Chapter 9: Thirteen Thousand

I woke at six with an arm across my waist and a man's breath against my hair.

Alessio slept on his stomach, one hand open on the sheet.

In the gray light the gray at his temples looked almost silver.

I slid out from under his arm without waking him and put on his shirt.

At seven I was in the basement running the morning bloods.

His platelets had climbed from eleven thousand to thirteen thousand in four days.

It was small. It was the first rise I had seen.

I read the number a second time, and then I sat down on the lab stool and laughed once, out loud, by myself.

"That's a good sound."

Alessio stood on the bottom step in trousers and an open shirt, holding two cups of coffee.

"Decaf," he said. "Nonna's orders."

"Thirteen," I said. "It's thirteen thousand."

"Is that good?"

"It's good. It's slow, but it's the right direction."

He came across the room and set a cup beside my hand.

"You're wearing my shirt."

"Mine's in your bedroom."

"I know where it is." His eyes went down, then up. "I like this one better."

"Alessio."

"I asked you something last night." The teasing went out of his voice. "What is L-1?"

I looked at my numbers.

I had spent all night deciding what I could say that was true and still not the whole truth.

"It's an experimental compound," I said. "The same kind Gregory used in my trial. I'm running a test on it to see how it affects marrow cells."

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