The nurse leaned toward Eric. “Does your father have permission to consent to
treatment?”
Eric tightened his grip on Pierce’s hand, sending a silent message giving Pierce
the right to step in. “Dad Pierce. Dad Pierce.”
Pierce took Eric’s hand. He felt the slight pressure as Eric tried to convey his
message.
“We wasted all this time waiting for someone else? Why didn’t you say you were
his father?”
“Yes. Dad. Dad!” Eric shrieked. “God, Marie, Mom, Dad, Pierce, Avie. Love,”
Eric chanted.
“Okay, Eric, I get it.” Then to the nurse, he said, “Yes, I’m his father.”
Dr. Kotis continued, “There’s a procedure we could use on your son. It hasn’t been
done here, but if we can’t do a craniotomy, it’s his only chance. The presenters, Drs.
Kassam and Snyderman, are at a hospital about twenty-four miles away lecturing on
the procedure. I was there when they paged me for this.”
The nurse handed Pierce a form attached to a clipboard.
“Somebody explain what it is they’re going to do,” he said, flicking a gaze over
the documents. “What kind of procedures am I agreeing to?”
* * *
Four hours later, Pierce walked to the chapel, sat in one of the middle pews,
and took stock of the place—stained-glass windows, bright wooden pews, plush red
carpet. He hadn’t set foot in a church, or anything like it, since Jaylon Ripley’s funeral
and before that, it was for his own parents’ funeral. Though his father had taught
him from the bible, his parents weren’t too keen on organized religion, thanks to his
mother’s father, a minister who had been the driving force in letting his pedophile