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father even bother to have a family? Why didn’t he just devote himself to humanity and forget about having us?”
    “Probably because he wanted you,” Cindy answered. “Who says you can’t have both?”
    Now, years later, standing next to Donovan’s hospital bed, watching his chest rise and fall with labored breathing, Meg recalled the conversation with vivid clarity. Did JWC feel he or she
owed
something to the sick and dying? Was that the motivation behind the One Last Wish Foundation? And if so, where did that kind of compassioncome from? Did Meg have it within herself to feel the same way? The way her parents did?
    She longed to talk it over with Cindy. Her best friend would have helped her make sense of it. But, of course, there was no Cindy. Stricken, feeling more depressed than she had in weeks, Meg pushed away from Donovan’s bed and quickly left the hospital.
    “Your father and I are going to run out to the country club and play a few rounds of golf. Want to come along?” Meg’s mother asked her Sunday afternoon.
    “Not really.” Meg felt listless, as if her energy had been drained away. “I’d rather lie here by the pool.”
    “If that’s what you want.” She saw her mother hesitate. “Is everything okay with you?”
    “Things are fine.”
    “You seem to be a little down today. And last week, you seemed so much more animated. Did something happen at the hospital yesterday?”
    “Nothing happened. I had a good time with one of the patients. I’m concerned about him.”
    “The Jacoby boy—your father’s told me about him.”
    Meg sat upright. “Has Dad said how Donovan’s doing today?”
    “I’m trying to get him off for a little relaxation. I asked him not to even call in today. If he’s needed, he’ll be paged.”
    Meg had seen her mother’s efforts to protecther father from overwork before. She planned frequent getaways and weekend minitrips. Still, most jaunts were interrupted by calls from the hospital, moreso now that he was head of the transplant unit. “Go on to the golf course,” Meg said. “I’m perfectly fine by myself.”
    Once they were gone, Meg tried to lounge by the pool and read a book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Her thoughts kept returning to Donovan, his medical prognosis, JWC, and the One Last Wish Foundation. Around five o’clock, she gave up, dressed, and left her parents a note: “Went for a drive to buy some frozen yogurt. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get the low-fat. Honest.”
    She hoped the note’s levity would keep them from being concerned about her. She was in the pits emotionally and was attempting to take her therapist’s advice—“stay busy, stay involved.”
    Meg wasn’t sure how she ended up near the hospital, but before she knew it, she was pulling her car off the exit ramp that would take her to Memorial. The neighborhood around the complex was well kept. Older houses, once the homes of Washington’s elite, dominated the area to the north, away from the expressway. To the west side of the hospital, signs announced the construction of sleek new medical office buildings. Meg saw the whole area as an odd mixture of the old and the new, with a sturdy median strip lined with cherry trees separating the past from the present.
    As she neared the entrance of Memorial, Meg recognized Mrs. Jacoby and Brett waiting at thebus stop. She pulled to a halt in front of them. “How are you?” she asked.
    Brett waved. “Hi,” he said. “I remember you.”
    Mrs. Jacoby’s face looked lined and drawn, and Meg’s heart went out to her. “Come on,” Meg urged, throwing open her car door. “Let me give you a ride home.”
    “We live too far,” Mrs. Jacoby said.
    “No problem. I’d love to take you.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive,” Meg replied, knowing instantly it was the truth. She wanted to know Donovan’s family better, and she wanted to help. She couldn’t change the past, but she could affect the future. “Hop in and