Promises of the Heart

by Nan Rossiter

  “Hey, Mace,” Melissa called, peering around the doorway. “I have one more for you.”

  Macey looked up and gave her coworker a weary smile. “Of course, Meliss—anything for you,” she teased affectionately.

  Melissa smiled and set a thin file on the table. “Sorry. These are the only records we have. She was rushed to the ER with chest pains early Sunday morning, and they ended up keeping her several days. She doesn’t seem to have a regular doctor, so they don’t have any other records—not even immunizations.”

  “How has she been able to go to school?” Macey asked, frowning.

  Melissa shrugged. “I don’t know—she’s a ward of the state. The hospital thinks her heart condition might’ve been caused by rheumatic fever.”

  “Sheesh,” Macey said, shaking her head. “How in the world, in this day and age, does something like that happen?”

  Melissa shook her head. “I don’t know. Somehow, these kids just fall through the cracks.”

  “Is Cora bringing her in?” Macey asked, her face brightening.

  Melissa smiled. “I think so.”

  “That woman is amazing. I don’t know how she does it—juggling all those state kids and raising three of her own. Her Rudy is a pip!”

  “She is,” Melissa agreed, laughing, “and you’re right—they definitely don’t pay Cora enough. She would adopt all those kids if she could.”

  Macey laughed and nodded in agreement. “She would. She’d restart the orphanage program and be the house mom. Probably do a darn good job of it, too.” She closed the file. “What time are they coming?”

  Melissa glanced at the clock and realized it was quarter to five. “Any minute—let me go see if they’re here.”

  Macey nodded, opened the file, pulled her reading glasses down from their perch on top of her head, and tried to discern the doctor’s scribble.

  Harper Wheaton, age 9, admitted with severe angina and rapid pulse.

  Guardian and contact: Cora Grant, DFCS

  Insurance: State of Georgia

  Echocardiogram and Cardiac MRI results to follow . . .

  Melissa popped her head back in the doorway. “Mace, they’re here.”

  “Okay,” Macey said. “I’ll be right there.” She quickly scanned the page and then closed the file and took it with her. She pushed open the waiting room door and looked around. “Harper?”

  A little freckle-faced girl with copper-red hair stood up tentatively, and then reached for Cora’s hand.

  Part 2

  20

  BEN TIGHTENED THE LACES OF HIS RUNNING SHOES AND STRETCHED THE arch of his foot on the curb. He hadn’t run in more than two weeks because of a mild ache in his arch that he hoped wouldn’t flare up today. He heard the familiar squeak of a screen door, looked up, and saw Henry crossing the porch of his parents’ house, wearing an old cross-country singlet.

  “Where’d you get that?” Ben asked, shaking Henry’s hand and eyeing the faded relic from their high school days.

  Henry looked down. “I’ve had it.”

  “Swiped it?”

  “No,” Henry said, feigning innocence as he trotted toward the beach. “I might have another one if you want it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take it—it doesn’t seem fair that you have two,” Ben said, falling into step beside him. “Besides, that one looks a little tight,” he teased.

  Henry patted his belly. “That’s what craft beer does for you. Anyway, I’ll have to look around for the other one—it might be at home in Charlotte.”

  Ben’s face grew serious. “How’s your mom?” Henry’s dad had died of a heart attack four months earlier. The two friends hadn’t seen each other since the funeral, and because things had been so hectic that day, they hadn’t really had time to talk then, either. So when Henry texted Ben to let him know he was going to be home, visiting his mom, Ben had jumped at the chance to get together.

  “She’s okay. She misses him. I still can’t believe he’s gone. Every time I come home, I expect to see him out washing the car or cutting the grass, but he isn’t . . . and then I remember. I’m sure it’s much harder for her, surrounded by all the memories.”

  “He wasn’t even that old . . . and he seemed to be in such good health.”

  “I know, and ever since it happened, I’ve heard more stories about people dying within a year of retiring. My dad retired exactly a year ago this week.”

  Ben shook his head. “I guess we better avoid retiring.”

  Henry nodded. “They had so many things they were looking forward to—like a cruise next month. It’s all paid for, and now she has no interest in going. Hayley even offered to go with her, but she turned her down.”

  “I bet they would give her a refund if she explained the circumstances.”

