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I helped Keith, the other artist sharing the studio, work on a couple of new frames for his collection in repayment for Nathaniel helping me with mine. The guys at the studio were anything if not communitarian and cooperative. All for one and one for all, seemed to be their motto.
Keith was an interesting contrast to Nathaniel and Jules. Unlike them, he wasn't a pothead, nor did he look like he stepped out of the sixties and I couldn’t imagine the word 'dude' or 'herb' crossing his lips. He was tall with longish dark hair and eyes. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans, and looked more like he belonged in a Lit class about Lord Byron than in an art studio. His paintings were portraits of people, street people, shopkeepers, city celebrities and the buildings they inhabited. They were all dark and brooding, like him.
When I finished putting the final coat of gesso on the canvases, I said goodbye to Nathaniel and Keith and then took a taxi back to Drake's apartment in Chelsea. At about eleven, the phone rang. I answered and it was Maureen.
"Drake's at the hospital getting his first shot," I said when she asked for him.
"He already did it and left."
"He said he had some other work as well."
"He must have turned his cell off. You tell Drake that I've spoken with all the staff and they know not to let him back on the ward. If he tries to see Liam again, they've been instructed to call the police."
A wave of shock and anger raced through me. "Drake only wanted to see his son. Surely you can understand that."
"What I understand is that Drake is dangerous. He punched Chris in the face. You should keep that in mind, Kate. I don’t know who you are but listen to me. Drake thinks he has everything under control but he's fooling himself. He's one stressor away from losing it."
I tried to keep my voice calm, but it shook when I spoke. "He's one of the calmest men I know."
"He fights his nature really hard, but underneath, there's a lot of anger bottled up. He thinks that by being involved in that lifestyle he can control it, but it's still there. Don't say I didn’t warn you."
"Goodbye," I said and hung up on her. I'd had just about enough women warning me off Drake. First Dawn and now Maureen.
I sat alone in the apartment and wondered what to do. Drake had to watch himself. It was understandable that he'd want to visit his son. I just hoped he didn’t try to see Liam again. He didn’t need this kind of aggravation.
Once I calmed down, I spent the afternoon planning out my canvas, dividing up my sketch into quadrants so I could transfer the outline onto the larger surface and not lose the dimensions.
I texted Drake to see when he was coming back and if I could fix anything for dinner, but he must have been busy, in meetings or appointments and didn't answer my texts. Finally late in the afternoon, he texted me once – a brief message to say he'd received his first injection and would be at his apartment in Chelsea by six o'clock. We'd have a quiet dinner and spend the evening at home.
We ate a late supper and then spent the rest of the evening lying together on the couch listening to old music. There was no time that felt right to tell him about Maureen. We were having such a nice time together, I hated ruining it by giving him her message.
I ran my hand over his stomach, touching the bandage from his first injection.
"Will they give you another needle in your gut
tomorrow?"
He nodded. "I'll be a real pin cushion when they're finished. But what I'm going through is nothing compared to what Liam's experiencing."
"What's happening to him?"
He sighed. "They have to give him drugs to destroy his bone marrow. Chemotherapy and radiation."
"For how long?"
"Four to seven days, depending. By the time my donation is ready, he'll be ready to take it."
"When will you know if the transplant takes?"
Drake sighed again. "A couple of weeks. Maureen said she'd keep me updated and I have my own contacts in the hospital, so I should know by the end of the month if his body is tolerating the new stem cells and if the transplant has been successful." He was silent for a few moments, but I could tell he wanted to say something. "Do you mind waiting? I know you withdrew from the graduate program, thinking that we'd be in Africa by now."
"I don't mind waiting at all. I want to be with you, wherever that is."
"Thank you," he said and kissed the top of my head as I lay in his arms.
"Life's too short to worry about a few months when something as important as this comes up," I added. "Columbia will still be here when I get back. My scholarship's safe as long as I start up again at the end of my leave. Besides, I'm so happy to be painting again."
He squeezed me in his arms. "I don't want you regretting being with me. When we come back, I’ll make sure not to distract you from finishing your Masters. Or focusing on your art. Whatever makes you happy."
