Chapter 21
I left the hospital.
I drove home and sat in my car in the garage of my building for a long time.
I had Sabrina's words in my head.
Do it because it is right.
Don't tell me.
Don't promise me.
Just do it.
I went upstairs.
The folder was on the kitchen counter where I'd left it the morning of my father's death. I'd moved the folder once when I'd been making coffee, and the folder had been in the way of the sugar bowl.
I picked the folder up and opened it.
The first page was a typed letter from Simon Kessler.
Dear Mr. Cross. My name is Simon Kessler.
I'm writing to you because I've been calling your office for several months, and your foundation has been processing my son's case.
He has been on the cardiac waitlist for over a year, and my son is in manageable condition but needs surgery according to his cardiologist's most recent assessment.
His name is Dylan. He is eleven years old.
I read the rest of it.
There was a photograph clipped inside.
Dylan was in a hospital gown. He had thin arms and Simon's eyes. He was holding a stuffed dinosaur with one eye. The other eye had been sewn back on at some point with a button that didn't match the original. Dylan's mother, Marta, standing behind him.
I looked at the photograph for a long time.
I thought about how much smaller this morning would have been if I'd read the file the day Simon handed it to me.
I thought about Sabrina in the lounge, about Bonnie under the surgical blue, and about Dylan clutching a one-eyed dinosaur, possibly sitting tonight in an apartment.
I put the folder down, picked up my phone, and started to work.
I made calls.
I called a cardiac center in Philadelphia that had had a relationship with the Cross Foundation since my father had funded a wing of their pediatric unit.
The receiver picked up the call and listened.
He told me he could have an evaluation slot in five days, and he needed the cardiologist's recommendation file by morning.
I sent them inside the hour.
I called the transplant network and two hospitals I had no relationship with using my father's name when my own wasn't enough. I emailed my lawyer and told him to draft paperwork to fund Dylan's surgery personally if the foundation couldn't get the approvals in the timeline that mattered.
I called the social worker at Memorial who had been on the case of a girl on the record named Lily, a twelve-year-old girl who became the heart donor for Simon Kessler's son, Dylan.
I asked the social worker for the family's name and told her why.
The social worker told me she would call the family and tell them I was coming.
Some hours later, I had three things in motion.
I called Simon through the number he provided on the folder. It was the middle of the night, and he picked up on the second ring.
"Mr. Cross."
"Simon, I have a slot in Philadelphia. Their cardiac team will evaluate Dylan in five days. The foundation will cover transport, lodging, and every expense. There is a possible donor lead I'm going to handle personally. I can't promise it. I'll be at your house in the morning at nine."
I paused, then continued.
"Sabrina doesn't know I'm calling you. She told me to fix this without telling her.
I'm telling you because you are a great father who is fighting for the life of his son, and I admire that.
I'm the man who took something from your son.
I'm going to give it back. You don't have to forgive me. I'm not asking for that."
Simon was silent for a while. "Mr. Cross, please be at my house at nine."
The call ended.
The next morning, I drove to Queens.
Simon's house was a small two-story on a residential street. The front steps had been swept.
Dylan's mother Marta opened the door. "Mr. Cross."
"Marta. Hello. It's Beau."
"Mr. Cross. Please come in."
Dylan was in the living room.
He was on the couch. He had a tablet on his lap and the stuffed dinosaur — the one-eyed dinosaur from the photograph — beside him. He was small and pale. His eyes came up when I came in.
"Hi, Dylan."
"Hi."
"I'm Beau."
"Nice to meet you, Beau."
"That is a good dinosaur."
"His name is Earl."
"Earl is a good name for a dinosaur."
"Thank you." He looked back at the tablet.
I sat in the kitchen with Simon and Marta and explained the evaluation, the donor lead I hadn't yet secured but was going to handle personally, the paperwork, and the flight I had booked for them, three business class seats. I told them I would drive them to the airport.
Marta put her hand over Simon's. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't done anything yet."
I left and drove to Langone Health alone to visit Lily's parents.
I had called ahead.
The hospital social worker had cleared the visit. She told me, on the phone, that the family had agreed to meet me only because Simon had asked.
I met Lily's parents in a family room near the ICU.
The mother was already in the room.