  “They probably would, but she doesn’t even want to ask. Maybe I’ll look into it for her.” He shook his head. “I wish I could get down here more often. I know she’s lonely, but the job and family keep me so busy.”

  They turned onto Meddin Drive—the quiet road that led past Tybee Light. “How is the job?” Ben asked, ignoring the pain already flaring up in his arch.

  “Busy,” Henry said, smiling. “Who knew craft beer would be so huge! We got into it at just the right time, and being near the NASCAR track and museum has been a boon for business. We named it Bump n’ Run Brewery, and our catch phrase is Celebrate the Checkers or Forget the Wreckers! In fact, we’re doing so well we’re looking into opening a second location in Daytona.”

  “That’s awesome,” Ben said. “My parents are down that way now.”

  “That’s right! I forgot your parents retired to Florida.”

  Ben nodded. “Well, it sounds great, man. I’m so happy for you. Your business degree and your first love have paid off.”

  “My first love?” Henry asked, looking puzzled.

  “Beer!” Ben teased.

  “Ha!” Henry laughed. “True that! The only trouble is the brewery takes me away from the family . . . and I swear those two kids conspire to drive Lindsey crazy.”

  Ben chuckled. “How old are they now?”

  “Ryan’s six and Chloe’s four. I don’t know where the time goes.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “How ’bout you guys? Are you still trying?”

  “Yes . . . and no. I mean, we did try again, but we lost the baby. Mace was crushed and I, well, at this point, I’m just numb. I feel like I’m always expecting bad news.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Ben nodded. “Thanks. I don’t know how much more heartbreak we can take. It’s changed Macey—the spark is gone from her eyes. She’s always been a take-the-bull-by-the-horns kind of girl, as you well know, but now she’s just going through the motions.”

  “Have you thought about adopting?”

  “Not really. I mean, I know there are a lot of kids who need homes, but I don’t know if we’re cut out for that. And now Mace’s got it in her head that she wants to adopt a dog.”

  “Well, that might take her mind off things . . . plus, you’d have a running partner.”

  “Yeah, no. The dog she has her heart set on only has three legs.”

  “Seriously? Wow! What happened?”

  “He had cancer and they had to amputate.”

  “What happened to his owner?”

  “Macey said he—or she—died, and the dog’s been in a shelter for two years.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like he’s not well and getting older, and if that’s the case, he might end up just adding to your heartache.”

  “That’s what I said, but you know Mace . . .”

  Henry laughed. “Yeah, you’re going to end up being parents to a three-legged dog.”

  “Probably,” Ben agreed.

  When they reached the lighthouse, Ben stopped to stretch his arch and Henry took advantage of the break to catch his breath. He looked around, recalling how much he and Ben had loved history when they were younger.
As boys, they’d explored every corner of Tybee Island, riding their bikes from Fort Pulaski at the mouth of the Savannah River all the way to the Tybee Island Light Station. They’d raced each other up the steps to take in the amazing view, and they’d listened raptly to the park ranger tell harrowing tales of life as a keeper of the oldest lighthouse in Georgia. They’d heard Mr. Danton’s spiel so many times, they’d known it by heart.

  As they stood there now, Henry wondered if he could still recite the whole thing. Smiling, he swept his arm dramatically across the landscape and solemnly began, “Tybee Island is a strip of land seventeen miles off the coast of Savannah. Native Americans—most notably, the Euchee—were the first to inhabit the area, fishing and navigating the pristine waterways in dugout canoes. The Euchee also gave the island its name: tybee, the Euchee word for ‘salt.’

  “In 1520, Spanish explorers arrived and claimed the island as their own. They changed the name to Los Bajos, and many years later, English settlers arrived and started to carve a colony out of the vast coastal wilderness. They named it Georgia—in honor of King George, and they named its first settlement city, Savannah.” As he said this, he bowed with a flourish, out of respect for the king, in a perfect imitation of Mr. Danton.

  Ben laughed. “But let’s not forget that for a long time Tybee Island was Georgia’s best-kept secret. It was only as the years passed that word of the island’s beauty spread, and it became a vacation destination. Now during peak months, shops, beaches, and restaurants are overrun with visitors.” He paused and smiled, and just like the old park ranger, when he regaled tourists with his slow Southern drawl, he finished with a wink: “But usually, by late September, Northerners have headed back where they belong, and life gets back to normal—it becomes quiet and peaceful, just the way we like it.”

