Theo knew that wasn’t the case. The doctor had once explained how in some diabetics with infection there can be a resistance to the normal effects of insulin, and that his father was one of them. Unfortunately, this time it was too late to rely on weight loss or exercise as treatment; the doctors would need to find the right combination of drugs, and that in itself was problematic. Theo had witnessed his father’s ongoing pain, and the vomiting and hyperventilation of an earlier attack, so there was little Samuel could hide from him. But he would go along with his father for the time being, just to keep him happy.

“And how is it here?” Theo asked, glancing around.

“You wouldn’t want to bring your family here on vacation, but it’s not as bad as it looks. Some of the nurses are pretty.”

Theo smiled at him. He hadn’t expected to see him in such good spirits, but it wasn’t fooling him either—Samuel was worried.

“Would ya mind moving?” Theo asked.

“You’re not taking me back to London with you—your mother wouldn’t cope with the journey.”

Theo couldn’t help but smile again. “How about we move you over to the Mercy? It’s got a great reputation. It would be a longer journey for Mom, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if your treatment was better.”

“You know we can’t afford that.”

“You wouldn’t have to, Pop. But don’t think about it right now. Just concentrate on getting better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Samuel grumbled. Then he perked up again and raised his eyebrows. “Virginia came to visit yesterday.”

“That was nice. How was she?”

“Fine . . . but haven’t you seen her yet?”

“No, Pop, I came straight here.”

Samuel placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Theo. You’re a good son.”

Theo smiled back, pleased his father felt that way but knowing what they were both really thinking: he might be a good son, but he was also an only son now, and he’d never be a hero like Howie.

Twenty-eight