The father came in some minutes after I did. He had a takeout coffee in his hand. He had been to the cafeteria. He sat down beside his wife. He put his hand on her knee. They looked at me.
I didn't pitch.
"My name is Beau Cross. I'm here because Simon Kessler asked me to come. I'm the chairman of the Cross Foundation. I'm also a man who lost his father. I'm not here to ask you for anything. I'm here to sit with you for a little while and to tell you that I see you."
The mother started to cry.
I sat with them for three hours and told them about my father and what it was to be the person in the room who couldn't save somebody they loved.
The mother held my hand for the second and third hours.
The father didn't cry. He looked at me and listened. He had been a man who hadn't allowed himself, in some weeks of holding his daughter, to be told he could put her down.
I went back the next day, sat with them, and listened.
The father told me about Lily. He told me what she had been like before she had been the girl in the bed. The mother showed me photographs.
I sat with them for some hours.
I came home that evening to Cade on my couch.
He had let himself in with the key he had had since I had moved into the apartment, and he was on my couch with two beers on my coffee table.
"Cade."
"Beau."
He held one of the beers out to me.
I took it and sat down on the couch beside him.
"I heard about what happened. The company kept me informed. You’re doing the right thing now. It doesn't undo what you did, but you are doing the right thing."
"I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Tell me what happened from the top.”
I told him everything — the directive, Simon and his son, and Lily — everything. A moment passed, and then he looked at me as if he'd already known I was in love.
“I wanted to take all her burdens and make it mine, Cade. She’s gone through enough."
He turned to me and said, "I get it. It’s a risk to do it without the board’s acknowledgment, but you’re doing the best you think of, and what you did is something I admire about you.”
We stayed silent for a few minutes.
He continued, “By the way, Mom asks how you are. I told her you are working and all, and she knows what that means."
We drank until the cans ran dry, and Cade left.
The next morning, I went to Langone Health again.
Lily’s mother was waiting for me in the family room.
She was alone.
"My husband and I talked last night. We have been holding her because we didn't know how to let her go. We are going to sign the papers today. We want her to be the reason another child gets to live. Please make sure he gets it. The boy."
"Thank you. I really appreciate you two for the decisions you two have taken. It wasn't easy. I’ll ensure Dylan gets it."
"Will you be there with us when we sign?"
"If you want me to be."
"Please."
I stayed.
The father came.
The papers were brought in. The hospital coordinator explained each one. The mother signed three papers. She signed each one in the same careful hand.
The last paper was the consent for organ recovery. Her hand was shaking.
I placed my hand over hers and held it while she signed.
That afternoon, I drove the Kesslers to the airport.
Simon was in the front seat. Marta was in the back beside Dylan. Dylan had Earl in his lap. Dylan was eleven years old and had been told that morning he was getting on a plane to Philadelphia today and would have a heart from a girl named Lily.
We didn't speak much in the car.
I told Marta where to find the car-rental shuttle and told Simon the gate. Their flight was a little under two hours.
We pulled up to departures, and I helped them with the bags.
We walked through the terminal.
At the gate, while Marta was checking that they had Dylan's medication in the right pocket, I asked Simon to walk with me to the window.
Simon walked.
We stood at the window, looking out onto the tarmac.
"Simon, I need to tell you something I haven't told you yet."
"Alright."
"The donor."
He looked at me. "Tell me."
"You told me about her. Her name is Lily, right? So she is twelve. She was at Langone Health in a coma for some months, and her parents signed the papers this morning. Her heart is being matched to your son's profile."
Simon was very still. His eyes went past me, then to a point somewhere on the floor of the gate area, to the wall, then back to me. His hand came up to the back of his neck, and it stayed there.
"Mr. Cross, I — "
"Simon, I did this because of you, because you sat in my hospital corridor with a folder and you told me about your son. Because you told me about Lily. You did this. I just made phone calls."
Simon looked at me. "Mr. Cross, don’t be ridiculous. We did this together, and I couldn’t thank you enough and Lily and her family. I thought I lost all hope. Thank you for making this happen."
He extended his hand, shook it, and gave me a brief hug.
Marta called Simon, and they went to the gate. Dylan turned and waved at me.
I waved back.
The Kesslers went through the gate, and I watched them leave.
I had done the right thing, but some of the guilt remained.
It was going to remain until Sabrina took it from me.