Wildcard: Volume One

I set down my phone and pull out my laptop as a memory flickers in my head. A few weeks earlier I’d seen something on the news about ground-breaking research into cystic fibrosis. It takes me a few minutes to locate the story.

A professor in the UK, widely known as one of the leading CF specialists in the world, was running a series of trials into a new drug that he believed would help to reduce the production of mucous in the lungs of CF sufferers.

I grab a piece of paper and scrawl the doctor’s name and number down. I wonder if Dad knows him? Lifting myself up off the bed, I walk out into the living room where my parents are sitting.

“Dad,” I begin, “I don’t suppose you know of a Professor Howes? He’s a leading specialist in Cystic Fibrosis.”

Dad looks both surprised and happy by my question. It’s not often I ask him about work.

“I don’t know him personally, but one of my colleagues is a good friend of his. They went to med school together. Why?” he asks curiously.

“A friend of mine has a son with CF who is not responding to his current medication. I remembered hearing about his study into a new medication, and I was hoping to get him into it.”

Dad laughs. “You can’t just get someone into a trial, Ryder. These things take years of preparation.”

“I know, which is why I was asking if you knew the guy,” I say. This is why I don’t go to Dad that often for advice: I’m always left feeling like an idiot. “Don’t worry about it,” I mutter.

“Wait,” Dad calls.

I stop and turn around.

“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t get your hopes up. Do you have the kid’s file?”

“No, but I can get the name of his specialist in the States.”

“The States? Jesus, Ryder. How do you think they are going to get over here even if I can get them in the trial?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry about that. I can cover all those costs,” I say defensively. I reach into my pocket for my phone and text Scarlett.

Me: What’s the name of Jake’s specialist?

Her: Andrew Lilliard. Why?

I pass on the information to Dad and I don’t reply because I don’t want to get her hopes up if Dad can’t come through with this for me.

**

“Why did you want to know Jake’s specialist?”

It’s later Monday evening, and I’m talking to Scarlett. That’s the first thing she asks me.

“I was just curious. My father is a medical scientist. I just wondered if he knew of him, that’s all.”

“He’s the best in the States,” she says. “I didn’t know your dad was a scientist.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you,” I grin.

“Fair enough,” she giggles. “Glad to be home?”

“I would be if I was actually home. My mother ironed my underwear,” I grumble. Less than twenty-four hours and she was already driving me mental with all her fussing. It was worse than when we were in Paris.

Scarlett laughs. “I think it’s sweet how much she cares for you. It’s a mother’s instinct to help her kids when they’re sick. I know I’d do anything to fix Jake,” she adds quietly.

“How is he?” I ask gently.

“He’s okay,” she sighs. “For now. The medication isn’t working as well, but they are trying another one. The doctor wants me to be prepared that he might need a lung transplant in a few years.” She laughs. “How am I supposed to prepare for that?”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”