Change Of Heart Part 26

"... what you thought I was looking for?"

I focused my attention on the napkin on my lap. Leave it to me to ruin a date that wasn't even really one.

"What if all I was looking for," Christian asked, "was you?"

I lifted my head slowly as Christian summoned back our waiter. "Tell us about dessert," he said.

"We have a creme brulee, a fresh blueberry tart, warm peach puff pastries with homemade ice cream and caramel sauce, and my personal favorite," the waiter said. "Chocolate French toast with a thin pecan crust, served with mint ice cream, and our own raspberry sauce."

"What shall we try?" Christian asked.

I turned to the waiter. "Maybe we could skip back to the main course first," I said, and smiled.

"This is my simple religion.

There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy.

Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness."

-HIS HOLINESS THE 14TH DALAI LAMA

June

As it turned out, in spite of the deathbed promises, I didn't tell Claire about her potential new heart when she first awakened after the episode that had brought us back to this hospital. Instead, I made a hundred excuses: When she wasn't running a temperature. When she had a little more energy. When we knew for sure that a judge was going to allow the donation to happen. The longer I put off the conversation, the more I was able to convince myself that Claire would have another hour, day, week with me in which to have it.

And in the meantime, Claire was failing. Not just her body, but her spirit. Dr. Wu told me every day that she was stable, but I saw changes. She didn't want me to read from Teen People Teen People. She didn't want to watch television. She lay on her side, staring at a blank wall.

"Claire," I said one afternoon, "want to play cards?"

"No."

"How about Scrabble."

"No thanks." She turned away. "I'm tired."

I smoothed her hair back from her face. "I know, baby."

"No," she said. "I mean I'm tired, tired, Mom. I don't want to do this anymore." Mom. I don't want to do this anymore."

"Well, we can take a walk-I mean, I I can take a walk and push you in a wheelchair. You don't have to stay in bed-" can take a walk and push you in a wheelchair. You don't have to stay in bed-"

"I'm going to die in here. You and I both know it. Why can't I just go home and do it there, instead of hooked up to all of this stuff?"

I stared at her. Where was the child in that sentence, the one who had believed in fairies and ghosts and all sorts of impossible things? But we're so close to fixing that But we're so close to fixing that, I started to say, and then I realized that if I did, I would have to tell her about the heart that might or might not be coming.

And whose it was.

"I want to sleep in my own bed," Claire said, "instead of one with stupid plastic sheets and a pillow that crackles every time I move my head. I want to eat meat loaf, instead of chicken soup in a blue plastic cup and Jell-O-"

"You hate when I serve meat loaf."

"I know, and I want to get mad at you for cooking it again." She flopped onto her back and looked at me. "I want to drink from the orange juice container. I want to throw a tennis ball for my dog."

I hesitated. "Maybe I can talk to Dr. Wu," I said. "We can get your own sheets and pillow, I bet ..."

Something in Claire's eyes dimmed. "Just forget it," she said, and that was how I realized she'd already begun to die, before I had a chance to save her.

As soon as Claire fell asleep that afternoon, I left her in the capable hands of the nursing staff and exited the hospital for the first time in a week. I was stunned to see how much the world had changed. There was a nip in the air that whispered of winter; the trees had begun to turn color, sugar maples first, their bright heads like torches that would light the rest of the woods on fire. My car felt unfamiliar, as if I were driving a rental. And most shocking-the road that led past the state prison had been rerouted with policemen on traffic detail. I inched through the cones, gaping at the crowds that had been cordoned off by police tape: SHAY BOURNE WILL BURN IN h.e.l.l SHAY BOURNE WILL BURN IN h.e.l.l, read one sign. Another banner said SATAN IS ALIVE AND KICKING ON I-TIER SATAN IS ALIVE AND KICKING ON I-TIER.

Once, when Claire was tiny, she'd raised the blackout shade in her bedroom window when she woke up. At the sight of the sunrise, with its outstretched crimson fingers, she'd gasped. Did I do that? Did I do that?

Now, looking at the signs, I had to wonder: Could you believe something so fiercely that it actually happened? Could your thoughts change the minds of others?

Keeping my eyes on the road, I pa.s.sed the prison gates and continued toward my house. But my car had other intentions-it turned right, and then left, and into the cemetery where Elizabeth and Kurt were buried.

