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the regimen,” Oliver said. “But you don’t mean another round, now ?”
    “What kind of time frame are we dealing with, Doctor?”
    “There’s really no point in getting excited by hypotheticals,” Eisenstatt said. “Let’s just see what the aspirate tells us.”
    Alice managed to nod, while Oliver stared with murderous intent at the series of plugs and holes against the back wall . Alice was peripherally aware of a knock at the door; a nurse entering, sharing something with the nurse-practitioner. She was aware of Dr. Bhakti, watching her, projecting a concerned, or at least involved vibe, while at the same time running a hand through that luxurious and well-conditioned hair. If Alice looked at the visiting cancer fellow right now, she’d scratch out that bitch’s eyes.

    This was when the baby decided she’d been on best behavior long enough. Rubbing her eyes would no longer suffice. Rubbing her ears had become old hat. Even rediscovering how good her toes tasted didn’t placate. Doe let everyone within the tristate area know her nappy time was long overdue. It was an affront that people were paying attention to everything but her. Knee bounces and a fresh pacifier weren’t going to solve jack. And when it seemed like her cries couldn’t become louder, they became louder. Alice focused on a spot directly across the room. Her world became that small spot. After two counts, the spot widened to include her fussing child.
    “Is there a bottle?” she asked.
    “I also have something in my notes about the insurance,” said Howard Eisenstatt, MD.
    “Actually, that’s what I’m here about,” Requita said. “Business office called. On your way out, you need to go see them. I know you already did. They have something more.”
    “Give her,” Oliver said. “Give her to me.”
    Taking the baby, he said, “You’re a good girl, okay, there, there,” and started away from Alice, away from Eisenstatt, along the empty side of the exam room. “I’ve been dealing with Unified.” His voice was resigned, more than a little defensive. “It’s not a big deal, a bunch of red tape, mostly. But trying to get people to read the facts that are right in front of them, don’t ask me why—it’s really not worth getting into here.”
    Eisenstatt had the expression of a judge who may have sympathized with the defendant but had been through the courtroom sob story more times than he could count. “By necessity there’s a wall between medical and billing.” His arms folded over his clipboard and held to the middle of his chest. “I hate insurance companies. Hate them. We’ll do what we can.” He asked the nurse-practitioner to put Oliver and Alice in touch with the hospital’s social services liaison. She could act as a mediator and help with financial aid forms, if it came to that. “Make no mistake,” said Eisenstatt. “You have to get this settled. Getting you to a transplant is the only option here.”

Whitman Memorial, 1220 York Ave., 4th floor, Hematology/Oncology (interview), N.
    They’d been friends a long time now, living down the hall from one another for upwards of twenty years. This friend of hers, a single mom. She used to drop the boy off whenever, then she lucked out and got herself remarried. She scooted out of the city and up to the burbs, Rye: her and the new hubby and her son. Kid was a bright boy. Salutatorian of his high school, even earned a free ride to someplace down south, one of those states with traditions of Confederate flags and really good barbecue. When that child got down there, something happened—his heart got smashed, or being away freshman year was too much, maybe he just straight bugged. It wasn’t uncommon—a kid is alone, the year goes on and the pressure mounts, he burrows deep inside his own head. This young man became withdrawn, wouldn’t come out of his dorm room. Got so bad he had to leave school and head north. His mom kept wanting to know what was wrong. All he