“We’d just like you to give us some idea of his emotional state,” said Dr. Keitzman. “We’d like to have some idea of what to expect.”

“I think he will be fine,” assured Cathryn. “He had a lot of trouble adjusting when his first wife died, but he never interfered with her treatment.”

“Does he often lose his temper as he did today?” asked Keitzman.

“He’s had an awful shock,” said Cathryn. “I think it’s understandable. Besides, ever since his first wife died, cancer research has been his passion.”

“It’s a terrible irony,” agreed Dr. Wiley.

“But what about the kind of emotional outburst he demonstrated today?” asked Dr. Keitzman.

“He does have a temper,” said Cathryn, “but he usually keeps it under control.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” said Dr. Keitzman. “Maybe it’s not going to be so difficult after all. Thank you, Mrs. Martel. You’ve been most helpful, especially since I know you, too, have had a terrible shock. I’m sorry if we’ve said anything disturbing but we’ll do our best for Michelle, I can assure you of that.” Turning to Dr. Wiley, he said, “I’ve got to get things rolling. I’ll speak to you later.” He moved quickly, almost at a run, and was out of sight in seconds.

“He has some strange mannerisms,” said Dr. Wiley, “but you couldn’t get a better oncologist. He’s one of the top people in the world in childhood leukemia.”

“I was afraid he was going to abandon us when Charles acted up,” said Cathryn.

“He’s too good of a doctor for that,” said Dr. Wiley. “He’s only concerned about Charles because of your husband’s attitude to chemotherapy, and aggressive treatment has to be started right away to get her into a remission.”

“I’m sure Charles won’t interrupt her treatment,” said Cathryn.

“Let’s hope not,” said Dr. Wiley. “But we’re going to count on your strength, Cathryn.”

“My strength?” questioned Cathryn, aghast. “Hospitals and medical problems aren’t my strong points.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to overcome that,” said Dr. Wiley. “Michelle’s clinical course could be very difficult.”

At that moment she caught sight of Charles emerging from Michelle’s room. He spotted Cathryn and started toward the nurses’ station. Cathryn ran down to meet him. They stood for a moment in a silent embrace, drawing strength from each other. When they started back toward Dr. Wiley, Charles seemed more in control.

“She’s a good kid,” he said. “Christ, all she’s worried about is staying overnight. Said she wanted to be home in the morning to make the orange juice. Can you believe that?”

“She feels responsible,” said Cathryn. “Until I arrived she was the woman of the house. She’s afraid of losing you, Charles.”

“It’s amazing what you don’t know about your own children,” said Charles. “I asked her if she minded if I went back to the lab. She said no, as long as you stayed here, Cathryn.”

Cathryn was touched. “On the way to the hospital we had a little talk, and for the first time I felt she really accepted me.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” said Charles. “And so am I. I hope you don’t mind my leaving you here. I hope you understand. I feel such a terrible powerlessness. I’ve got to do something.”

“I understand,” said Cathryn. “I think you’re right. There isn’t anything you can do right now and it would be better if you can get your mind on something else. I’ll be happy to stay. In fact, I’ll call my mother. She’ll come over and take care of things.”

Dr. Wiley watched the couple come toward him, pleased to see their open affection and mutual support. The fact that they were acknowledging and sharing their grief was healthy; it was a good sign and it encouraged him. He smiled, somewhat at a loss for what to say as they arrived. He had to get back to his office which he knew was in chaos, but he wanted to be there if they still needed him.

“Do you have any extra of Michelle’s blood?” asked Charles. His voice was businesslike, matter-of-fact.

“Probably,” said Dr. Wiley. It wasn’t a question he had expected. Charles had the uncanny ability to unnerve him.

“Where would it be?” asked Charles.

“In the clinical lab,” said Dr. Wiley.

“Fine. Let’s go.” Charles started toward the elevator.

“I’ll stay here with Michelle,” said Cathryn. “I’ll call if there is any news. Otherwise I’ll see you home for dinner.”

“Okay.” He strode off purposefully.

Confused, Dr. Wiley hurried after Charles, nodding a quick good-bye to Cathryn. His encouragement regarding Charles’s behavior was quickly undermined. Charles’s mood had apparently tumbled off on a new and curious tangent. His daughter’s blood? Well, he was a physician.

Clutching the flask of Michelle’s blood, Charles hurried through the foyer of the Weinburger Institute. He ignored greetings by the coy receptionist and the security guard and ran down the corridor to his lab.

“Thanks for coming back,” taunted Ellen. “I could have used some help injecting the mice with the Canceran.”

Charles ignored her, carrying the vial of Michelle’s blood over to the apparatus they used to separate the cellular components of blood. He began the complicated process of priming the unit.

Bending down to peer at Charles beneath the glassware shelving, Ellen watched for a moment. “Hey,” she called. “I said I could have used some help…”

Charles switched on a circulatory pump.

Wiping her hands, Ellen came around the end of the workbench, curious to see the object of Charles’s obvious intense concentration. “I finished injecting the first batch of mice,” she repeated when she was close enough to be absolutely certain Charles could hear her.

“Wonderful,” said Charles without interest. Carefully he introduced an aliquot of Michelle’s blood into the machine. Then he switched on the compressor.

“What are you doing?” Ellen followed all his movements.

“Michelle has myeloblastic leukemia,” said Charles. He spoke evenly, like he was giving the weather report.

“Oh, no!” gasped Ellen. “Charles, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to reach out and comfort him but she restrained herself.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” laughed Charles. “If the day’s disasters had remained localized to the problems here at the Weinburger, I’d probably just cry. But with Michelle’s illness, everything is a bit overwhelming. Christ!”

Charles’s laughter had a hollow ring to it but it struck Ellen as somewhat inappropriate.

“Are you all right?” asked Ellen.

“Wonderful,” said Charles as he opened their small refrigerator for clinical reagents.

“How does Michelle feel?”

“Pretty good right now but she has no idea of what she’s in for. I’m afraid it’s going to be bad.”

Ellen found herself at a loss for words. She blankly watched Charles as he went about completing his test. Finally she found her tongue. “Charles, what are you doing?”

“I have some of Michelle’s blood. I’m going to see if our method of isolating a cancer antigen works on her leukemic cells. It gives me the mistaken impression I’m doing something to help her.”

“Oh, Charles,” said Ellen sympathetically. There was something pitiful about the way he acknowledged his vulnerability. Ellen knew how much of an activist he was and Charles had told her the feeling of powerlessness was what had been the hardest for him when Elizabeth was ill. He had been forced to just sit and watch her die. And now Michelle!

“I’ve decided we aren’t going to stop our own work,” said Charles. “We’ll continue while we work on Canceran. Work nights if we have to.”

“But Morrison is very insistent about exclusively concentrating on Canceran,” said Ellen. “In fact, he came by while you were out to emphasize that.” For a moment Ellen debated about telling Charles the real reason Morrison stopped by, but with everything else that had happened, she was afraid to.