouseisyours—oursreally.It’sapresent.”Herbewilderedexpressionturnedskeptical.“Now,Donovan,youcan’texpectmetobelievethatsomeonegaveusthishouse.”“Believe it. It’s a long story, and I’m going to sit right here in themiddleof thefloorandtellyouallabout it,but first, lookat this.”Hereached intohisbackpocketandpulledouta foldedmanilaenvelope.Megknewthatinsidewasthedeedtothehouse.AsMrs. Jacoby read the legal document, the expression on her faceturnedfromdoubttoshocktostunneddisbelief.“Buthow—?”Hervoicecracked.

Donovan said, “I bought it for you and Brett. Iwant you to have ahomeagain.Tomakeupfortheotherone.”“But—”Heshookhishead.“Inaminute.”Heopenedhisarms.Megwatched

as his mother slid into them. Sunlight washed over them, bright andgolden like a soft embrace.Meg blinked back tears as she heardMrs.Jacoby begin toweep softly in her son’s arms. “I love you,Mom,” hesaid.“Iloveyou.”

It tookoveranhour forDonovanandMegtoexplainabout theOneLastWishFoundationandforMrs.Jacobytobegintobelievethem.Shehadmanyquestions,mostofwhichneitherof themcouldanswer,butDonovandidhavetheoriginal letterandacopyofthecheckthatMeghadmadeonthehospital’scopymachine.Thosethingsandthedeedtothe house were the only proof they could offer. In the end, it wasenough.Mrs. Jacoby went over every inch of the house, exclaiming over

detailsthathadescapedMegeventhoughshe’dhelpedpaintthewholething.The sizeof thehousealmostoverwhelmedMrs. Jacoby,but shemadeplansforeachroom.Theymighthavestayedlonger,butDonovanwasn’tfeelingwell,soMegdrovethembacktotheapartment.Mrs.Jacobychatterednonstopalltheway.“Maybewecanarrangeto

movenextweekend.I’llgivenoticetothelandlord.Icanrentatrailer.Doyouthinksomeofthepeoplewhohelpedyoufixtheplaceupwouldhelp us move? I can’t pay anybody but I could make a big pot ofchili…”Meg saw that Donovanwas pleased, but also tired. He leaned back

againstthecarseatonthelongdriveandclosedhiseyes.Megletthemoff, promising to call later. “I have my ownmother to tell,” she toldthem.“OnceshefindsoutIworkedsohardonyourhouse,shemayputmetoworkonours.”ShemadeafacethatcausedMrs.Jacobytolaugh,andwavedgood-bye.Onceshereturnedhome,shefoundhermotherrelaxingbythepool.

“Backsosoon?”hermomasked.“Donovanwasn’tfeelingwell,sowecutitshort.”“Cutwhatshort?”

Megdragged a patio chair over and sat down andproceeded to tellhermotherthewholestory.Whenshefinished,hermotherstaredatherincredulously.“Ican’tbelieveit,”shesaid.“I’msorry I couldn’tmention theOneLastWishFoundationand themysteriousJWCbefore,but itwasDonovan’smoney,andheaskedmetokeepitasecretuntilhismomgotthehouse.”“Doesyourfatherknow?”“No,notevenDaddy.”“Andthetwoofyoupulledthisoffallbyyourselves?”“Yes,”Megconfessed.“Areyoumadatme?”“Mad? I’m impressed!” Her mother’s face broke out in a generoussmile.“Youare?”“Youringenuityisoverwhelming.”“Itis?”“Meg, I thinkwhat you did iswonderful. Iwant you to start at thebeginningandtellmethewholestoryalloveragain.Everydetail—don’tskipathing.Then,I’mgoingtobegincheckingintothisOneLastWishFoundation.I’dsaytheyneedtobeapproachedforamajordonationtotheWayfarerInn.”Megstaredathermotheropen-mouthed.“Why,that’sexactlywhatIwantedtodo!”shecried.“Theyshouldgivetoourcause.”Hermother smiledmore broadly. “Likemother, like daughter,” shequoted,thenleanedforward,hereyestwinkling.“Scary,isn’tit?”Theyspent theafternoontalkingand laughingasMegtoldstoriesofher adventures as a candy striper. It was after six before her motherrealized that they needed to start dinner. “Your father promised to behometonight.”“Maybeweshouldgoouttoeat,”Megsuggested.“Daddyhasn’ttakenthetwoofusouttoeatinages.”“Good idea. I think we should both dress and pounce on him theminutehecomes in thedoor. Imean,howcouldhepossiblyrefuseaninvitationfromtwogorgeouswomenlikeus?”TheelectronicringofthephoneinterruptedMeg’sreply.Shetensed.Yearsofhearingthephoneringatdinnertimemeantonlyonething.Herfatherhadanemergencyandwouldn’tbehomefordinner.Shetriednotto feel resentful.Hermotherpickedup the receiver.Her smilequickly

fadedasshespoketoMeg’sfather,andwhenshehungup,Megbracedherselfforbadnews.“It’s Donovan,” her mother said. “He’s just been brought into

emergency,andhe’sunconscious.”

