Gifts and Consequences by Daniel Coleman Page B

the background as they talked, hand in hand, about anything but her condition until he couldn’t take it any longer. 
    He stood and paced.  “There has to be something we can do.  I’d do anything if there was just a sliver of hope.  I’d climb Mt. Everest.  I’d walk across the country.  I’d swim the Atlantic Ocean.  If only any of those would do any good.”  He hadn’t cried in a decade, but his eyes were full of tears.  He felt like swinging a hammer at the medical equipment, the hospital bed, the walls.  Just to make everything go away.
    He wiped his eyes and noticed a shadow in the doorway.  He sat down and waited for a nurse to enter, but the shadow left and no one came in. 
    Yvonne took his hand again and squeezed.  “God’s will is going to be done.  If it’s my time to…” She closed her eyes and concentrated.  “I can’t think of the words, Allen.  I just, you’ll be all right.” 
    “But I don’t want to be all right without you.” 
    She squeezed his hand and said, “Go home, get some rest.”
    He shook his head.  “As long as you’re here, I’m here.”
    “You’re not going to, you’re going to not to go to the,” she smiled and waited for him to answer.  The confusion and silliness had come out of nowhere within just a few days.
    Allen shook his head.  “No, I’m not going to work tomorrow.”
    Other than planned family vacations, Allen hadn’t missed one day of work before Yvonne’s illness.  Every day at eight o’clock, he climbed in his truck and drove to a jobsite.  One hour for lunch.  He even planned tasks toward the end of the day that could be dropped as soon as the alarm on his watch sounded. 
    “Work’s not important,” he added.  Compared to this .
    She fell asleep fifteen minutes later, still clutching his hand.  Allen didn’t use the cot on the other side of the bed.  It didn’t slide as close to the bed as the chair did.
    Hospital sounds awoke him just after sunrise the next morning.  A nurse brought two trays of oatmeal, wet scrambled eggs, melon, and two, almost-cold milk cartons.  She left and a black-haired man in a suit coat walked in.  “May I have a moment of your time, Allen?”
    Allen stood and straightened his slept-in clothes.  “Yes, you’re one of the doctors?”
    “No, I have no affiliation with the hospital, but I am in a position to provide your wife with a possible treatment.”
    Allen looked at Yvonne, who was still sleeping, then back at the man.  “You must be mistaken, there’s no cure for my wife’s condition.”
    “You mean there is no cure for the average person with Creutzfeldt-Jakobs.  It is extremely intensive and expensive, and a bit experimental, but there is a cure.  If you have the means.”
    Allen was confused.  “Perhaps we should talk outside,” he said.
    The stranger nodded and they walked into the hallway. 
    “I’m sorry,” said Allen.  Who are you?”
    “That’s not really important to your wife’s treatment,” said the stranger, continuing to fence the conversation.
    “Who told you about us?”
    “I overheard you talking last night.”  He shrugged.
    It still didn’t make sense.  “If it’s so expensive how can we afford it?”
    “I’m prepared to cover that aspect.”
    “Are you some kind of philanthropist?” asked Allen, feeling a little bit like he held a winning lottery ticket in his hand.
    “Some kind,” said the man, smiling.   “But by no means am I offering a gift.  You will earn another breath for her with every step you take.  Your pace for the next few months will power the beating of her heart.”
    Allen scowled at the stranger, but didn’t want to dismiss a chance to save Yvonne.  “I’m not following you.”
    “Walk to San Diego.  Then walk back home.”  He ended his sentence as if it were a perfectly normal request.
    Allen waited for the man to continue, but realized he was done talking.  “Why would I do that?  And why San