But deep down she’d known it wasn’t a mistake. That there was something very, very wrong with this perfect little boy.
Raven felt the sting of tears and instantly forced them away. She wasn’t about to cry in front of Blue. If she was anything other than upbeat, he would sense it and it would make him worry. Worse, it would make him afraid. There was no way she was going to allow that to happen. He had to feel that this was just something he had to go through and that, at the end, he would be perfect again.
Just as he’d always been.
Peter glanced toward the boy’s sister. For a second he thought he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. But in the next moment that smile of hers was fixed in place and she was nothing short of confidence personified.
He only wished he felt half that confident.
Raven took a deep breath. “So, Dr. Sullivan, when can you operate?”
“You understand that the operation is extremely delicate?” he said.
If successful, the boy would heal faster than an adult, but there would still probably be therapy, still a painful recovery period to face. And that was if everything went right. There were no guarantees. A great deal could go wrong that was beyond anyone’s control. He knew that better than anyone.
Raven nodded. She placed her hand over Blue’s and gave it a squeeze along with an encouraging smile. She kept her voice cheerful. “That’s why we came to you.”
“Yeah.”
Peter turned his chair around, looking at the CAT scan. Thinking. As with a great many neurological problems, time was of the essence, but they did have a little leeway. He wanted Raven to use that leeway to carefully think things over before she gave him the okay to go ahead.
This wasn’t the kind of dilemma a boy of seven should be privy to, even if it was his body. Turning his chair back around, he looked at Blue. “I’d like to talk to your sister alone.”
Rather than being upset, Blue looked resigned. “Whatever you tell Raven, she’s only going to tell me later.”
“That’s up to her.” And undoubtedly, the woman could couch this a great deal better than anything he could say to the boy. He’d lost the knack of talking to children, not that he’d really ever had it. It was just that Becky had talked to his heart and that was how he communicated with her.
“Okay.” Blue rose and crossed to the doorway.
“Wait for me in the hall,” Raven told him. After Blue let himself out and closed the door behind him, she looked at the surgeon expectantly. She supposed it was better this way, after all. Dr. Sullivan might say something to make Blue feel that the surgery wouldn’t go well. “All right, we’re alone. What is it you want to tell me?”
Without the boy to listen, Peter felt less restrained. “Are you aware of the risks involved?”
“I think I am. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on ever since Dr. DuCane told me what she suspected.”
He didn’t bother mincing words. “If I operate, he might still become paralyzed.”
“If you don’t, he definitely will.”
Like the rest of his body structure, the boy’s spinal cord would be small, delicate. Peter had the hands of a skilled surgeon, but he didn’t like taking chances if he could help it. “There’s a small chance—”
She knew what he was about to say. Raven shook her head. “Too small to take. I believe in meeting problems head-on instead of hiding from them.”
“There’s also the fact that the tumors might be malignant—”
Her eyes met his. She could feel the air backing up in her lungs again. “Yes?”
“If that’s the case, the operation might cause the malignancy to spread—”
“Let sleeping dogs lie, is that it?” She smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t about to place her head in the sand and hope for the best. She had to tackle this and then hope for the best. “It might spread anyway—if it’s malignant and there’s no proof that it is,” she informed him with feeling.
He’d found that when emotions were involved, the right decision was not always made. It was best to make decisions after the heat had left and things had cooled off. “Ms. Songbird, I want you to think about this—”
“My name is Raven,” she told him, “And I have thought about it.”
He sincerely doubted it. He heard the passion in her voice, the urgency. He didn’t want her making a final decision like that. “Think about it some more,” he countered. “We have a small window of time. Use it.”
She blew out a breath, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt. God, why weren’t her parents here? She needed someone to lean on. “How long am I supposed to look through this window?”
Now she was being rational. “At least twelve hours, twenty-four would be better.”
Raven nodded her head. “All right,” she told him even though she already knew what the decision was going to be.
Chapter Four
“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Renee smiled warmly at her son-in-law. Then, grasping the wheels of the wheelchair she’d been forced to use today, Renee scooted herself back from the front door.
“You had Lisa.”
Peter entered, his arms full of the groceries he’d stopped to pick up. He’d called her earlier to see if he’d left his jacket at her house the other night. It had been an excuse to talk to the one person who made him feel comfortable, the one person he didn’t feel he had to keep his guard up around. The tired note in Renee’s voice had alerted him. He knew that this was one of her bad days.
Being Peter, he’d asked about it. She’d been slow to confirm his suspicions. Further pushing on his part had informed him that she hadn’t been able to get out of the house to go to the store. He’d volunteered to go for her, picking up the few things she’d admitted that she needed.
Peter made his way to the kitchen and placed the three grocery bags on the counter. Without waiting for Renee to say anything, he began to unpack them. He knew his way around her kitchen as well as she did.
“Have you taken the anti-inflammatory medication I prescribed for you?” he asked casually.
Renee came to a stop directly behind him. She’d gotten far better at managing her wheelchair around corners than she was happy about. But she’d resigned herself to the necessary evil.
“No.”
He looked at his mother-in-law over his shoulder, noting that she avoided eye contact. “Have you even bothered to have it filled?”
“I will, I will,” Renee assured him, and then she sighed. “It’s just that I don’t like being foggy.”
He gave her a look. They both knew she was just being stubborn. “It won’t make you foggy.”
Renee waved her hand dismissively. “They all make me foggy, or nauseous or something.” With another resigned sigh, she said to him what she always said at times like this. “It’ll pass, it always does.” And then she smiled. “But thanks for worrying.”
He mumbled something unintelligible as he got back to unpacking and storing. “You know that patient I told you I lost?”
Immediate interest entered her eyes. He knew she liked something to chew on. “The one who walked out with her brother because of your less than warm-and-toasty bedside manner?”