WHEN TAYLOR RETURNED TO UBC SHE WENT BY THE DAYCARE to check on Evan but a sign was on the door, NAP TIME—PLEASE DON’T DISTURB, so she headed straight to the conference room for the production meeting. She was a few minutes early, for which she was grateful because she needed some time to compose herself. The image of that frail young girl hooked up to machines, the life slowing leaving her body, was still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t accept that there was nothing to be done, that a group of executives in their glass towers had the authority to decide who got to live and who had to die. She looked up as the door opened and Karen Printz walked in with two production assistants trailing behind her.
“Taylor. Good to see you,” Karen said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “How’s that darling boy of yours?”
“Which one?” Taylor teased. She and Karen went back a long way and had an easy camaraderie.
Karen chuckled. “I was referring to the baby, but I hope Jack’s good too.”
“They’re both great. And I’m so grateful for the daycare center here. It makes it so much easier, and Evan really likes it.”
“Glad it’s all working out. So . . .” Karen opened her portfolio and pulled out her trademark Montblanc pen. “Where shall we start?”
Taylor slid her laptop from her briefcase and pulled up the documents she’d been working on. “I was thinking since we have an hour, we’d divide it into four segments. That way we can cover each discrimination class.”
Two of the show’s writers filed in and joined them at the table, and Karen cocked her head at them. “Let’s recap for Chad and Mira. The Supreme Court case arguments closed a few weeks ago. The suit was heard on the basis that Jefferson discriminated against protected classes in its coverage details.” She held up a hand and ticked off each finger as she spoke, and her first assistant transcribed her words onto an iPad. “Age, disability, religion, and pregnancy.”
“I still have about ten more families to interview to narrow down the age and religion plaintiffs, although I think the couple I spoke with this morning qualify as protected under both pregnancy and religion,” Taylor said.
Karen leaned forward. “How so?”
“They’re Catholics who don’t believe in abortion, but prenatal testing showed the possibility of chromosomal abnormalities, and the insurance company is telling them that if the child is born with any of the birth defects excluded in their policy, they won’t cover the birth or allow the child to be added to their insurance.”
Karen nodded. “That’s a good possibility. What about disability?”
Taylor filled her in on Cora, passing around pictures of her and the family. “As you know, hearts don’t come along every day. They were all ready to do the transplant when Jefferson stopped it.” Taylor took a deep breath. “I don’t think she has much time left.”
Karen studied the photo, then handed it back. “A lovely young girl. What a shame. What are they basing the denial on?”
“They are essentially saying they don’t want to waste a heart on someone with less than a full life expectancy.”
“Because of the Down’s?”
“Yes.”
Karen nodded. “I agree she’d make a good addition to the story.”
“Not so fast.” A melodious voice from the doorway startled them, and Taylor looked over to see a bohemian-looking man, dressed in black trousers and a black turtleneck, standing in it. He was tall and thin, wearing sleek silver glasses and with dark eyes that bore right through her. She recognized him from pictures she’d seen on the Internet—Crosby Wheeler.
Karen jumped up from her seat. “Mr. Wheeler, I didn’t . . . didn’t . . .” she sputtered.
Taylor was surprised to see typically calm Karen so flustered. A talent of her caliber didn’t usually kowtow to anyone. What was she so nervous about?
He walked to the head of the table, and Karen moved from her seat to an empty one next to it. He looked at Taylor.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Parks.” He extended a hand to her and she took it.
“You as well,” she said, her eyes locking with his, though she felt a sudden urge to pull away.
He released her hand and took the seat Karen had vacated, then addressed the group.
“I’m concerned that this young woman’s plight opens up a whole can of worms. Organ donation is fraught with difficult decisions anyway, and it’s such an expensive procedure. We might be better served with something everyone can get behind.”
Taylor took her time answering, wanting to weigh her words. “I’m a little confused. Are you saying that there are people who will agree that she shouldn’t get the heart?”
Wheeler fixed her with a steely gaze. “There are those who might agree that the heart would be better utilized by someone with a full life expectancy. People with Down syndrome don’t usually live much past sixty.”
It took everything Taylor had not to let her jaw drop. “Cora is only twelve. Even if what you say is true, that’s still forty-eight years. Are you saying that we don’t give a new heart to anyone over forty? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not the case.”