Nineteen

MEG FELT MISPLACED sitting in the familiar surroundings of Memorial. Shewasn’tacandystriperthistime.Shewasavisitor.Awatcher.Onewhowaitedfornewsaboutsomeonewhowascriticallyill.Shefelthelpless.Hermother sat in a cornerwithMrs. Jacoby, holdingher hand and

consolingher.Brettwas slumped inanotherchair, staringdownathislap;hislegsdangled,stilltooshorttotouchthefloor.Thesightofhimlooking so small and lost in the ICU waiting room caused a lump tolodgeinherthroat.Helookedoveratherforlornly.“Donovanfelldownonthefloor,”hesaid.“Therewasblood.”Megslidovertositnexttotheboyandputherarmaroundhim.“I’m

sorry,Brett.Thedoctorsaretryingtofixhimuprightnow.Thinkabouthimgettingbetteragain.”“Isyourdaddygoingtogethimhisnewlivernow?”SadnessalmostoverwhelmedMeg.SheknewthatDonovanhadbeen

delegated a Status 9—the highest priority for transplantation—but shedidn’tknowif thenationwideappeal fora liverhadbeenanswered.“Iknow my daddy’s trying his very best,” she told Donovan’s sad littlebrother.“ThelasttimeDonovangotrealsick,Mommytoldmethathemight

havetogotoheaven.Buthegotbetterandgottocomehome.Willhehavetogotoheavenifyourdaddycan’tfindhimanewliver?”His questions, his innocence tore at her heart. Yet, his mother had

discussed the possibility of Donovan’s dying, so Meg figured that itwouldbecrueltoglossoverthechild’sconcerns.Still,shecouldhardlyfacethethoughtherself.“I-Idon’tknow.Maybe.”Sheturnedherheadandfoughtforcontrol.“Hecanhavemyliver,”Brettsaid.“Ineverlikedlivermuchanyway.”

HiscockeyedviewofthesituationbroughtMegabriefsmile.“Sorry,butonelivertoacustomer.Youstillneedyours.”Sheheard someone rush into the roomand lookedup to seeAlana,Clark, and Lonnie. They swiftly surrounded Meg and Brett. “Mrs.Vasquezcalledandtoldme.Oh,Meg,I’msosorry.”“Itstinks,”Clarkmumbled.“WejustreturnedhistuxonMonday.Hedidn’tfeelgood,butIdidn’tthinkmuchaboutit.Heneverfeelsreallygood.”“I thinkhewasholdingon just sohe couldget thehouse finished,”Meg said, realizing thatwasprobably the truth.Anymentionofbeingsick, andhewould have been put back into the hospital immediately.“Turningoverthosekeystohismomwaseverythingtohim.”“Don’t giveuphope,” Lonnie said. “I knowwhat it’s like to lie in ahospitalbedandthinklife’sover,thentogetareprieve.ItcanhappenforDonovantoo,iftheyonlyfindhimadonor.”MeghungontoLonnie’swordsasiftheywerealifeline.If theyonlyfindhimadonor.Suddenly,shewantedtoseeDonovanandtouchhim.Megmoistenedherlipsandstood.“WillyouallwaitherewithBrett?I’llbebacksoon.”Clarkeasedintohervacatedchair.“Hi,Brett,myman.I’mClark,andIknowyourbrotherandwearepals.”Meg left the waiting room, went to the elevators, and punched thebuttonthatwouldtakehertoherdad’soffice.Shehadnoreasontoevenhopethathewasthere,butshewantedhimtobe.Shewantedtotalktohim,wantedtohearstraightfromhimhowthesearchwasgoing.Because itwas late, thehallswereghostlyquiet. Shewalked swiftlydownthelongcorridorandstoppedinfrontofherdad’sofficedoor.Shemutteredaquickprayer,turnedtheknob,andsteppedinside.“Daddy?”shesaid.Heswiveledthechairslowlytofaceher.“Hi,Meggie.”Again, she felt coldness clutch her heart. “Why aren’t you downpreppingforOR?”“Theyjustcalledmefromthelab.Donovan’sinkidneyfailure.”Meg’s knees feltwobbly. She crouched in front of her father’s chairandgazedupathim.“So,willyouhavetodoakidneytransplanttoo?”Hedidn’tanswerrightaway,buttookadeepandshudderingbreath.“Therewon’tbeanytransplant.We’verunoutoftime.”

