Ten months later, Lara sat beside Hunter’s hospital bed and waited for her son’s body to stop spasming. He usually twitched and trembled until he dozed, but his muscles often spasmed for hours before they would relax to the point of sleep.
The act of watching him exhausted Lara.
Eva had indeed told the truth. At first the doctors tried to tell Lara that her son suffered from mitochondrial disease or muscular dystrophy, but a DNA test confirmed Eva’s diagnosis. On chromosome nine, the doctor found the markers indicating the presence of a gene known as DYT1, associated with childhood-onset dystonia. Further tests indicated that Michael’s DNA had contained the same markers.
Lara accepted this news in silence, knowing that anger and despair were hurtful, wasteful emotions. If Helmut Braun had completed his genetic screening of Michael’s DNA before Sloane tempted him, would her life have been better? No. If she had known about the cancer and the dystonia, she might have decided not to have a baby, and Hunter would never have been born. But God wanted Hunter to manifest his unique gift in her life, and Lara could not trade her pain for emptiness.
As the weeks passed she silently listened to the doctors’ hope-filled speeches, then closed her eyes when Hunter grunted his disagreement of the physician’s prognoses. She could not hide the truth from him, for he could discern between a painted promise and honest truth. None of the doctors wanted to admit that dystonia, a disease with which adults could survive, seemed intent upon taking her son’s life.
Last week the doctors had to put Hunter on a respirator for a while, and Lara knew it was only a matter of time. When the muscles supporting the heart and lungs gave out, Hunter would go home.
He had lost 50 percent of his body weight, then gained nearly thirty pounds of water weight as the doctors tried various drugs to stop the seizures that caught him every five or ten minutes. Eva was right about another thing—this was a terrible way to die, yet Hunter never complained. He spoke nearly every day of going to see his other daddy; lately he had begun to add that Jesus waited for him.
Lara believed it.
Last month, a new hospice worker had stopped by the house to visit. The woman glanced through Hunter’s scrapbook, read the headlines that had appeared right after the trial (Truth-Telling Boy Says God Loves Everyone, Devin Sloane Implicated in Hospital Malpractice), and professed amazement at the stack of letters that had arrived after Hunter’s impromptu press conference.
“So many letters,” she murmured, studying the bundles stacked in Hunter’s room. “What did all those people want?”
Lara shrugged. “Some wanted Hunter to foretell the future; others wanted him to clear up some misunderstanding from the past. We got several from convicts who wanted him to go to court and clear their names—we actually considered letting Hunter participate in one of those interviews, but by that time he was suffering.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled. “Amazing, isn’t it? So many people seek the truth, not because it is lost, but because they are. Hunter can’t help them, but God can. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell people.”
After making polite, forced conversation for a few more moments, the hospice volunteer left a basket of puzzles and stood. After stepping onto the front porch, she turned: “So—was it worth it? All the trouble you went through?”
Lara understood the curiosity behind the question. She had jeopardized her life and her future in that mad rush to Florida; even now she couldn’t return to that state because she had technically committed fraud each time she signed a false name to a document. She had risked everything to save Hunter, and now, despite her best efforts, she was losing him.
“You’re not a mother, are you?”
The girl dropped her eyes before Lara’s steady gaze. “No.”
“If and when you become one, you’ll understand.”
Lara reached up and fingered the gold necklace around her neck. A package with no return address had arrived in the mail a few weeks after the trial. Lara had opened the box and lifted out a chain from which six gold rings dangled. Hanging from the chain, the rings created a jumble of golden hoops, but one afternoon Lara discovered that she could slide the rings off the chain and lay them flat, one inside the other. Like a puzzle they fit together, rings within rings.
That’s when the enclosed note made sense. A feminine hand had written, Circles within circles, remember? I’ve found my way free to forgiveness. Thank you, Lara, for my son.
Those words came back to her now as she reached through the bed rail for Hunter’s hand. His fingers, which had once been so pliable, were now fixed and rigid, bound by corded muscles that would not relax. Yet Hunter’s eyes were still his own, and when she looked up, they were fixed on her.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Jesus is waiting for me.”
“Hang on, buddy.” Holding tight to his hand, Lara bent and smoothed his cheek. “I called Daddy and Grandma; they’re on their way. I know they’ll want to say good-bye.”
Hunter couldn’t answer. As his eyes rolled back in his head, Lara braced herself for another seizure. She reached for the gauze-coated mouth blade, placed it between his jaws, then turned him on his side as his muscles revolted.
Hurry, Connor and Eva, please. We need to let him go.