"She didn’t say anything more than he was mine and we needed to talk."
I was silent for a moment. "I'm so sorry. You can drop me off at my father's."
He sighed as we came to a stoplight. "I don’t know what she wants, but why else would she come back to Manhattan? You're my life, Kate." He was silent as if considering. Then, he squeezed my hand. "I want you with me all the time. If you're willing, I'd like you to come with me. She has to know you and I are together."
"Do you think she wants you back?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea what she wants. She married this guy Chris who she met before we broke up. She said she'd tell me when we met."
"Where?"
"The hospital in Washington Heights. A coffee shop we used to go to. It's familiar ground, I guess."
I watched out the window as we changed direction and drove north to NYP.
I said nothing as we found a parking space. We walked hand in hand into the lobby of the building. A tall blonde woman stood silhouetted against the window, dressed fashionably in a long black cloth coat and cream scarf. She was very lovely, and just about the opposite of me in every way.
We walked up to her and she frowned when she saw me, looking me up and down, her grey eyes judging. "Is this your current slave?"
> "This is Kate McDermott. Kate, this is Maureen Johnston, my ex-wife."
I nodded at her, a bit hurt that she thought of me as Drake's 'slave'. She glanced at me briefly and then turned her attention to Drake.
"I need you to come with me."
"Where?" Drake said.
"To Morgan Stanley. The oncology ward."
"Your son—"
"Our son," she corrected. "He's got leukemia. He needs a bone marrow transplant and so I thought you'd agree to be tested. You could be a match."
Drake frowned, his face flushing. "Yes. Of course."
"Can we go somewhere and talk?" she said and sighed. "I suppose this has come as a shock."
Drake made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but didn't reply. We followed Maureen down the long hallway to a small coffee shop where we purchased some coffee. We went to an empty table surrounded by other visitors and patients.
"So, tell me," Drake said, his hands around his cup, his face blanched. "How is it I have a son and I never heard about him?"
Maureen took off her scarf, removed her coat. She sat down and stirred her coffee. Finally, after taking a sip, she spoke, her voice low.
"I didn’t think he was yours. I thought he was Chris's. It wasn't until we tested Chris as a donor that we found out he wasn't related. It was then I knew." She glanced up at us, her face red. "I must have miscalculated my dates. I probably didn’t want to think he was yours."
Drake sat there for a moment, his mouth open. "So you were sleeping with Chris before we split..."
"Drake, I could have been sleeping with an entire college football team for all you'd have known. You were so busy in Africa and with lectures and surgery and your band to even notice that I was having an affair."
"And how do you know he's my son? I should be tested—"
"Drake," she said, her voice sounding frustrated. "It was either you or Chris. I wasn't seeing anyone else. Yes, you should be tested, but given it's the same leukemia as your brother, I assumed he's yours."
"Of course…" Drake stammered. "They'll find out when they test me for compatibility." Drake said nothing for a moment, holding his cup between his palms. He didn't meet Maureen's eyes, focusing instead on the table and his cup. "So you were fucking us both, obviously."
"I didn’t mean to. You were pretty insistent when you were around. I tried to talk to you but you were always shushing me, trying to get me into bed. I finally gave up."
I stood up at that, embarrassed to be listening in to their private conversation. Drake grabbed my hand.