Karen shot her a warning look. “Taylor, no one is arguing with you, but Mr. Wheeler has a good point. Even though your logic is correct, I’m afraid the public won’t see it that way.”
“Is our job to report the facts or to please the public?” Taylor asked.
“I would venture to say it’s both,” Wheeler said, standing up. He looked at Karen. “I trust you’ll find a more suitable candidate.” He withdrew from the room without giving Taylor a second glance.
It seemed to take a few seconds for everyone to regain their equilibrium, especially Karen. Her voice cracked when she spoke, and she cleared her throat. “Well, let’s get to work on finding a different plaintiff for the disability angle.”
Taylor deflated. What was she supposed to tell Cora’s parents? She was so upset she couldn’t focus on what Karen was saying. And the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She would have to find a way to convince Karen to try to change Wheeler’s mind, but in the meantime, she played along. “Okay. I’ll go back to the drawing board on the disability and email you some options tomorrow.”
Karen nodded but wouldn’t meet Taylor’s eyes. “Great.”
“We’re still good on the Edwards couple for the pregnancy?” Taylor asked.
Karen gave a distracted nod before looking at the group. “Okay, well, I guess that’s a wrap for today.”
They filed out of the conference room, and Taylor went to one of the cubicles that had been designated as a work area for the freelancers. She was unsettled. When Taylor had worked with her before, Karen never would have buckled under network pressure like that. What was it about Crosby Wheeler that could turn someone like Karen into a sycophant?
Taylor pulled her laptop from her bag and opened the file with the names and summaries of the families involved in the case. The truth was that all the families who had been affected by Jefferson’s low-premiums program mattered, and they all deserved to be heard. But it was Taylor’s job to make sure that whichever ones were chosen did a good job of representing the group. Sighing, she clicked on name after name, scanning the details, looking for a family that might be an acceptable substitute for Cora and her parents.
The parents of Dustin, a five-year-old nonverbal autistic boy, were trying to get him a communication assistance device that cost over ten thousand dollars. It had been used successfully with many children, allowing them to bridge the communication gap, but the insurance company denied the claim on the basis that there was not enough statistical data to prove its efficacy. Then there was a man who’d lost his leg in an accident whose insurance company refused to cover the artificial limb recommended by his doctor. The inferior, cheaper prosthetic irritated his skin, and despite numerous appeals from the doctor, Jefferson continued to deny authorization. He eventually got a skin infection that caused more of his leg to be amputated, and yet Jefferson still refused to cover the prosthetic and offered him a wheelchair instead. Taylor became more enraged as she read each story, but she feared that none of these were going to strike enough of a chord with the American public. These sorts of injustices had been going on for a long time, and sadly, the public was becoming inured to them. She needed something more shocking, more akin to Cora’s situation.
She glanced at her watch to see that an hour had passed, so she gathered her things to go pick up Evan. When the elevator doors opened, she felt her heart skip a beat as her eyes met Crosby Wheeler’s. She stepped in, and he didn’t move aside to make room, so she quickly sidestepped toward the wall, leaning against it.
“Hello,” she offered.
He simply nodded, not speaking.
The ride up to the fifteenth floor seemed interminable, and she looked down at her feet, her heart beating furiously until the doors finally opened. She didn’t know whether she should say good-bye or not, but based on his silence, she decided to exit quietly. As she did so, she could swear she felt his eyes boring into her back. It wasn’t until the doors closed again that she expelled a pent-up breath. Why was she so unnerved? It certainly had nothing to do with his position as CEO. She’d been married to a senator, had attended affairs with heads of state, and had grown up as the daughter of a prominent Washington newspaper editor; she was used to dealing with VIPs. No, it had nothing to do with his position at the network. It was something else. An intangible quality about him that made her blood run cold. Something in his eyes—a look she’d seen before but couldn’t quite place.
Before Taylor had signed her contract with UBC, she’d done her research. Crosby Wheeler was a bit of an enigma, known for his standoffishness. There was never anything about his social life or his family in the news—he was extraordinarily private, which wasn’t so strange. There were other public figures who were more eccentric. But the more she had investigated him, the less she’d been able to find out. Even his background was sketchy. There was a mention of his having grown up in the Midwest and coming to New York in his twenties, where he worked his way up in television, but that was it. Karen seemed to think highly of him, though, and Taylor had trusted her opinion. But now, something gnawed at her.