Sheheardthesharpintakeofherownbreath.“Ishe—ishe—?”Herfathershookhishead.“Notyet.Iwasjustsittingherefiguringawaytogodownandtellhisfamily.”Helookedather.“Andyou.”Itdawnedonherthatherfatherwastrulysad.Whatgoodwasallthetechnology if it couldn’t come through when it was needed? “DoesDonovanknow?”“He’s semiconscious, but I don’t know if he’s aware of what’shappening. Idon’t thinkso.He’llgotosleepandslide fromthisworldintothenext.Ican’tstophim.”Meghadpassedfromacutepainintonumbness.Thepooloflightfromthelampshonedirectlydownonherfather’shands,claspedinhis lap.His fingerswere long and tapered, spotlessly clean, smelling faintly ofantisepticsoap.Surgeon’shands.Handsthathealed.Itwasasifshewereseeingthemforthefirsttime.His handswere beautiful, and they had the power to transplant lifefrom one human being into another. And yet, now, for all hisknowledge, for all his ability and surgical skill, his hands could donothing.Hehadthepowertosustainlife,butnottorestoreit.She stared at her own hands too. Smaller than his, with a fewstubborn flecks of paint embedded under her nails. She thought ofAlana’shands,darkandnimble.She thoughtofall thehands thathadreached out, that were still reaching out to Donovan and his family.Humanhands, helping,healing, giving.Perhaps in the long run, that’swhatlifewastrulyallabout—helpingoneanother.Megreachedoutandcoveredherfather’shandswithhers.“Webroketherules,didn’twe,Daddy?Wegottooinvolved.”Henodded.“I’mafraidso,Meggie.”“CanIseehimalone?JustforaminutewhileyougotellBrettandhismother?”Heansweredbytakingherhandandleadingheroutofhisoffice.

ICUwasquietanddarkexceptforthelonelyvigilofbeepingmachinesand glowing monitors. On the bed, Donovan twitched and tossedrestlessly,asifstrugglingtoremaininplace.Tubesandwiresprotrudedfrom every part of his body. Meg stared down at him, thinking,He’stethered—theselinesholdhimtothebed.Iftheyweren’tinplace,wouldhe

floataway?Shefeltdetached, likeanalienseeingsomethingthatmadenosense

inherworldofhealthandwellness.Sickness shehadseen,butdeath?Deathworeadifferentface.“Donovan,it’sme,Meg.I-IwantyoutoknowI’mherewithyou.”She

hadnowayofknowingifheheardher,orevenrememberedher.“Cold,”hemumbled.“Socold.”Hisdiscomfortangeredher,andshelookedaboutforanotherblanket

withwhichtocoverhim.Therewasn’tone.Shecouldgotothenurses’station and ask for one, but she couldn’t bear to leavehimeven for aminute.Shehadsolittletimeasitwas.The curtain in front of the glass partitionwas pulled back, and she

could seeanursebentovera chart,dutifully filling it in.Aglasswalland twenty yards separated them. Itmay aswell have been a chasm.Megcouldn’tcatchhereye.“Cold,”Donovanmumbledthroughchatteringteeth.Making up her mind what to do, Meg reached over and jerked the

curtain across the glasswindow, sealingherself andDonovanoff fromthe main desk. Very carefully, she moved aside wires and tubes, andgently,shecrawledintothebedbesidehimsothathisbackwasrestingagainstthefrontofherbody.She realized shewas breaking all the rules, but it didn’tmatter.He

neededher.Withgreatcare,sheslippedherarmsaroundhimandheldhimclose.Shewilledthewarmthofherbodytoseepintohis,hopinghemight

somehowabsorbaportionofherlifeintohimself.Shewouldgladlygivea fewofheryears tohim.“I’mhere,Donovan,” shewhisperedagainsthisneck.“Righthere.”His trembling seemed to stop, and after a few minutes, his body

seemedmorerelaxed.Shehuggedhimtighter,fillingherarmswiththeweightofhim,andhermemorywithhissmile.Tearsslippeddownhercheeks.With one hand, she stoked his hair. “When you get where you’re

going,” she said intohis ear, “pleasedon’t forgetme.Andonceyou’rethere,lookforafriendofmine.HernameisCindy,andyou’lllikeher.Trustme.”

Shewhisperedhis name like aprayer, “Oh,Donovan.Oh,Donovan.Oh,Donovan.”

Twenty

MEGSTOODATthetopofthestaircaseandlookeddownatthewhirlwindofactivitybelow.Carpenterswerehammeringboards,puttingthefinishingtouchesonasundeckandadoorwaythathadbeenaddedontotheoldVictorian house. Painters and decorators hurried from room to roombehind her, dragging bolts of cloths and cans of touch-up paint. Sheheard her mother’s voice call out, “Hurry up! The reporters and TVpeoplewillbehereinlessthananhour.”“Wheredoyouwantthistrayofhorsd’oeuvres?”anothervoiceyelled

fromthekitchen.“Put it in the fridge, and don’t forget to take the others out of the

oven,”Mrs.Jacobyanswered.Shewasstandingonaladder,heldsteadybyAlana, andhangingaplaqueabove themantel,next toanoversizerenderingoftheWayfarerInn.Megknewtheinscriptionontheplaquebyheart,forithadbeenagift

toMrs. Jacoby from all the candy striperswho’dworked together theprevious summer. It was dedicated to Donovan’s memory. She stillcouldn’tbelieve ithadbeeneightmonthssincehe’ddied.At the time,she didn’t believe she’d ever get over it, but although she stillmissedhimterribly,thesharppainoflossgraduallyhadturnedintoadullacheoverthemonths.Shewaspositivethatherinvolvementintherenovationofthehouse

had made the time pass more quickly. She remembered with perfectclaritythedayMrs.Jacobyhadcometoherandhermotherandasked,“MayItalktoyouaboutsomething?”Donovan’smotherhadlookedpaleandbornethemarksofhergrief.

