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He nodded. "Liam was diagnosed when he was four and died when he was five." We pushed through double doors and into the pediatric oncology ward. "I never knew Liam," he said, exhaling heavily. "I was supposed to be the consolation baby, but apparently, I wasn't enough."
I frowned, remembering what Drake told me about his mother. It all became clearer now – the grieving mother trying to make up for the dead child by having another baby but it wasn't enough to overcome her depression. Then, add into that a father who was absent from his life most of the time. Maybe Liam was also trying to deal with his own loss in the only way he knew – by keeping extra-busy.
Poor Drake. My heart swelled for him and I took his hand in mine. He turned to me, his brow furrowed. My eyes were brimming, and when he saw me, he smiled softly, his expression changing.
"Sweet sweet Kate," he whispered to me, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
I didn't want to be weak when he needed strength to get through this, but I couldn't help but feel so much emotion for him. I imagined him as a tiny boy with parents who couldn't love him the way he needed. It wasn't his fault his brother died, yet he was the one who paid the price because of their inability to deal with the loss of their first child, the brother he never knew.
Finally, we arrived at the pediatric oncology ward, walking past a playroom with brightly painted floors and walls in blues and yellows. The happy colors and images of elephants and bears just made me even more sad.
I sat in a small waiting room while Drake and Maureen spoke to the nurses at the nursing station. Liam was in isolation, and so Drake and Maureen had to suit up in scrubs and masks. I was able to glance through the windows of the isolation room to the bed where young five-year old Liam lay, his tiny head bald from chemo, his face pale, his lips pallid. He was on oxygen, the nasal cannula threaded around his face, an I.V. in his arm. The lights were low, but the general area was still well-lit so it wasn't too dark to see him.
Drake followed Maureen inside and stood beside the bed. The two adults said and did nothing but stand and watch the boy as he slept. I felt so bad for both of them and for Liam – he never knew his namesake, Maureen didn't know that Liam was Drake's son, and Liam never knew his biological father.
I went back to the tiny waiting room and sat on a chair, watching Liam's room from down the hallway. Then, a man got off the elevator with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black turtleneck. He look
ed a lot like Drake, with black hair and fair skin. It had to be Chris – Maureen's husband. Liam's 'father'.
He smiled at me and sat down across from my chair, sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes.
"Are you Chris?" I said, clearing my throat, unsure how I'd be received.
He raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he said. "How did you know?"
"Maureen described you. You look quite a lot like Drake. I'm with Drake." I paused, not knowing if I should identify myself as his girlfriend. "He's with Maureen in Liam's room."
Chris nodded and glanced at me up and down as if I wasn't quite what he expected.
"You're the new… what do I call you? Submissive?"
"I'm his partner," I said, using the word Drake had used.
"His business partner?"
"No, his girlfriend."
"Sorry," he said and shrugged. "I didn't think he had those. How long have you been with him?"
"We met in October."
He nodded. "So how's he taking it?"
I turned to glance at Drake and Maureen in the isolation room, standing over Liam.
"As well as can be expected. He said he'd do anything to help."
"I hope he's a match," he said, his voice weary.
I sighed and watched as Drake bent over Liam and stroked his forehead. The boy stirred briefly, but his eyes remained shut. I thought about Drake's relationship with the small African boy who received the deep brain stimulation. Despite his belief that he could never be a father, I thought Drake was wrong. He'd probably make a wonderful father. His care and concern for the young patient went above and beyond the call of duty as a surgeon.
Drake had learned some hard lessons in life – about why his marriage failed. About himself as a man. Maybe, he could be the kind of father he wished he had for himself.
"So what do you do?" Chris said to me after slurping his coffee and exhaling in satisfaction. "You a nurse, too?"
I shook my head. "Grad student in journalism at Columbia."
"Grad student? How old are you?"
