Kiana gazed at me as she sat in her wheelchair. She’d been positioned between her father and the president of the hospital foundation. They’d tasked the girl toreceivethe check.
I worried about how she’d handle all the activity, but she thrived in a way I’d never seen. Apparently being the center of attention was clearly her happy place—which surprised me. I’d only ever spent time with her in her room and reading her fantasy dragon young-adult novels written by a local author. I treasured those moments. For now, Kiana was smiling wider than any quiet moment we shared.
Maybe we need to get her out more often.Infection was always a risk when the kids went beyond their ward. With a KN-95 mask, though, she would be at least a bit protected.
“This is a wonderful day for our foundation and the children of Abbotsford and beyond who come here for treatment. This moneywill enable the purchase of the latest equipment and—” The president, a lovely woman named Catherine—continued on with her speech as I scanned the gathered crowd.
And spotted a familiar face.
Huh.
Ulysses is a reporter. This is a news story. Kids from Mission City come here for treatments as well.In fact, Kiana was from my hometown. She was lucky she only had to travel twenty minutes to get here. Her dad also worked in Abbotsford, so he came here every night after work.
The man looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, more scruff than I’d seen him with for a while, and a mouth turned down—despite the huge check Kiana now gripped.
“I want to thank the generous donor.” Kiana beamed a radiant smile. “I’m lucky to have such great doctors, nurses, and support staff. Thanks to them, I’m going to beat my cancer.”
God, let that be true.She’d been diagnosed with a stage three hepatoblastoma a year ago and, with surgery and aggressive treatment, things were looking better. She wasn’t in the clear yet, but slowly she was improving. Soon, she’d be able to leave the hospital and continue treatment on an outpatient basis. She looked forward to going back to school and seeing her friends.Please let her be okay.
Her father, Rhys, spoke next. Haltingly about how wonderful everyone had been. Although the words appeared rehearsed, his genuine appreciation couldn’t be faked. He was a man who, unlike his daughter apparently, didn’t enjoy the spotlight.
The audience applauded, Catherine took the check back from Kiana, and the group began to disband.
Ulysses approached Kiana.
I headed that way.
“—just a couple of words—” The reporter appeared on a mission.
“My daughter’s very tired.” Rhys—who appeared even more weary and wary.
Kiana gazed up at her father, then back at Ulysses. “Another time? I am kind of tired.”
The man looked ready to argue. Then he caught sight of me and his expression changed. To what, I couldn’t be certain, but he backed away and dug his wallet from his back pocket. “I would really love to sit down with you. Whatever time you can give me.”
Rhys snatched the card before Kiana could. “We’ll think about it. I need to see my daughter back to her room.”
Kiana appeared ready to argue. Then she clearly saw something in her father’s expression that had her reconsidering. “Thank you. Later?”
Ulysses nodded.
Father and daughter retreated toward the elevators that would take her back to the oncology department.
My one-night stand pivoted toward me. “What are you doing here?”
“I volunteer. Catherine asked me to appear today—tofill out the ranks. Since I was going to see Kiana anyway, this felt logical.” I could always visit another day, and her book would always be waiting. The second in a trilogy—so much more material remained for me to read. Of course she was more than capable of reading on her own. To hear her say it, I was a better reader. I didn’t know whether that was true or not, but sometimes she was too tired to hold her book. I’d offered to buy an audio version, but she said she fell asleep too easily.
“Yeah, you’d said that. Just in the oncology department or…?”
“Pediatric oncology. Kids are impressed when I show up wearing my Mission City Fire Department T-shirt. Or, better, uniform.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I save the uniform for a day when a kid is being discharged. We do a little ceremony—which is way more than you needed to know.”
“I’d like to hear more about—”
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I snatched it and read quickly. “I have to go.”