His final days in ICUhad still been fresh. “It’s about the house,”Mrs.JacobyhadsaidonceMeg’smotherhadservedthemteabythepool.

“Issomethingwrongwithit?”Meghadasked.“Ican’tlivethere.”Meghadbeendumfounded.“Whynot?Donovanwantedyoutohaveit.Itmeantsomuchtohim.”“I can’t live there knowing somanyparents such asmyself havenoplace to stay when their children are in Memorial waiting fortransplants.”“We’reworkingasfastaswecantoraisefundsfortheWayfarerInn,”Meg’smotherhadsaid.“It’sgoingwell,butthesethingstaketime.”“That’sjustthepoint.Somanyofthosekidsdon’thavetimetowait.Ihaveanidea—awaytohelpout.”Thatday,shehadoutlinedaplantorenovateherhouse, addnecessary rooms, andopen thehouseupas atemporary inn until the other could be built. She’d said that she andBrettwouldlivethereandbeasourceofsupportforparentswhosekidswere facing transplantation. “It seems so logical,” shehadadded,afterpresentingherplan.“Donovanchosethathousebecauseofitsproximityto the hospital. Volunteers can help me. We can cook and keep therooms neat and baby-sit younger siblings. I’ve thought about it verycarefully,andit’swhatIwanttodo.”Intheend,theboardoftheLeaguehadthoughtitanexcellentidea.TheyhadallocatedmoneyfortherenovationandappointedMrs.Jacobycoordinatorof theWayfarer Inn,with theofferofextending the job tothenewhouseonce itwasbuilt.Meghadbeenpleased forher. ItwassomethingMrs. Jacoby obviouslywanted to do, and it seemed to giveheranewleaseonlife.Now, in less than an hour, journalists and TV anchors fromWashingtonandVirginiawouldbeshowingupfortheformaldedicationofWayfarerOne.Megsteppedasideasadecoratorhustledpast,jugglingrollsofwallpaper.“Youmustbeveryproud,”sheheardafamiliarvoicesay.MegturnedandsawMrs.Vasquezstandingnexttoher.“Ididn’thavetoomuchtodowithallthis.ItwasMrs.Jacoby’sidea.”“Iknowhowyou’vehelped,”thenurseinsisted.“AndI’veseencopiesof the letter you andAlanahelpedDonovanwrite. It’s raising a lot ofmoneyforthecause.”“We’restillalongwayfrombuildingthemainhouse.”“I’veheardaboutayear.That’snotsolong.”

Megshrugged.“I’llbeaseniorbythen.”“Willyouworkatthehospitalnextsummer?”Mrs.Vasquezasked.“I’mnotsure.”Megwasn’tsureshecouldgothroughanothersummerlikethelastone.Howdidlong-timenurseslikeMrs.Vasquezmanageityearafteryear,caringforpeoplewhosometimesdidn’tgetwell?“Youwanttoknowsomething?”Mrs.Vasquezasked.“What?”“You’vereallygotaknackformedicine.”Megstaredatherinamazement.“Who,me?”“I didn’t always think that,” the nurse continued. “When you firstappearedonthefloorIthought,‘Thisonewillbegonebytheendoftheweek.’Butyoufooledme.Younotonlystayed,youexhibitedarealgiftfordoctoring.”“Agift?Me?”Mrs. Vasquez laughed. “Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve been in thisbusinessforovertwentyyears,soI’veseenplentyofprofessionals—andbelieveme,notallofthemshouldbeinthebusiness.No,truemedicinerequiresthegiftofcaring.Yourfatherhasit.AndfromwhatI’veseen,youdotoo.”Thenursepattedherarm.“Forwhatit’sworth,youmightthinkaboutbecomingadoctor.Iknowyou’dmakeagoodone.”Meg letMrs.Vasquezgiveher aquickhug, thenwatchedherhurryaway.Shemulledovertheconversation.Adoctor?Impossible!“Are you going to stand there gawking all day, or are you going tocome down here and give us a hand?” Alana called up to Meg frombelow.“I’mcoming,”Megcalledback.Shetookonefinallookattheupstairsareaandatthestained-glasswindowset inthestairwell.Thebeautifulcolorsspilledoverthelandingandbroughtbackthememoryofthefirstday she and Donovan had toured the house. She felt his presence.Certainly,hewaswiththemthisday.AswasthesecretiveJWC,whoseidentity remained a mystery despite her mother’s efforts to ferret outinformation.MegknewthatDonovanwouldbeproudofwhatwasgoingoninhishouse.Sheboundeddownthestairs,dodgingamantackingdownnewcarpet.Meg knew she’d never be able to give large sums ofmoney topeopleinneed,butshedidhaveotherthingstooffer.“Hey,Alana,”Megshoutedasshereachedthefloor.“I’vebeenthinking…maybewecould

go to med school together? What do you think about a career inpediatrics?”

