UNTIL ANGELS CLOSE MY EYES
Chapter Twelve

The rest of that evening was a blur for Jack. When he finally recovered from the cocaine hydrochloride, he was purely exhausted, and slept as much as he could. His father came around four o'clock, and though he tried to stay strong in front of his son, Jack could see right through him.

James Dawson had taken his son's illness as an enormous blow, and Lorraine had often heard him sobbing softly late at night when Jack was sick. Jack was their only child, and he couldn't bear the possibility of losing him, especially not to such a horrible, painful disease.

"Are you sure you want to spend the night?" he asked his wife as they stood holding each other in the hallway.

"Yes, I'm positive. I don't want Jack having to spend the night in here alone. God knows he's probably terrified."

"He's eighteen," James replied. "He’s been in the hospital before. He's mature enough to handle himself."

"I'm staying, James," Lorraine repeated firmly, and her husband finally had to give in. When he left, Lorraine went back into her son's room, sitting down by the bed. Jack made a small noise, as though he could sense her presence.

"Mom?" he croaked, and she ran the tips of her fingers across his forehead.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Jack’s skin was still much too pale for her liking. He wasn’t as feverish as he had been, but he was still a tad clammy.

"Okay, I guess," he muttered. "Just really tired. And a little dizzy," he added, noticing his mother’s look of disbelief.

"Jack," she began sternly, "when was the last time you went for a check-up?"

He gulped, not wanting to get into a discussion about that at the moment. He was too drained.

"Um…" He cleared his throat, and Lorraine’s eyes narrowed.

"Jack, answer me, please."

"Mom, I…I haven’t been to a doctor since I turned eighteen," he began quietly, and she gasped.

"You told us you had an appointment!" she cried.

"I—I don’t have a doctor," Jack admitted. "They never referred me to another one, another oncologist. I was too old to stay with the pediatrician we had originally."

Lorraine felt the blood drain from her face. "You don’t have a doctor?"

He shrugged. "I figured I was fine, so I didn’t make a big deal about it."

"It is a big deal, Jack. Remission doesn’t necessarily mean you’re completely cured!"

Jack closed his eyes. Unfortunately, he knew that to be true, but he didn’t want to think about the other possibilities. A tense silence passed between them, and Lorraine eventually took his hand.

"I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetie, but…"

"Mom, I don’t need another doctor," Jack told her.

"Oh, clearly not," Lorraine retorted, eyeing him up and down. "Jack, I can’t believe you didn’t tell us that they didn’t refer you to a doctor! You know your father and I would have found another one for you quicker than you could blink! Don’t you think we care enough?" she added, her voice trembling, and Jack could tell she was trying hard not to break down in front of him. "Now, it may not be that you’re relapsing, but…" She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist.

"I—I’m sorry, Mom," he whispered, and she pulled him into a tight hug. She said nothing, and eventually, Jack could feel her trembling against him. He buried his face in her shoulder, holding on as tightly as he could.

Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and Lorraine quickly parted from her son. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve and quickly went to answer it. "I am here with the dinner cart, ma’am."

Lorraine glanced over her shoulder, where Jack had lain back down against the pillows. "Jack, would you like something to eat? Dinner’s arrived."

The thought of food made Jack’s stomach churn; he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast that morning, and even that hadn’t been much at all. "Not really hungry," he whispered, and Lorraine turned back to the nurse.

"The doctor insists that any patients who are not on feeding tubes should at least take something light down," the nurse insisted. "Just a little of this chicken soup should be all right." She handed the tray to Lorraine, who gave her a small nod of thanks. When she shut the door after the nurse, Jack groaned at the sight of the meager meal.

"I can’t," he choked when his mother sat back down on the chair beside the bed.

