The Line Between Here and Gone. Andrea Kane

ago. But, despite Melissa’s reassurances, her heart was still racing, her prayers still echoing inside her head as she rushed to see Justin, to make sure he was still alive and fighting.

      She was startled to see the stocky man with the ruddy complexion and salt-and-pepper hair standing outside the BMT Unit, hands clasped behind his back as he stared inside.

      “Uncle Lyle?” Amanda broke into a run. “What are you doing here at this hour? Has something happened?”

      “No, nothing like that.” Lyle Fenton patted his niece’s shoulder. He wasn’t an affectionate man. Never had been. He’d grown up poor, made himself rich, but had never included a family as part of the picture. But when his sister and her husband had been killed in a car accident, he’d felt some sense of responsibility for their only child. Amanda had been in photojournalism school at the time, and Lyle had already made a decent amount of money. So paying for her education and kick-starting her career had been his way of reaching out. It was easy enough, given she loved the Hamptons and had moved within ten miles of his estate.

      Still, they rarely saw each other. Until now.

      “I was in Manhattan on business,” he told his niece now. “The meeting ran right through dinner and well past ten. So I stopped in to see how the baby—how Justin—was doing. I was surprised not to find you here.”

      Amanda released her breath. Thank God. Her uncle was just passing through on his way back to the Hamptons. Nothing had gone wrong with her precious baby.

      “I only left for a few hours,” she replied. “It was important. And, as you can see, I left my friend Melissa with Justin. She treats him like her own.” With those words, Amanda glanced inside the unit, relieved to see Melissa sitting by Justin’s side, talking softly to him in his crib.

      “What was so important?” Lyle asked curiously.

      “I hired an investigative firm to find Paul.”

      That came as a major surprise, and Lyle started. “Paul? He’s dead.”

      “Maybe. Maybe not.”

      A heartbeat of silence. “I had no idea your thoughts were heading in this direction. Do you have something to go on?”

      “Nothing solid. But tell me, Uncle Lyle, how else should my thoughts be headed?” Amanda spread her hands wide. “I’m desperate. I’m not a potential donor. You’re not a potential donor. I have no other family. And so far the registry has come up empty. I don’t know if Paul’s alive. I don’t know if he’d be a viable match. But I’ve got to try.”

      Lyle nodded, although the expression on his face was dubious. “I understand. Who did you hire? I could have given you some recommendations.”

      “I didn’t need them. I hired Forensic Instincts. After the way they handled the kidnapping of that little girl, there was no doubt in my mind that they were the right company to track down Paul—if he’s alive.”

      “They took the case?”

      Amanda nodded. “They’re meeting about it as we speak.”

      “Do you need money? An independent investigative team like Forensic Instincts doesn’t come cheap.”

      “I’m fine for now. Plus, you’re already paying for all of Justin’s hospital expenses. I’m very grateful. But enough is enough.”

      “That’s absurd, Amanda. I have the means. I’ll offer a huge reward for the right stem cell donor, if that’s what it takes. Don’t hesitate to call on me.”

      “Thank you, Uncle Lyle. I’ll do that. But right now I think Forensic Instincts is my ray of hope.” Once again, she glanced into the unit. “I want to get back inside and relieve Melissa.”

      “The nurses said there’d been no change,” Lyle informed her. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

      “I don’t know what good means anymore.” Amanda was already rolling up her sleeves, getting ready to scrub up. “I thank God he isn’t worse. But I keep praying he’ll improve, that by some miracle he’ll get better.” She shut her eyes for a brief second. “That’s a pipe dream, I know. But hope is all I can cling to. And I won’t give up on my son.”

      “No, no, of course not.” Lyle gestured for her to get back inside. “Go and be with your child. I’ll be in touch.” He started to leave.

      “Uncle Lyle?” Amanda stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. “Thank you. Not just for dropping by or for offering to help pay Forensic Instincts, but for having yourself tested. I know this isn’t your thing. But it means the world to me that you’d try.”

      Briefly, he smiled. “It was hardly a sacrifice. I have more than enough blood—and money—to spare.” Another awkward pat on her hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

      Once her uncle had gone, Amanda went through the ritual of sterilizing her hands and donning the necessary gloves, hospital gown and mask. Then, she reentered the reverse isolation unit where her infant was fighting for his life.

      “Go on home to your family,” she said softly to Melissa. “And thanks so much.”

      Melissa rose and squeezed her friend’s gloved hands with her own. “Call whenever you need me.”

      “I will.”

      Amanda approached the crib, relieved to be back, happy to be alone with her son.

      She could never get over how small he was. Or maybe he just looked that way in his crib with a central line IV in his three-week-old chest and a blow-by of oxygen perched on his crib to enrich the oxygen content of the air around him. He’d been born full-term, a respectable seven pounds one ounce. Maybe that’s what made it even harder. The preemies down in the neonatal ICU looked so much more fragile, so much more like they had the fight of their lives ahead of them. And yet, none of them was as sick as Justin, who faced a grim prognosis.

      The middle-aged nurse who’d most recently checked Justin’s vitals walked in behind Amanda.

      “Ms. Gleason,” she greeted her. “I’m glad you got out for a little while.”

      “Thank you.” Amanda gestured at the medical apparatus, then at her baby, who had started waving a tiny fist and whining. “How is Justin? Is there any change?”

      “No. The little guy is a fighter, though. And he obviously knows his mommy’s voice. He was quiet until you walked in. Would you like to hold him for a while?”

      It was a routine question—one that, in this case, the nurse already knew the answer to. Amanda held her baby every chance she could. It was one of the few things she could offer him at this point—the warmth of her body, the soft lullabies that soothed him, plus her constant prayers and love. Holding him was a bittersweet experience. The joy of cradling him close, having his tiny fingers curl around hers—the feeling was indescribable. But the guilt of knowing why she couldn’t nurse him, why he couldn’t even be bottle-fed, but instead had to get his nourishment from an IV catheter, why his breathing was raspy, and why he had an infection—an infection she’d given to him—ate at her like the vilest of poisons.

      Now she gathered him close, being careful to avoid his IV, and rocked him as she began singing him the lullabies he seemed to love. He stopped fussing, his tiny body relaxing as he experienced the security of his mother’s embrace and the melodic sounds of her voice. At that moment, all was right with his world—and Amanda’s.

      If Paul really were alive, he couldn’t help but fall in love with this little miracle.

      Tears welled up in Amanda’s eyes, slid down her cheeks beneath the mask. Between the pain, the worry and the hormones, she cried at the drop of a hat. She’d even wept in front of Marc Devereaux, although he’d seemed to understand. He’d taken her case. He’d been confident. He’d reassured her. And she believed in him.

      But would they find Paul? Was Paul alive