F

DearReader,

orthoseofyouwhohavebeenlongtimereaders,IhopeyouhaveenjoyedthisOneLastWishvolume.ForthoseofyoudiscoveringOneLastWishforthefirsttime,Ihopeyouwillwantto

read the other books that are listed in detail in the next few pages. From Lacey to Katie toMorganandtherest,you’lldiscoverthelivesofthecharactersIhopeyou’vecometocareaboutjustasIhave.

Since the series began, I have receivednumerous letters from teenswishing to volunteer atJennyHouse.ThatisnotpossiblebecauseJennyHouseexistsonlyinmyimagination,buttherearemanyfineorganizationsandcampsforsickkidsthatwouldwelcomevolunteers.Ifyouareinterested in becoming such a volunteer, contact your local hospitals about their volunteerprogramsor try calling serviceorganizations inyourarea to findouthowyoucanhelp.Yourownschoolmighthavealistofcommunityserviceprograms.Extendingyourselfisoneofthebestwaysofexpandingyourworld…andofenlargingyour

heart.Turninggoodintentionsintoactionsisconsistentlyoneofthemostrewardingexperiencesinlife.MywishisthattheidealsofJennyHousewillbecarriedonbyyou,myreader.IhopethatnowthatwesharetheJennyHouseattitude,youwillbelieveasIdothattheendisoftenonlythebeginning.

Thankyouforcaring

YOU’LLWANTTOREADALLTHEONELASTWISHBOOKSBYBESTSELLINGAUTHOR

LurleneMcDaniel

LetHimLive

SomeoneDies,SomeoneLives

Mother,HelpMeLive

ATimetoDie

SixteenandDying

MourningSong

TheLegacy:MakingWishesComeTrue

PleaseDon’tDie

SheDiedTooYoung

AlltheDaysofHerLife

ASeasonforGoodbye

ReachforTomorrow

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTMEGAN,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-56067-0

ExcerptfromLetHimLivebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1993byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

Beingacandystriperisn’tMeganCharnell’sideaofanexcitingsummer,butshevolunteeredand can’t get out of it.Megan has her own problems to deal with. Still, when shemeetsDonovanJacoby,shefindherselfgettinginvolvedinhislife.Donovan shareswithMegan his secret: An anonymous benefactor has granted him one last

wish,andheneedsMegan’shelp.Themoneycan’tbuyacompatibletransplant,butitcanallowDonovantogivehismotherandlittlebrothersomethinghefeelsheowesthem.CanMeganhelpmakehisdreamcometrue?

“When I firstgot sick inhighschool,kidswerepretty sympathetic,but thesicker Igotand themoreschoolImissed,theharderitwastokeepupwiththeoldcrowd,”Donovanexplained.“SomeofthemtriedtounderstandwhatIwasgoingthrough,butunlessyou’vebeenreallysick…”Hedidn’tfinishthesentence.

“I’veneverbeensick,”Megsaid,“butIreallydoknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”Hetippedhisheadandlookedintohereyes.“Ibelieveyoudo.”

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTKATIEANDJOSH,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-29842-9

ExcerptfromSomeoneDies,SomeoneLivesbyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1992byLurleneMcDanielPublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,NewYork,NewYork

10036

Allrightsreserved

KatieO’Roark feelsmiserable, though sheknows she’s incredibly lucky tohave receivedananonymousgiftofmoney.Themoneycan’tbuythenewheartsheneedsorbringbackherdaysasatrackstar.A donor is found with a compatible heart, and Katie undergoes transplant surgery. While

recuperating,shemeetsJoshMartelandsensesanimmediateconnection.WhenKatiedecidestostarttrainingtorealizeherdreamofrunningagain,Joshhelpshermeetthedifficultchallenge.WillKatiefindthestrengthphysicallyandemotionallytoliveandbecomeawinneragain?

Fromthecornerofhereye,Katiesawaboywithredhairwhowasaboutherage.Hestoodnearthedoorway,lookingnervous.Withastart,sherealizedhewaswatchingherbecausehekeptavertinghisgazewhensheglancedhisway.Odd,Katietoldherself.Katiehadanaggingsenseshecouldn’tplacehim.Asnonchalantlyaspossible,sherolledherwheelchaircloser,pickingupamagazineasshepassedatable.

Sheflippedthroughthemagazine,pretendingtobeinterested,allthewhileglancingdiscreetlytowardthe boy. Even though he also picked up amagazine, Katie could tell that he was preoccupied withstudyingher.Suddenly,shegrewself-conscious.Wassomethingwrongwiththewayshelooked?She’dthoughtshelookedbetterthanshehadinmonthswhenshe’dleftherhospitalroomthatafternoon.Whywashewatchingher?

Katie is also featured in the novels Please Don’t Die, She Died Too Young, and A Season forGoodbye.