Evan was playing with some trains when she walked into the daycare. She smiled at Delilah and went over to where he was sitting. He looked up and broke into a wide grin.
“Mama!” He stood up and held a train in one fist out to her. “Choo choo.”
She leaned down and hugged him. “Time to go home, sweetie.” She kissed a chubby cheek and tousled his dark curls. “Did you have fun?”
He nodded. “Fun.” He pointed to another little boy. “Josh.”
Delilah walked over. “He made a new friend today.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
She smiled at Taylor. “It’s my pleasure. He’s such a doll.”
As Taylor was gathering his belongings, Evan walked over to the bookcase, grabbed one of the books, and brought it over to her.
“Mine.”
Taylor gently took the book of fairy tales from his hand. “The book stays here, sweetie. You can read it next time.”
“No. Mine!” His voice grew louder.
She crouched, so she was eye level with him. “Evan, sweetie, calm down. This book doesn’t belong to us. If you like it so much, I can buy one for home. But we can’t take this one.”
His face crumpled as he began to cry and he hugged the book closer to his chest. “No, no, no, no.”
Delilah came over and whispered to Taylor. “You can take it and bring it back next time.”
Taylor shook her head. “Thank you, but he has to learn.”
She sat down on the floor, pulled Evan to her, and let him cry, rubbing his back and trying to soothe him. After a few minutes, he began to calm down. “It’s okay to be sad, sweetie. I know you want that book, but we can’t always have what we want.”
He sniffed and nodded, handing the book back to her.
“Thank you, love.”
He clung to her as they left, his head on her shoulder all the way to the car. She buckled him in, handing him a cup of water. “Hungry?”
He shook his head.
Evan’s tantrum seemed to have worn him out, and he was asleep shortly after she started driving. That was the first time he’d thrown a fit like that. Normally he was so easygoing and good-natured. Were the terrible twos rearing their ugly head early?
When Taylor pulled up to the house, she saw that Jeremy’s car was parked in the driveway. He’d called her a few hours ago and said he had a meeting in the area and wanted to stop by to see her and Evan. She had a sneaking suspicion that Jack had orchestrated the visit, and despite not wanting to be coddled, she was happy nonetheless that her brother had come.
Evan seemed to be back to his pleasant self as she unclipped him from his seat and picked him up.
“Uncle Jeremy’s here,” she told him.
“Jay Jay,” he said, pointed at the dark green sedan.
Jeremy had a key, so he was already inside, but before she could give her brother a hug, Beau darted in front of him, tail wagging furiously. She stroked the dog’s head. “Hi, boy. Did you have a good day?”
“We just finished half an hour of ball playing. He could go forever,” Jeremy said, laughing.
She dropped her purse on the console in the hallway and put Evan down.
“Hey there!” Jeremy opened his arms and Evan flew into them.
“Jay Jay.”
“I brought you something.” He handed Evan a box wrapped in bright red paper.
Taylor gave Jeremy an amused look. “I keep telling you that you do not have to bring him a present every time you come over,” she said, chiding him.
Jeremy shrugged. “I love doing it.”
“Let’s go in the kitchen and you can open it there, sweetie.” When they got there, Evan plopped down on the floor and began to tear at the paper to reveal a box of periodic table blocks in bright pink, green, orange, and purple.
Jeremy helped him open the packaging and Evan began playing, stacking them into a tower.
Taylor chuckled. “You’re determined to turn him into a scientist.” She went to the refrigerator and took out a container with chicken and potatoes she’d pulled from the freezer that morning. “Hungry?”
Her brother nodded. “Starved actually. I don’t think I ate anything today.”
“You and Jack and your atrocious eating habits.” She turned the oven on, then the kettle for some tea. “I’ll just warm everything up and we’ll eat soon. Tea?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Bringing two cups with her, she sat down at the kitchen table and looked at her brother, letting Evan stay absorbed in stacking his blocks and humming to himself. “So, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Maybe a little birdie thought you could use some company.”
