Charles concentrated on the road in front of him. Cathryn was voicing a conviction he’d held until yesterday, but now he realized that he couldn’t share everything. His background as a physician had imparted experiences that Cathryn could not comprehend. If Charles told what he knew about the course of Michelle’s illness, she’d be devastated.

Taking a hand from the steering wheel, Charles placed it over Cathryn’s. “The children don’t know how lucky they are,” he said.

They rode in silence for a while. Cathryn wasn’t satisfied, but she didn’t know what else to say. In the far distance she could just make out the top of the Prudential building. The traffic began to increase, and they had to slow to forty miles per hour.

“I don’t know anything about tissue-typing and all that,” said Cathryn, breaking the silence. “But I don’t think we should force Chuck to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Charles glared at Cathryn for a moment.

“I’m sure he will come around,” she continued when she realized that Charles wasn’t going to speak. “But he has to agree on his own.”

Charles took his hand off Cathryn’s and gripped the steering wheel. The mere mention of Chuck was like stoking a smoldering fire. Yet what Cathryn was saying was undeniably true.

“You can’t force someone to be altruistic,” said Cathryn. “Especially Chuck, because it will only strengthen the worries he has about his sense of self.”

“A sense of self is all he has,” said Charles. “He didn’t voice the slightest concern about Michelle. Not one word.”

“But he feels it,” said Cathryn. “It’s just hard for him to express those feelings.”

Charles laughed cynically. “I wish I believed it. He’s just goddamned selfish. Did you notice his overwhelming appreciation when I told him I’d applied for a loan for his tuition?”

“What did you want him to do? Cartwheels?” returned Cathryn. “The tuition was supposed to be paid months ago.”

Charles set his jaw. “Fine,” he said to himself. “You want to side with the little bastard… just fine!”

Cathryn was instantly sorry she’d said what she had even though it was true. Reaching over, she put her hand on his shoulder. She wanted to draw Charles out, not shut him up. “I’m sorry I said that, but Charles, you have to understand that Chuck doesn’t have your personality. He’s not competitive and he’s not the most handsome boy. But basically he’s a good kid. It’s just very hard growing up in your shadow.”

Charles glanced sideways at his wife.

“Whether you know it or not,” said Cathryn, “you’re a hard act to follow. You’ve been successful in everything you’ve tried.”

Charles did not share that opinion. He could have rattled off a dozen episodes in which he’d failed miserably. But that wasn’t the issue: it was Chuck.

“I think the kid’s selfish and lazy, and I’m tired of it. His response to Michelle’s illness was all too predictable.”

“He has a right to be selfish,” said Cathryn. “College is the ultimate selfish experience.”

“Well, he’s certainly making the best of it.”

They came to the stop-and-go traffic where 193 joined the southeast expressway and Storrow Drive. Neither spoke as they inched forward.

“This isn’t what we should be worrying about,” said Cathryn finally.

“You’re right,” sighed Charles. “And you’re right about not forcing Chuck. But if he doesn’t do it, he’s going to wait a long time before I pay his next college bill.”

Cathryn looked sharply at Charles. If that wasn’t coercion, she had no idea what was.

Although at that time of morning there were few visitors, the hospital itself was in full swing, and Charles and Cathryn had to dodge swarms of gurneys moving tiny bedridden patients to and from their various tests. Cathryn felt infinitely more comfortable with Charles at her side. Still her palms were wet, which was her usual method of showing anxiety.

As they passed the bustling nurses’ station on Anderson 6, the charge nurse caught sight of them and waved a greeting. Charles stepped over to the counter.

“Excuse me,” said Charles. “I’m Dr. Martel. I was wondering if my daughter started her chemotherapy.” He purposefully kept his voice natural, emotionless.

“I believe so,” said the nurse, “but let me check.”

The clerk who’d overheard the conversation handed over Michelle’s chart.

“She got her Daunorubicin yesterday afternoon,” said the nurse. “She got her first oral dose of Thioguanine this morning, and she’ll start with the Cytarabine this afternoon.”

The names jolted Charles but he forced himself to keep smiling. He knew too well the potential side effects and the information silently echoed in his head. “Please,” said Charles to himself. “Please, let her go into remission.” Charles knew that if it would happen, it would happen immediately. He thanked the nurse, turned, and walked toward Michelle’s room. The closer he got, the more nervous he became. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

“It’s nice the way they have decorated to brighten the atmosphere,” remarked Cathryn, noticing the animal decals for the first time.

Charles stopped for a moment outside the door, trying to compose himself.

“This is it,” said Cathryn, thinking that Charles was uncertain of the room number. She pushed open the door, entered, and pulled Charles in behind her.

Michelle was propped up in a sitting position with several pillows behind her back. At the sight of Charles, her face twisted and she burst into tears. Charles was shocked at her appearance. Although he had not thought it possible, she looked even paler than she had the day before. Her eyes had visibly sunk into their sockets and were surrounded by circles so dark they looked like she had black eyes. In the air hung the rank smell of fresh vomit.

Charles wanted to run and hold her, but he couldn’t move. The agony of his inadequateness held him back, although she lifted her arms to him.

Her disease was too powerful, and he had nothing to offer her, just like with Elizabeth eight years earlier. The nightmare had returned. In an avalanche of horror, Charles recognized that Michelle was not going to get better. Suddenly he knew without the slightest doubt that all the palliative treatment in the world would not touch the inevitable progression of her illness. Under the weight of this knowledge Charles staggered, taking a step back from the bed.

Although Cathryn did not understand, she saw what was happening and she ran to fill Michelle’s outstretched arms. Looking over Cathryn’s shoulder, Michelle met her father’s eyes. Charles smiled weakly but Michelle decided that he was angry with her.

“It’s so good to see you,” said Cathryn, looking into Michelle’s face. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” managed Michelle, checking her tears. “I just want to go home. Can I go home, Daddy?”

Charles’s hands shook as he approached the foot of the bed. He steadied them on the metal frame.

“Maybe,” said Charles evasively. Maybe he should just take her out of the hospital; take her home and keep her comfortable; maybe that was best.

“Michelle, you have to stay here until you’re well,” Cathryn said hurriedly. “Dr. Wiley and Dr. Keitzman are going to see that you get better just as soon as possible. I know it’s hard for you, and we miss you terribly, but you have to be a big girl.”

“Please, Daddy,” said Michelle.

Charles felt helpless and indecisive, two unfamiliar and unnerving emotions.

“Michelle,” said Cathryn. “You have to stay in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Daddy,” pleaded Michelle, “what’s wrong with me?”

Charles vainly looked at Cathryn for help, but she was silent. He was the physician.

“I wish we knew,” said Charles, hating himself for lying, yet incapable of telling the truth.

“Is it the same thing that my real mother had?” asked Michelle.