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTSARAH,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-29811-9

ExcerptfromMother,HelpMeLivebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1992byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

SarahMcGreggorisdistraughtwhenshelearnsshewillneedabonemarrowtransplanttolive.And she is shocked to find out that her parents and siblings can’t be donors because theyaren’therbloodrelatives.Sarahneverknewshewasadopted.AsSarahfacesthisdevastatingnews,sheisgrantedonelastwishbyananonymousbenefactor.

Withhopeinherheart,shebeginsasearchforherbirthmother,whogaveherupfifteenyearsago.Sarah’slifedependsonherfindingthiswoman.ButwhatwillSarahdiscoveraboutthetruemeaningoffamily?

Didn’t the letter from JWC say she could spend it on anything she wanted? What could be moreimportant than findingherbirthmother?What couldbemore important thandiscovering if shehadsiblings with compatible bone marrow? Her very life could depend on finding these people. Sarahpracticallyjumpedupfromthesofa.“I’vegottogo,”shesaid.

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTERIC,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-29809-7

ExcerptfromATimetoDiebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1992byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

S ixteen-year-oldKaraFischerhasneverconsideredherselflucky.Shedoesn’tunderstandwhyshewasbornwithcysticfibrosis.Despiteherdailytreatments,eachdayposesthethreatofa lunginfectionthatcouldputher inthehospital forweeks.ButherclosefriendshipwithherfellowCFpatientVinceandthenewfeelingssheisquicklydevelopingforEricgiveherthehopetoliveonedayatatime.Whenananonymousbenefactorpromisestograntasinglewishwithnostringsattached,Kara

findsawaytoletthepeoplewhohavelovedandsupportedherthroughoutherillnessknowhowmuchtheymeantoher.ButwilltherebetimeforKaratoseeherdyingwishfulfilled?

“WhatamIgoingtodoaboutyou,Kara?”

Eric’s tone was subdued and so sincere that his question caught her by surprise. “What do youmean?”“Ican’tstayawayfromyou.”“Youseemtobedoingafinejobofit,”shesaidquietly,butwithoutmalice.“Iknowitseemsthatway,butyoudon’tknowhowhardit’sbeen.”Shewasskeptical.“Wejustdancedtogether,butaftertonight,howwill itbebetweenus?Willyou

stillignoremeinthehalls?Willyouduckintothenearestopendoorwheneveryouseemecoming?”He turnedhis headand she sawhis jaw clench. She thought hemightwalk away, but insteadhe

asked,“What’sbetweenyouandVince?”

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTMORGAN,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-29932-8

ExcerptfromSixteenandDyingbyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1992byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

I t’s hard for Anne Wingate and her father to accept the doctors’ diagnosis: Anne is HIV-positive.Sevenyearsago,beforebloodscreeningwasrequired,Annereceivedatransfusion.Itsavedher life then, but now theharsh reality can’t be changed—thebloodwas tainted.Annemustdealwiththeinevitableprogressionofhercondition.WhenananonymousbenefactorpromisestograntAnneasinglewishwithnostringsattached,

she decides to spend the summer on a ranch out west. Shewants to live as normally as shepossibly can. The summer seems even better than she dreamed, especially after she meetsMorgan. Anne doesn’t confide in Morgan about her condition and doesn’t plan to. Then herhealthbeginstodeteriorateandshereturnshome. Is theretimeforAnneandMorgantomeetagain?

Fearfully,Annestaredatherbleedinghand.

Morganreachedbeneathher, liftedher,andplacedher safelyaway fromthehayand its invisibleweapon.“Letmeseehowbadyou’recut.”“It’snothing,”Annesaid,keepingherhandclosetoherbody.“I’mfine.”“You’renotfine.You’rebleeding.Youmayneedstitches.Letmewipeitoffandexamineit.”Hereyeswidened,remindinghimofadeertrappedinheadlights.“No!Don’ttouchit!”“But—”“Please—you don’t understand. I—I can’t explain. Just don’t touch it.”Wild-eyed, panicked, she

spun,andclutchingherhandtoherside,sheboltedfromthebarn.Dumbfounded,Morganwatchedherrunbacktowardthecabin.

YOUMAYALSOWANTTOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-29810-0

ExcerptfromMourningSongbyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1992byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

I t’s been months since Dani Vanoy’s older sister, Cassie, was diagnosed as having a braintumor.Andnowthe treatmentsaren’thelping.Dani is furious thatshe ispowerless tohelphersister.Shecan’tevenconvincetheirmothertotakethegirlsonthetriptoFloridaCassiehasalwayslongedfor.ThenCassiereceivesananonymousletterofferingherasinglewish.Daniknowsshecannever

makeCassiewell,butsheisdeterminedtoseeCassie’sdreamcometrue,withorwithouttheirmother’sapproval.

Danihadrehearsedthespeechsomanytimesthatevenshewasbeginningtobelieveit.“It’sasifyou’resupposedtodothis.Whilewedon’tknowwhogaveyouthemoneyforawish,Ithinkyoushoulduseitto get something you’ve always wanted. Listen, even a trillion dollars can’t make you well, but themoneyyou’vegottencanhelpyouhavesomefun. I say let’sgo for it!Youdeserve tosee theocean,whetherMomagreesornot.I’mgoingtohelpyoumakeyourwishcometrue.”