She pursed her lips. “No kidding. How long did it take for Jack to call you?”
“He left me a message around ten, I think. I didn’t get it till later. He worries about you, that’s all.”
She marveled at how easily she and Jeremy had fallen into an easy sibling relationship. It was like people who go through a disaster together—they become bonded for life. Both she and Jeremy shared the genes of the same monster on their paternal side, but the genes of two loving and upright women on their maternal side. She liked to think that they’d both inherited the qualities of their mothers.
Of course, she’d been spared a life growing up with Damon Crosse, but Jeremy had suffered under him from birth. Taylor couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for him, motherless, alone, and with a father who saw him only as an extension of himself, born to carry out his heinous plan to corrupt humanity. It still astounded her that Jeremy was such a kind and gentle soul. She knew that it was in part due to his conversion and deep faith, but it went beyond that. She’d met plenty of people of faith who weren’t as nice. There was an inherent goodness about him, and she was so grateful that he’d escaped Damon and that they had found each other.
She didn’t like to ask him too much about his childhood—she knew it was painful for him to talk about it—but she wanted to understand more about Damon, to try to find a reason that he’d turned out the way he had. But she let Jeremy talk about his upbringing on his own terms. She desperately wanted to believe that it had been nurture, not nature, that was responsible for what Damon had become. It terrified her to think that encoded in her genes was the same recipe for evil.
“Yeah, well, I’m fine. But I am glad you’re here. I was going to call you myself.” Taylor lowered her voice. “I wanted to tell you about my dream.” She recounted the details, which were still as fresh as when she’d woken from it, while Jeremy listened without comment. “It just seemed so real, not like a dream at all.” She hesitated, wanting to mention her theory about his mother, but not wanting to upset him. “I thought the woman calling me was my mother, but when I got a better look, it wasn’t. Do you think it was yours?”
He took a sip of his tea and tilted his head. “I don’t really know if the departed are capable of visiting us from beyond. I do think sometimes dreams can be visions, but it’s hard to know which dreams are messages and which are products of our imaginations. It’s very possible that it was your fear manifesting in a dream. Especially since there really wasn’t a specific thing she told you.”
Taylor nodded. “I guess you’re right. Jack’s been tracking a story about all these crazy things happening—people killing people with no provocation. I could be in the grocery store with Evan and something could happen to us. I don’t even want to read the paper or turn on the news anymore. It’s one horrible thing or another, and I feel so powerless.”
“Try to put it out of your mind. Trust God.”
“Jeremy, I was thinking: Do you ever wonder if you could be wrong? What if there is no God and this is all there is?”
“No, I don’t wonder if I’m wrong. I’ve felt His presence and seen His power.” He looked at her intensely. “What brings this up? Did something happen?”
“Not really. I mean I do believe. But sometimes it’s hard to see all the bad things that happen and continue to have faith that God is working all things for the good. You know?”
He gave her a warm smile. “I do know. And I really don’t have an answer other than He’s God and we’re not. I look at it like this. If you and Evan were walking down the street and you could see a car coming around the corner because of your height but he couldn’t, you would stop him, tell him to stay out of the street, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, what if he chose not to listen? He’d be putting himself in danger. And maybe you’d still get to him in time, but maybe not. Or maybe he’d be injured. It’s like that with God. If we choose to let him lead us, he can keep us safe.”
She wasn’t really following his logic. “I understand what you’re saying about being in His will. But there are many instances where people are listening and bad things still happen.”
“Yes, but this life is not all there is. I’m more concerned with eternity. I look forward to meeting my mother one day and your mother, our grandparents. My life was so empty and dark that finding God was a literal lifeline, so I try not to love this world too much and to think more of the hereafter—especially as I was so close to spending it in a very bad place.”
Evan came running into the kitchen, meowing like a cat and with black magic marker all over his face.
“Oh no! Where did he find that?” Taylor asked.
“Uh-oh. I may have left a Sharpie on the sofa. I meant to put it back in my briefcase,” Jeremy said.
Her mouth dropped open. “A Sharpie? As in permanent maker?”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sure it’s not really permanent.”
She picked Evan up and twirled him around, kissing his cheek. “Come here, you little kitty cat. Let’s see if we can turn you back into a little boy.”