Chapter Eleven

By Monday night Rebekka was up walking the halls, on Wednesday she was walking around the hospital grounds, and on Thursday she was released. She didn’t go home, however, unless it was to sleep. Instead, she spent every minute she could with Marc. As he was fighting boredom, he was grateful for her company.

Unfortunately, his progress wasn’t as rapid. His creatinine levels, though dropping from eight before the surgery to hover around two point five, still worried the doctor. “We’d hoped you’d be under two,” explained Dr. Albert Juppe, the transplant specialist. The doctor was slightly shorter than Marc and stocky, with plump fingers and silver hair that had once been black. Marc felt a déjà-vu every time he saw the man who had also performed his first transplant. “We have to be very careful that your body doesn’t reject the kidney now.”

Rejection? While he knew it was quite possible, Marc hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the idea. How could he stand it if he rejected Rebekka’s kidney after all the suffering she’d endured?

Seeing his worry, Dr. Juppe added, “It might just be that the kidney was traumatized and needs a week or two to recover from the surgery.” He smiled, his intense black eyes showing an apparent concern. “Don’t worry . . . yet.”

Marc was worried, but he grinned to cover the feeling. “You know that I’m getting married in about two and a half weeks—dead or alive.”

The doctor snorted. “I heard your church baptizes for the dead, but I never believed you marry for the dead as well.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Marc launched into an explanation of his beliefs, and Dr. Juppe listened with a practiced patience. When he excused himself twenty minutes later, smiling, Marc wondered if the doctor hadn’t brought up religion just to keep his mind off the possible rejection.

Before he could dwell on the issue further, Rebekka glided into the room, looking healthy and so beautiful that Marc longed to take her into his arms.

“How are we today?” she asked, bending over gingerly to give him a quick kiss on the mouth. As she straightened, her hand went to her side and she grimaced. “Ouch.”

Marc grinned sympathetically. He pointed to the sign above his bed that read NO LAUGHING PLEASE. “Brandon brought it today. He made it for me after he came to visit that first day and Josette made me laugh so much that I cried. It felt like someone digging sharp rocks into my stomach.”

“Sneezing’s worse,” Rebekka said, sitting close to him on the bed. “After I left you last night, I had a sneezing fit. I thought I was going to rip out the staples and start bleeding.”

“Ouch.”

She nodded. “Ouch.”

They sat in silence for a minute and then she asked, “Any more news?”

“No. They’ll take another test today. I may get to go home next week.”

“You’d better hurry if you’re going to make our wedding.” Her voice was light, but he sensed an underlying worry.

“It’ll be okay, Rebekka.”

“I know.” She didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just . . . well, we’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Hey, I’ll be at that wedding if I have to drive to the temple in a hired ambulance.”

She chuckled, and then clutched her side and moaned, “Stop.”

“I can see us now,” Marc continued with a laugh, followed quickly by a loud groan. “There we are on our wedding night, lying in bed and moaning while we watch TV—something depressing so we won’t laugh.”

Rebekka smiled. “It’ll be the best day of our lives.”

Marc agreed with his whole heart. “I love you, Rebekka Massoni.”

Her eyes misted. “I know.”

Marc sighed. Despite the pain in his body, he was happy. And he would remain happy as long as she was by his side. Even so, his premonition of their separation hung over him, blurring the happiness.

With effort, he forced it from his mind.