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTRICHARDHOLLOWAYANDJENNYCRAWFORD,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-56134-0

ExcerptfromTheLegacy:MakingWishesComeTruebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1993byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

WhoisJWC,andhowwastheOneLastWishFoundationcreated?FollowJWC’sstruggleforsurvivalagainstimpossibleoddsandtheintertwiningstoriesofloveandfriendship

that developed into a legacy of giving. And discover the power that one individual’sdeterminationcanhave,inthisextraordinarynovelofhope.

“I had my physician call the ER doctor and afterward, when we discussed their conversation, hesuggestedthatIgethertoaspecialistasquicklyaspossible.”

“AspecialistatBostonChildren’s,”Richardsaidwithanod.“Whatkindofspecialist?”“Apediatriconcologist.”BeforeRichardcouldsayanotherword,Jenny’sgrandmotherspoke.“Acancer specialist,”Marian

said,hervoicecatching.“TheybelieveJennyhasleukemia.”

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTKATIE,CHELSEA,ANDLACEY,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS

0-553-56262-2

ExcerptfromPleaseDon’tDiebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1993byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

WhenKatieO’Roarkreceivesan invitation fromtheOneLastWishFoundationtospendthe summer at JennyHouse, she eagerly says yes. Katie is ever grateful to JWC, the

unknownpersonwhogaveherthegiftthatallowedhertoreceiveahearttransplant.NowKatieisaskedtobea“bigsister”tootherswho,likeher,facedauntingmedicalproblems:Amanda,athirteen-year-old victim of leukemia; Chelsea, a fourteen-year-old candidate for a hearttransplant;andLacey,asixteen-year-olddiabeticwhorefusestodealwithhercondition.Asthesummer progresses, the girls form close bonds and enjoy the chance to act “just like healthykids.”Butwhenacrisisjeopardizesonegirl’schanceoffulfillingherdreams,theydiscovertruefriendshipanditspowertoendurebeyondthislife.

“Me,too.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyou,Katie.WheneverIthinkaboutlastsummer,abouthowyouweresoclosetodying…”

Shedidn’tallowhimtocompletehissentence.“Everydayisnew,everymorning,Josh.I’mgladIgotasecondchanceat life.AndaftermeetingthepeoplehereatJennyHouse,aftermakingfriendswithAmanda,Chelsea,andevenLacey,Iwantallofustoliveforever.”Hegrinned.“Forever’salongtime.”Shereturnedhissmile.“Allright,thenatleastuntilwe’realloldandwrinkled.”

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTKATIEANDCHELSEA,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-56263-0

ExcerptfromSheDiedTooYoungbyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1994byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

Chelsea James and Katie O’Roark met at Jenny House and spent a wonderful summertogether.

Now Chelsea and hermother are staying with Katie as Chelsea awaits news about a hearttransplant.Whilewaitingforacompatibledonor,ChelseameetsJillian,akind,funnygirlwho’swaiting for a heart-lung transplant. The two girls become fast friends. When Chelsea meetsJillian’s brother, he awakens feelings in her she’s never known before. But as her medicalsituationgrowsdesperate,Chelseafindsherselfinacontestforherlifeagainstherbestfriend.Isitfairthatthere’sachanceforonlyoneofthemtosurvive?

“Don’tyousee?There’sonedonorcomingin.Onlyone.Whowillthedoctorssave?Whowillgetthetransplant?”

ForamomentJoshstaredblanklyasherquestionsankin.“Katie,youdon’tknowforsurethere’sonlyonedonor.”“Yes, I do.There’s onlyone.Oneheart.Two lungs.Thedoctor said thedonor’s familyhad given

permissionforallherorganstobedonated.”Katie’svoicehadrisenwiththetideofpanicrisinginher.“There’stwopeopleinneedandonlyoneheart.”

KatieandChelseaarealsofeaturedinthenovelsPleaseDon’tDieandASeasonforGoodbye.

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTLACEY,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-56264-9

ExcerptfromAlltheDaysofHerLifebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1994byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

Out of control—that’s how Lacey Duval feels in almost every aspect of her life. There’snothingshecandoaboutherparents’divorce,there’snothingshecandoaboutthedeath

of her young friend, there’s nothing she can do about having diabetes—that’s what Laceybelieves.AfteraspecialsummeratJennyHouse,Laceyisdeterminedtoputherproblemsbehindher.

Whenshereturnstohighschool,sheisdriventobecomeapartoftheincrowd.ButLaceythinksfitting in means losing weight and hiding her diabetes. She starts skipping meals andexperimentingwithhermedication—sometimesignoringitaltogether.Herfriendsfromthesummercautionhertofaceherproblemsbeforecatastrophestrikes.Isit

toolatetostopthedestructiveprocessLaceyhassetinmotion?

Shewenthotandcoldallover.Itwasas ifhe’dshonealight intosomesecretpartofherheartandsomething dark and ugly had crawled out. She had rejected Jeff because she didn’t want a sickboyfriend.She’dsaidasmuchtoKatieatJennyHouse.