"Honey, you just have to try a little bit of soup. You don’t have to eat the…" She peeked under the lid of the main dish and cringed. "I’m not quite sure…" She laughed. "Reminds me of the food my high school cafeteria used to…never mind." She quickly shut it. "I’m sure the soup is perfectly edible. And a little juice. You haven’t been eating much, and you can’t afford to lose anymore weight than you have." She pinched Jack’s skin gently. "You’re already skin and bones!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Fine," he muttered. "I’ll have a little bit, I guess."

"Good. Do you need help?" she asked, taking the soup bowl into her hands and setting the tray aside.

"Mom…" Jack whined, and Lorraine smirked.

"All right. All right. Here you are." She carefully gave the bowl to Jack, who slowly began to sip the lukewarm liquid. "I hope you know that I will have to tell your father about this," she added, once he grew comfortable with his meal. "I am still very disappointed in you, Jack. If you weren’t feeling well, you should have told us. You could have avoided all of this." She motioned with her arms around the room.

Jack sighed. "I know," he croaked. "I was stupid. I was just—I was so happy when I went into remission again, that I guess I got caught up in being able to live my life normally again. I was tired of being on chemo and radiation." He sighed.

"And Rose." Lorraine winked at her son. "You’ve found quite a girl, Jack."

He blushed. "Mom," he groaned, and she stroked his hair.

"No, I’m serious. I really like her. I wish you had told her about your leukemia sooner, but she understands why you didn’t."

Jack nodded. "She was pretty mad when I told her about it," he said. "I was being pretty stupid, thinking she’d get all weirded out when I said something."

"It’s horrible to have a disease like that when you’re so young," Lorraine admitted, "but you’ve got to understand that things happen in life that are beyond our control."

"I just didn’t want to be singled out," Jack told his mother. "Everyone already thinks I’m weird anyway, because I like to be by myself a lot and I like art so much."

Lorraine kissed his forehead. "You’re wonderful in your own way, Jack. Don’t care about what other people think. Just know that you have parents who will love you no matter what you do."

Jack managed a small smile, and then frowned. "Ugh," he grumbled, handing the bowl to her. "I can’t eat anymore."

She glanced at the progress he made, and nodded. "Well, at least you drank half of this." She set it on the tray. "Would you like to maybe try taking some juice down?"

Jack shook his head. "Not now," he whispered, and she eased him back down on the mattress, pulling the blankets up to his neck. "Mom, you don’t have to stay with me tonight," he added. "I’ll be okay in here by myself."

Lorraine cocked her head to one side. "Jack…"

"Mom, you need to go home and be with Dad. He’ll need you. And I don’t think it’ll be very comfortable sleeping in a chair."

Lorraine sighed, squeezing both of her son’s hands. "Are you sure?" she asked, and Jack gave a small nod.

"I’m a big boy," he teased, and she swatted his arm playfully.

"You jerk," she laughed, and then kissed him. "I love you," she whispered. "Please, don’t hesitate to call me if you need me."

Jack nodded. "I promise," he replied, saluting her as she got up and left the room. Lorraine shut the door behind her, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes, massaging her throbbing forehead, and then gathered up the strength to make her way to the receptionist’s desk in the lobby of the hospital.

*****

Rose couldn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned, imagining Jack lying on some metal table in an operating room. He was surrounded by a group of surgeons, who were holding saws and enormous needles. "Cut him open," the head surgeon said, and Rose woke up just as a fountain of blood spurted from Jack’s limp body.

She sat, panting, clutching a handful of quilt and sheets to her chest. It was still dark, and it took a couple of moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She eventually turned to stare at her alarm clock, which read 3:30 AM. She still had a good three hours before she had to get up, but every time she would attempt to sleep, some nightmare or other involving Jack would wake her.

Rose eventually calmed down enough to slide out of bed and flipped on the light. The house was silent except for the occasional creak from the old plumbing. She went to her bedroom window and raised the blinds, peering across the street at Meg’s house. She needed someone to talk to, and wished she and her friend had invited some kind of flashlight signal to get each other’s attention at odd hours of the night.