I parked and started walking to their shared grave. It was underneath an ash tree; in the light wind, the leaves shimmered like golden coins. I knelt on the gra.s.s and traced my finger over the lettering on the headstone: BELOVED DAUGHTER.

TREASURED HUSBAND.

Kurt had bought his plot after we'd been married for a year. That's macabre That's macabre, I had said, and he had just shrugged it off; he saw the business of death and dying every day. Here's the thing, though Here's the thing, though, he had said. There's room for you, if you want. There's room for you, if you want.

He had not wanted to impose, because he didn't know if I'd want to be buried near my first husband. Even that tiny bit of consideration-the fact that he wanted me to choose, instead of making an a.s.sumption-had made me realize why I loved him. I want to be with you I want to be with you, I had told him. I wanted to be where my heart was.

After the murders, I would sleepwalk. I'd find myself the next morning in the gardening shed, holding a spade. In the garage, with my face pressed against the metal cheek of a shovel. In my subconscious, I was making plans to join them; it was only when I was awake and alert and felt Claire kicking me from within that I realized I had to stay.

Would she be the next one I'd bury here? And once I did, what would keep me from carrying things through to their natural conclusion, from putting my family back together in one place?

I lay down for a minute, p.r.o.ne on the gra.s.s. I pressed my face into the stubbled moss at the edge of the head-stone and pretended I was cheek-to-cheek with my husband; I felt the dandelions twine through my fingers and pretended I was holding my daughter's hand.

In the elevator of the hospital, the duffel bag started to move itself across the floor. I crouched down, unzipped the top of it. "Good boy," I said, and patted the top of Dudley's head. I'd retrieved him from my neighbor, who had been kind enough to play foster parent while Claire was sick. Dudley had fallen asleep in the car, but now he was alert and wondering why I had zipped him into a piece of luggage. The doors opened and I hoisted him up, approaching the nurse's desk near Claire's room. I tried to smile normally. "Everything all right?"

"She's been sleeping like a baby."

Just then, Dudley barked.

The nurse's eyes flew up to mine, and I pretended to sneeze. "Wow," I said, shaking my head. "Is that pollen count something or what what?"

Before she could respond, I hurried into Claire's room and closed the door behind me. Then I unzipped the bag and Dudley shot out like a rocket. He ran a lap around the room, nearly knocking over Claire's IV pole.

There was a reason dogs weren't allowed in hospitals, but if Claire wanted normal normal, then she was going to get it. I wrapped my arms around Dudley and hoisted him onto Claire's bed, where he sniffed the cotton blanket and began to lick her hand.

Her eyes fluttered open, and when she saw the dog, a smile split her face. "He's not allowed in here," she whispered, burying her hands in the fur at his neck.

"Are you going to tell on me?"

Claire pushed herself to a sitting position and let the dog crawl into her lap. She scratched behind his ears while he tried to chew on the wire that ran from beneath Claire's hospital gown to the heart monitor.

"We won't have a lot of time," I said quickly. "Someone's going to-"

Just then, a nurse walked in holding a digital thermometer. "Rise and shine, missy," she began, and then she saw the dog on the bed. "What is that doing in here?" is that doing in here?"

I looked at Claire, and then back at the nurse. "Visiting?" I suggested.

"Mrs. Nealon, not even service dogs are allowed onto this ward without a letter from the vet stating that the vaccinations are up to date and the stool's tested negative for parasites-"

"I was just trying to make Claire feel better. He won't leave this room, I swear."

"I'll give you five minutes," the nurse said. "But you have to promise you won't bring him in again before the transplant."

Claire, who had a death grip on the dog, glanced up. "Transplant?" she repeated. "What transplant?" transplant?"

"She was being theoretical," I said quickly.

"Dr. Wu doesn't schedule theoretical transplants," the nurse said.

Claire blinked at me. "Mom?" There was a thread in her voice that had started to unravel.

The nurse turned on her heel. "I'm counting," she said, and left the room.

"Is it true?" Claire asked. "There's a heart for me?"

"We're not sure. There's a catch ..."