“It’sanysickness,Jeff.It’sminetoo.Ihateitall.Iknowit’snotyourfault,butit’snotmineeither.”“I’llbetnooneatyourschoolknowsyou’readiabetic.”Shesaidnothing.“I’mright,aren’tI?”“It’snoneofyourbusiness.”“Youknow,Lacey,you’rethepersonwhowon’tacceptthatyouhaveadisease.Whyisthat?”Shewhirledonhim.“Howcanyouaskmethatwhenyou’vejustadmittedthatgirlsdropyouonce

theydiscoveryou’reableeder?YouofallpeopleshouldunderstandwhyIkeepmylittlesecret.”

LaceyisalsofeaturedinthenovelsPleaseDon’tDieandASeasonforGoodbye.

IFYOUWANTTOKNOWMOREABOUTKATIE,CHELSEA,ANDLACEY,BESURETOREAD

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-56265-7

ExcerptfromASeasonforGoodbyebyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1995byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

Togetheragain.It’sbeenayearsinceKatieO’Roark,ChelseaJames,andLaceyDuvalsharedaspecialsummeratJennyHouse.Thegirlshaveeachspenttheyearstrugglingtofitinto

theworldofthehealthy.Nowthey’reback,thistimeas“bigsisters”toanewgroupofgirlswhoalsofacelife-threateningillnesses.Butevenas the friendsstrive tohelp their“littlesisters” face the future together, theymust

separately confront their own expectations. Katie must decide between an old flame and anexcitingscholarshipfarfromhome.Chelseamustovercomeherfearofromance.AndLaceymustconvincetheboyshelovesthatherfeelingsforhimcanbetrusted.WhentragedystrikesJennyHouse,eachofthegirlsknowsthatthingscanneverbethesame.

Will Lacey, Chelsea, and Katie find a way to carry on the legacy of Jenny House? Can theirspecialfriendshipendure?

“Overhere!”Katiecalled.“Ifoundit.”

ChelseaandLaceyhurriedtowhereKatiewascrouched,diggingthroughapileofdeadleaves.Thetepeewaspartiallyburied,andChelseaheldherbreath,hopingthatthelaminatedphotoandJillian’sdiamondstudearringwerestilltiedtoit.“It’s comeapart,”Katie said, liftingup the twigs in threeparts.But from thecornerofoneof the

sticks,thelaminatedphotodangled,andfromitscenterthediamondcaughttheafternoonsunlight.Thephotolookedfaded,butAmandastillsmiledfromthecenteroftheirgroup.Chelseafeltalump

forminherthroat.Thesedays,sheandKatieandLaceylookedolder,moremature,healthiertoo.ButAmandalookedthesame,hergaminesmilefrozenintime.Andageless.KatietookthephotofromLacey’stremblingfingers.“Wewerequiteabunch,weren’twe?”

yOUCANREADMOREABOUTMANYOFYOURFAVORITECHARACTERSFROMTHEONELASTWISHBOOKSIN

ONSALENOWFROMBANTAMBOOKS0-553-57109-5

ExcerptfromReachforTomorrowbyLurleneMcDanielCopyright©1999byLurleneMcDaniel

PublishedbyBantamDoubledayDellBooksforYoungReadersadivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.1540Broadway,New

York,NewYork10036

Allrightsreserved

K atieO’RoarkisthrilledtolearnthatJennyHouseisbeingrebuilt.Afterthefirelastyear,Katie thought she could never return to the camp, where she spent the summers with

youngmen andwomen likeherwho facedmedical odds thatwere stacked against them.ButthankstoRichardHolloway’sefforts,KatieandherlongtimefriendsLaceyandChelseawillworkas counselors once again. They’ll be joined by Megan Charnell, Morgan Lancaster, and EricLawrence,whoarenewcomerstoJennyHousebutwhohaveexperiencedthegenerosityoftheOneLastWishFoundation.It’snotuntilKatiearrivesatcampthatshediscoversthatJoshMartel,herformerboyfriend,is

alsoacounselor.KatieandJoshbrokeupayearago,whenKatiedecidedtogoawaytocollege.BeingnearJoshagainbringsbacka floodofoldemotions forKatie.AndwhenJoshconfrontsunexpectedadversity,Katieknowsshehastoworkoutherfeelingsforhim.Throughthehearttransplantsheunderwentyearsago,Katiemiraculouslyreceivedagiftofnewlife.Nowshemustdiscoverhowtomakethemostofthatpreciousgiftandchooseherfuture.

Shestopped.Bynowtearshadfilledhereyesandherheartfeltasifitmightbreak.ShetrulybelievedthatGodhadheardherprayer.Whatshedidnotknowwaswhetherornothewouldgrantherrequest.Against greatodds,Godhadgivenheranewheartwhen she’ddesperatelyneededone.AndhehadbroughtJoshintoherlifeaswell.Shebelievedthatwithallherheartandsoul.Nowtherewasnothingmoreshecoulddoexceptwait.Andhavefaith.

Katieliftedherarmsinthemoonlightinsupplicationtotheheavens.