Blowing out her breath, Rose sat down on the edge of the bed, peering down at her pink and flower print pajama pants, and then looked at the picture of her father on the nightstand. She had had the same types of nightmares after his death; she kept replaying the accident that the paper described over and over again in her head until she went to a therapist to work things out.

"Oh, God, Jack," she breathed. "Why did this have to happen to you? Just when we’re getting to know each other?" She took her stuffed cat from the floor and squeezed it to her chest. What she wouldn’t give to be with Jack now; she had absolutely no idea what the doctor was going to find when he did the tests.

Sitting up and stressing about it won’t help you, a voice inside of her head spoke, and Rose bit her lip. She lay back down again, keeping the light on this time, and attempted to drift back to sleep again.

*****

"Good morning, Mr. Dawson."

Jack’s eyes fluttered open wearily the next day, and he found someone standing beside him. A rather large, African-American nurse stood beside the bed, adjusting the IV needle in his arm. "Dr. Stellar will be in to see you shortly."

Jack raised his eyes, cringing as she replaced the old fluid bag with a fresh one. "Does he have any idea what’s wrong with me?" he whispered, and the nurse shrugged.

"I wish I could tell you, honey. I don’t know."

Jack closed his eyes, wishing desperately that he would be allowed to go home that afternoon. Unfortunately, the prospect of facing his most likely furious father and disappointed mother made the hospital room suddenly very comfortable. "Your fever has definitely broken, though," the nurse spoke again after feeling his forehead. "We were getting a little worried about you last night. It spiked twice."

Jack blew out his breath just as there was a knock on the door. "That must be Dr. Stellar."

Jack watched as she bustled towards the door and opened it.

"Well, how is my young patient this morning?" Dr. Stellar asked, carrying a clipboard under one arm. Jack blinked, amazed that anyone could be so cheerful at this hour.

"Okay, I guess," he muttered, and Dr. Stellar checked his charts, clucking his tongue. He peered closely at the heart monitor and nodded. "Your vital signs look good, though we did have a bit of trouble with your temperature last night."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, that’s what the nurse said."

Dr. Stellar squeezed his arm. "I know you’re anxious about the blood work, but we unfortunately won’t have the results for about two to three days. I’ve just sent the tubes to the lab."

Jack groaned. "Two to three days? That long?" he asked, and Dr. Stellar chuckled.

"Technology isn’t quite that advanced, kiddo."

Kiddo. Jack had to fight not to laugh—who used the term kiddo anymore?

"Will I be able to go home today?" Jack asked curiously, definitely feeling considerably better than the day before.

Dr. Stellar nodded. "You should be able to, Jack. But what I want to do before we can allow you to go home is take some X-rays and run you through a CAT scan. We’ve contacted your parents, and your father said he would be here to pick you up around 3:30. We should have all of your tests completed by then."

Jack nodded. "Okay."

"Since it’s still pretty early, and the breakfast cart hasn’t come by yet, why don’t we start the X-ray exams around ten? That way you can get a chance to eat and relax. You might be able to catch a few minutes of the Lakers game from yesterday. I heard you’re a fan of basketball."

Jack nodded softly and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It read 8:30. Right now, he would normally be eating breakfast on a Saturday morning. He wondered how Rose was doing; he missed her terribly.

Dr. Stellar turned on the TV with the miniature remote, and then handed it to his patient. "I’ll be back for you around ten." He gave Jack a small smile and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Jack watched as the doctor disappeared before turning his attention to the TV. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand waiting so long for the test results. His conversation with his mother scared him—what if she was right? What if the leukemia had decided to come back?

Jack closed his eyes, balling clumps of his blankets into his fists. No—he wouldn’t think about that now. He would think about Rose instead—everything about her from her flaming red hair to her radiant smile.

"I miss you, Rose," he said quietly. "I miss you. And God, I’m so sorry."

Chapter Thirteen
Stories