The Seven Year Secret

He snorted derisively. “That’s a damned lie and you know it.”

“Look closer, Connor. She is yours.” Mallory shoved Liddy’s photo under his nose. “She’s six now. She’s ill. I swear I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I…we…she needs your help, Connor.”

It was only after Connor stopped to examine Liddy’s baby picture that Mallory began to relax. “I named her Lydia Beatrice,” she ventured. “I, uh, everyone calls her Liddy Bea.”

“This isn’t some practical joke, is it? This child really exists. And she’s mine.” Connor’s shell-shocked eyes rose from the photo at last. He stared at Mallory, who had once again retreated into the shadows.

Something moved deep inside her. Finally, mercifully, she was able to place herself in Connor’s shoes. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you with no advance warning. I’m sorry.” Her hand fluttered. “Liddy Bea is ill, Connor. Her kidneys have stopped functioning.” Fumbling, she extracted a manila envelope from her bag. “Her doctor’s office prepared a report for you.”

He took the report, and as he skimmed it, she backed slowly away from him.

A moment later, the report in one hand, Liddy’s baby picture in the other, he stalked toward her. “You waltz in here after seven years of…of nothing, announce I fathered a child, and oh, by the way, she needs one of your kidneys, Connor. That’s a hell of a monkey wrench to throw in a man’s life, Mallory.”

Dear Reader,

In an earlier career of mine, I had the privilege of working for a doctor who led the race in the pediatric kidney transplant program. Although there have been great medical strides in the dialysis programs since those first forays into the field, the desperate need for organ donors has changed little. Doctors and patients still have to beg for lifesaving organs. And yes, even though transplants are easier than they once were, problems do still occur, even when it seems that all factors point to the perfect donor.

This story is dedicated to a sorority sister and good friend who has had one failed transplant. She’s now near the top of the national donor list, but her “perfect” match hasn’t shown up. The problems facing people in the long waiting list are not as simply solved as I’ve made them for the sake of a happy ending. Yet I hope Mallory, Connor and Liddy Bea’s situation adds in some small way to public awareness of the constant need for organ donors.

I also want to give special thanks, always, to my editor, Paula Eykelhof, for continuing to let me write stories that are close to my heart.

Roz Denny Fox

P.S. I love hearing from readers. Write me at: P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731. Or you can reach me by e-mail: [email protected].

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A LIGHT TAP AT THE DOOR of Liddy’s hospital room drew Mallory Forrest’s attention. Her daughter’s doctor, Fredric Dahl, motioned for her to come out.

Liddy Bea had fallen asleep. Mallory hated leaving without telling the fretful six-year-old where she’d be. But Tallahassee’s leading pediatric nephrologist was a very busy man. Dropping a kiss on Liddy’s cheek, Mallory slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

Dr. Dahl strode briskly toward a small conference room near the bustling nursing center. Mallory’s heart quickened, and fear clawed at her stomach as she followed him. Busy doctors didn’t use conference rooms to impart good news.

Fredric pulled out a chair for Mallory. He leaned against one corner of the table, all the while clutching a thick metal hospital binder. Liddy Bea’s chart. Mallory knew from its size. It pained her to think of the number of times Liddy had been hospitalized in her short life. To avoid Dahl’s unsettling frown, Mallory concentrated on smoothing wrinkles from the suit she’d worn that morning for work.

Fredric spoke gently, though ever blunt. “It’s as we feared. Liddy’s rejecting the kidney you donated. I need you to authorize its removal, Mallory.” He drew a paper from the chart and slid it across the table. “The organ is dying. Any delay taking it out means we risk gangrene setting in.”

“How is that possible?” Mallory ignored the gold pen he extended. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and tucked her hands under her elbows to slow their shaking. “Can’t you switch Liddy’s antirejection medication again? Surely there’s something new on the market. Something different we can try?” Tears spilled from beneath Mallory’s eyelids. “She was doing so well. Why? Why her?”

“Now, now, Mallory. We knew it wasn’t a perfect transplant. It’s those rogue antibodies of Liddy’s I told you we’re dealing with. And you weren’t an absolute match.”

“But I should be, shouldn’t I? I’m her mother. Oh, it’s not fair! She doesn’t deserve to have her new life snatched away.”