"There's always always a catch," Claire said. "I mean, how many hearts have turned out to not be as great as Dr. Wu expected?" a catch," Claire said. "I mean, how many hearts have turned out to not be as great as Dr. Wu expected?"

"Well, this one ... it's not ready for transplant yet. It's sort of still being used."

Claire laughed a little. "What are you planning to do? Kill Kill someone?" someone?"

I didn't answer.

"Is the donor really sick, or old? How could she even be be a donor if she's sick or old?" Claire asked. a donor if she's sick or old?" Claire asked.

"Honey," I said. "We have to wait for the donor to be executed."

Claire was not stupid. I watched her put together this new information with what she'd heard on television. Her hands tightened on Dudley. "No way way," she said quietly. "I am not taking a heart from the guy who killed my father and my sister."

"He wants to give give it to you. He offered." it to you. He offered."

"This is sick," Claire said. "You're sick." She struggled to get up, but she was tethered to the bed with tubes and wires.

"Even Dr. Wu said that it's an amazing match for you and your body. I couldn't just say no."

"What about me? Don't I I get to say no?" get to say no?"

"Claire, baby, you know donors don't come along every day. I had had to do it." to do it."

"Then undo undo it," she demanded. "Tell them I don't want his stupid heart." it," she demanded. "Tell them I don't want his stupid heart."

I sank down on the edge of the hospital bed. "It's just a muscle. It doesn't mean you'll be like him." I paused. "And besides, he owes owes this to us." this to us."

"He doesn't owe us anything! Why don't you get that?" Her eyes filled with tears. "You can't tie the score, Mom. You just have to start over."

Her monitors began to sound an alert; her pulse was rising, her heart pumping too hard. Dudley began to bark. "Claire, you have to calm down ..."

"This isn't about him," Claire said. "This isn't even about me. It's about you you. You You need to get payment for what happened to Elizabeth. need to get payment for what happened to Elizabeth. You You need to make him pay for what he did. Where do need to make him pay for what he did. Where do I I fit into that?" fit into that?"

The nurse flew into the room like a great white heron, fussing over Claire. "What's going on in here?" she said, checking the connections and tubes and drips.

"Nothing," we both said simultaneously.

The nurse gave me a measured glance. "I highly recommend you take that dog away and let Claire get some rest."

I reached for Dudley and wrestled him back into the duffel bag. "Just think about it," I pleaded.

Ignoring me, Claire reached into the bag and patted the dog. "Good-bye," she whispered.

MICHAEL.

I had gone back to St. Catherine's. I told Father Walter that I had not been seeing clearly, and that G.o.d had opened my eyes to the truth.

I just neglected to mention that G.o.d happened to be sitting on I-tier about three miles away from our church, awaiting an expedited trial that began this week.

Each night, I said three consecutive rosaries-penance for lying to Father Walter-but I had had to be there. I had to do something constructive with my time, now that I wasn't spending it with Shay. Since I'd confessed to him at the hospital that I'd served on the jury that had convicted him, he'd refused to see me. to be there. I had to do something constructive with my time, now that I wasn't spending it with Shay. Since I'd confessed to him at the hospital that I'd served on the jury that had convicted him, he'd refused to see me.

There was a part of me that understood his reaction-imagine how it would feel to know your confidant had betrayed you-but there was another part of me that spent hours trying to figure out why divine forgiveness hadn't kicked in yet. Then again, if the Gospel of Thomas was to be believed, no matter how much time and s.p.a.ce Shay put between us, we were never really separate: mankind and divinity were flip sides of the same coin.

And so, every day at noon, I told Father Walter I was meeting a fictional couple at their house to try to guide them away from the path of divorce. But instead, I rode my Trophy to the prison, burrowed through the crowds, and went inside to try to see Shay.

CO Whitaker was called to escort me to I-tier after I'd pa.s.sed through the metal detectors at the visitor's booth. "Hi, Father. You here to sell Girl Scout cookies?"

"You know it," I replied. "Anything exciting happen today?"

"Let's see. Joey Kunz got a medical visit for diarrhea."

"Wow," I said. "Sorry I missed that."

As I suited up in my flak jacket, Whitaker went into I-tier to tell Shay I'd come. Again. But no more than five seconds had pa.s.sed before he returned, a sheepish look on his face. "Not today, Father," he said. "Sorry."