“How much of a margin?”
“Three points. You were at seventeen. Now you’re twenty because your bilirubin count is up. The good news is that your international normalized ratio and creatinine—”
“Creatinine?” She’d forgotten what that was. She knew bilirubin measured the amount of bile pigment in her blood, and the PT-INR measured her blood’s clotting ability, which came from proteins secreted by the liver. But what was the creatinine?
“It measures renal function,” he explained.
“You mean kidney function.”
“Right. Along with your PT-INR, your creatinine levels are not too alarming.”
When liver failure became acute, a patient also had severe kidney problems and could wind up on dialysis. She was hoping to receive a transplant before that.
“So it’s the bilirubin that concerns me the most,” he was saying. “Are you being careful about what you eat?”
“Very. I haven’t had any alcohol. No salt. Plenty of fruit and vegetables. Whole grains. Lean protein.” If she ate at all... It was almost easier not to eat. But she needed the strength.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll update your standing on the donor list and we’ll pray for a match.”
Pray. Weren’t doctor’s supposed to act as if they were in control?
She was actually glad Dr. Yee didn’t pretend. She preferred to face the truth—that he was just a man and could not ultimately decide her fate.
He stood to smile and shake her hand but, for some reason, this appointment was more difficult than the others here at the center. Her chest constricted and her eyes filled with tears—and the weird thing was that she felt it had something to do with wearing the pretty sundress she’d chosen for today and the look in Levi’s eyes when he told her he liked it.
9
Callie wasn’t sure how Levi would react when she returned home with new clothes for him. She doubted he’d be pleased. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want her to do him any more favors. If she cooked, he insisted on doing the dishes or fixing something around the house—like the screen door in back that had been sticking for ages—in exchange for his meal. This morning, he did the cooking himself. He also joined her when she’d gone out to weed the garden and, with his help, she made much quicker work of it than she would have otherwise. He felt as if he was already in her debt and, technically, he was. She’d spent two hundred and eighty dollars on his motorcycle. But it would’ve cost her a lot more to have the barn fixed and painted, so she figured she was getting a bargain.
Regardless, he wouldn’t want her spending any extra money on him. But thinking about someone she liked as much as she liked him counteracted—just a little—the bad news of her MELD score. She enjoyed having him in her life. She wasn’t sure why. She’d never felt quite the same about any other man.
But she’d never been dying of liver disease before, either. She had to admit that changed her perspective.
“Can I help you?”
She turned to see a sales associate. She’d driven to Arden Fair Mall so she’d have a selection. “I need a shirt and a pair of jeans for a man who’s maybe six foot two and one hundred and ninety pounds.”
“You want something casual, for summer?”
She nodded. Levi wasn’t the type to dress up. He looked perfect in a plain white tee and worn blue jeans. But she hadn’t managed to get the shirt clean that he’d been wearing when he was attacked, and the jeans he’d had on were torn well beyond what was stylish.
“How about this?” The woman held out a stonewashed, reddish shirt, basically a V-neck tee. It was rugged, simple. Callie could easily imagine how good Levi’s well-defined chest would look in that and thought it was just masculine enough that he might like it.
“Great. I’ll take a large.”
The saleswoman brought the shirt to the register, then beckoned her over to a large display of jeans. “Are you interested in dark or light denim?”
“Dark.” She might as well get him something slightly dressier than the ones he had.
“What about these? They’re a loose fit.”
She considered them but ultimately decided they weren’t right. “With his build he could afford to go a little tighter.”
“Gotcha.” Lips curved into a conspirator’s smile, the woman plucked up a different pair. “These?”
“Definitely.” They weren’t “skinny” jeans, nothing metrosexual or too trendy, but they’d make the most of his physique.
“What size?”
“I’m guessing...thirty-two by thirty-six?”
“You’re in luck. We have one pair left.” She pulled some jeans from the bottom of the stack.
Callie had paid for her purchases and was walking out of the mall, carrying the sack, when her phone rang. It was her neighbor Godfrey. She’d forgotten that he’d tried to reach her earlier, when she was at the transplant clinic.
“Hello?”
“Callie?”
An older gentleman held the door so she could walk out into the bright afternoon sunshine. “What’s up, G.? Do you have an update for me on those pit bulls?”
“I’m afraid the situation’s not good. I could have them euthanized. That’s the only way to ensure they won’t hurt someone else. But if I do, the owners are claiming they’ll sue the city.”
She hated the idea of killing any animal but, under the circumstances, she didn’t think they had a choice. “If you don’t, and someone else gets attacked, the victim or the victim’s family will also have cause to sue, because now we all know those dogs are dangerous.”
“The details are...kind of murky.”
She waited for a break in the traffic so she could cross to her car. He hadn’t thought they were murky when he stitched up Levi’s wounds. “Because...”
“Because we weren’t around when it happened. We don’t know exactly what occurred.”
“Levi told us what occurred.”
“But is it the truth? Even if it is, he’s a drifter. He won’t be around to testify if or when this goes to court.”
She was winded just from the exertion of walking to and from the mall. The fatigue was almost the worst of what she was going through. “So? He deserves the same consideration as any other citizen. Drifting isn’t against the law.” She put her bag in the backseat of her BMW X3. “So what’s happening?”