Chapter 6              Karen

Tracy had been gone for a week and I felt empty. I had never missed a person this much after such a short time together. I had been depressed when Bernice and I decided not to see each other again but then Catherine’s illness was my primary concern. This was different. Maybe I really was in love again. They say it unbalances a man’s hormones leading him to do irrational things but does it happen to someone in their mid fifties? I concluded that it did and it was bitter sweet. She called me most nights about 11:30 or 8:30 in LA and she said it was the earliest she could find time to talk. She didn’t want me to phone her and wouldn’t tell me where she lived. I should have been suspicious but I wasn’t. I was in love.

I concentrated on work. Jack Phillips and Jenny Chong had found a simple diagnostic program that car dealers could use to find the defective controllers without replacing them in each car. We estimated it would save several million dollars but we continued to work with the customer to limit our liability. The customer was helpful but firm. I vowed never to buy Chinese again.

            A frigid bubble hung over the city for most of January. Smoke and vapour rose straight into the clear blue sky looking like white clouds glistening in front of the sun rising out of Lake Ontario. The first orange rays crept over the downtown buildings just as commuters struggled on the highways blinding drivers and slowing traffic. Traffic reporters advised everyone to be cautious but I was already in my office. Stella transferred the first morning call.

            “Mr. Hilton?” The voice was strange but authorative.

            “Yes.”

            “This is Mrs. Baker from Doctor Bernard’s office at the Sick Kid’s Hospital. We have an opening for your test at ten this morning. We’re sorry about the short notice but there was a cancellation. Can you come?”

            I looked at my calendar and nothing was urgent. “How long will it take?”

            “If it goes well about an hour. We’d like you to stay for another hour while we check the sample. You should be free by noon.”

            “Okay, I’ll be there.” She gave me the particulars and I told Mike to handle the production meeting we had planned for the morning.

Sick Kid’s Hospital is on University Avenue, a wide boulevard in the centre of the city. It is the only street boasting a median with statues and monuments to past heroes and important citizens and is lined with imposing buildings; most of them hospitals or insurance company headquarters. Traffic is always in a rush north to the Legislative Building or south toward the lake and the Gardner Expressway. Beautiful in summer, it is a cold place in the winter.

            I had left shortly after the call to arrive on time and even so was delayed finding the parking garage near the hospital. It required circling several city blocks and driving up six levels before an empty space appeared. I hate driving into the city centre and hoped I wouldn’t have to make many visits to the hospital.

            People who design hospitals must be given credit for trying to give a sad place a happy face. This hospital had recently received a spectacular new Atrium designed to create a cheerful space for the children and their visitors. I found the correct floor and made my way to Dr. Bernard’s Office. Mrs. Baker was at her desk inside.

            “Mr. Christopher, so good of you to come on such short notice. Please, hang up your coat. We need you to complete this questionnaire and sign the release before we get to work.”

            The tests went well. They took the sample, checked my blood pressure and monitored my heart. I made a silent prayer asking that I would be the donor and save Sylvia’s life without involving Carol or Robert.

            Since I was in the city I called Karen to ask her to join me for lunch. She took my call for the first time since last November. She was still cool but friendly and agreed to meet me in her studio on Beverley Street just off Dundas, the edge of China Town. It was not far and I walked from the hospital arriving at her place about twenty minutes later. She had purchased an old duplex several years before and turned one unit into her office studio and rented the other to a firm of lawyers. Like all the others it was a red brick building with a small plot of grass and a tiny garden between the sidewalk and the front door. Years ago working families had lived in these houses and raised hordes of children. They were proud people and enjoyed life in the growing city but time and real estate prices drove them to Scarborough or Mississauga and their homes became businesses. Some had been designated as heritage sites and spared demolition to make way for condominiums although developers hoped to one day find a way to circumvent all the regulations. Not this year however, and I entered through the old wooden door into a bright foyer where a receptionist waited. Karen had told her to show me in as soon as I arrived.

            Large windows looking over the back yard let the bright sunlight into her working space. I blinked as she came to me and kissed my cheek.

            “Hello, Hilton, its good to see you again. How are you?”

            I hugged her and returned her kiss but she twisted her head so I caught her left ear. “I’m fine, Karen. You look beautiful as ever.”

            We chatted about generalities, afraid to get into personal details. The weather was thoroughly covered, as were recent political events. I had time to gaze about her office. It was just like Karen, neat, tidy and organized. A group of photos on a bookcase caught my eye and there I was with an arm around her shoulder. Her youngest daughter had taken the photo about two years ago. I wondered why she kept it but said nothing. I know she noticed me looking at it.

            “There’s a nice restaurant on Dundas by the Art Gallery. Let’s go there for lunch.”

            It sounded good to me and we walked the short distance along Beverley Street past the colourful old houses and tenements. The air was cold but the noon sun compensated with cheerful brilliance. It was good to get inside the restaurant, though, and we were seated quickly. The drink order taken, she became personal.

            “Carol told me you came home early from your vacation. I gather you didn’t go sailing.”

            “No, it wouldn’t have been the same without you. Experienced, beautiful crews are hard to get. I went to Aruba and just lay on the beach.”

            “That’s not what I heard. You picked up a chick and brought her home for New Years.”

            “I’d rather have been with you Karen. Yes, a woman came home with me for New Years but she’s gone now. There is trouble at the plant that needs urgent attention.”

            “Nothing serious, I hope.” I caught the double meaning of her words.

            The drinks came and we ordered lunch. “The pasta is excellent here. I’m ordering linguini and a tossed salad with olive oil.”

            I ordered the veal plate with vegetables and Italian bread. It was a lot but I hadn’t eaten much lately. I don’t know why I didn’t accept her recommendation about the pasta. Maybe it’s a symptom of our relationship.

            “Nothing I can’t handle.” I thought that might answer her double meaning. “It’s about Sylvia.”

            Her eyes narrowed and focused on my face. “I thought she was a taboo subject. What about her?”

            I told her about meeting Bernice and Sylvia’s possibly fatal anemia.

            “Oh, God, Hilton, that’s horrible. Is there anything that can be done?”

            “Yes, apparently it is possible to renew her bone marrow with a transplant from a matched donor. Usually only family members have a match. Bernice and her two other kids have been tested but they’re not close enough. I was tested this morning. If it isn’t me we have to test Carol and Robert.”

            “Uh oh, how will you explain that?”

            “I don’t know. I just hope I don’t have to. What should I do, Karen?”

            The look in her eyes took me back to years before when we had walked through High Park talking about her divorce and my struggles with Catherine’s death. She usually held my hand as we talked and walked among the old trees by Grenadier Pond. Her touch comforted me then and I felt it now.

            Lunch arrived as she let my hand go but we just looked silently at each other trying to understand what had happened. At some point she said, “We’d better eat this before it’s cold.”

            She didn’t have any suggestions but sharing my burden made me feel better. We were still friends who had helped each before and I was sure she would do so again when I needed her.

Chapter 7

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