  “Nice,” Henry said, nodding his approval. Then, he looked up at the lighthouse. “Race you to the top. . . .”

  Ben shook his head. “It’s nine bucks, and I don’t have my wallet.”

  “What? It used to be free!”

  “Nothing’s free anymore,” Ben said, trotting off.

  “That’s for sure,” Henry agreed, jogging after him.

  THE SUN WAS SETTING WHEN THEY GOT BACK. “THANKS FOR THE RUN . . . and the beer,” Ben said, gesturing to the six pack of Intimidator Black Lager Henry had retrieved from the fridge in the garage.

  “You’re welcome. I hope you like it. And when you come to the brewery, just hold up three fingers for Dale Earnhardt’s number”—Henry showed him the gesture—“And they’ll know what you’re asking for.”

  “Cute,” Ben said with a chuckle. “You headed back to Charlotte tonight?”

  “I am, but I’m having supper with my mom first. Ryan has soccer in the morning, and the brewery will be busy all weekend.”

  Ben nodded. “Let me know when you’ll be in town again.”

  “I will,” Henry said, shaking Ben’s hand. “I’d hug ya, but you’re all sweaty.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Don’t forget my singlet next time.”

  “I won’t. Good luck with the new dog. What’s his name?”

  “Keeper.”

  Henry nodded. “Meant to be.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Love ya, man,” Henry said, smiling. “That’s one thing I’ve learned . . .” he added, gesturing to the house. “Say how you feel, because you might not get the chance.”

  Ben nodded. “Love you, too, bro. Tell Lindz and your mom I said hello.”

  “You can come in and say hi yourself.”

  “Nah, I better head home.”

  “Okay,” Henry said, waving.

  Ben watched his friend climb the steps of the house that had been a second home to him when he was growing up. He felt he should go in and say hello to Mrs. Sanders, but he knew she would ask about Macey, and he would have to go through it all again, so he turned in the direction of the old Victorian, picking up his pace until he saw the single candle flickering in the window.

  21

  MACEY SMILED AS SHE WATCHED THE LITTLE GIRL WITH COPPER HAIR and cinnamon freckles reach for Cora’s hand. She looks like I did when I was little, she thought.

  “I’m a-comin’, honey, I’m a-comin’,” Cora said, propping her glasses on top of her head and gathering her things.

  “Hello, ladies,” Macey said, holding the door. “How’ve you been, Cora?”

  Cora squeezed Macey’s hand as she walked by. “I’m doing okay, but my friend Harper, here, had a pretty big scare th’other day.”

  “So I heard,” Macey said, her face shadowing over with concern. “How’re you feeling today, Harper?”

  “Okay,” the little girl answered with a shrug. “My chest doesn’t hurt.”

  “That’s good,” Macey said, squeezing her shoulder and feeling Harper pull slightly away—it was just enough for Macey to realize her touch wasn’t welcome.

  “Let’s see how much you weigh,” Macey said, stopping at a scale in the hallway. Harper stepped on and watched Macey slide the weights back and forth. “Sixty pounds . . . and”—she slid the measuring rule down on top of her head—“fifty-two inches.”

  “Four-foot-four,” Harper whispered, calculating in her head.

  “That’s right,” Macey said with a smile. “Are you a basketball player?”

  “No. Rudy and I play H-O-R-S-E sometimes, but that’s it.”

  “I bet you’re a good shot.”

  Harper shrugged, and Cora laughed. “She’s a better shot than my Frank!”

  “No, I’m not,” Harper countered, rolling her eyes. “Frank’s really good.”

  Cora sighed, shaking her head, and Macey laughed. “If you’re good at sports, it’s better to be modest—that way the other team is caught off guard.”

  Harper crossed her arms, rolled her eyes again, and didn’t reply. Macey chuckled to herself—Harper reminded her a little too much of herself. She continued down the hall to an open exam room and motioned for her to hop on the table. “So, Harper, when was the last time your chest hurt?”

  Harper shrugged and looking questioningly at Cora.

  “Only you know, baby.”

  “In the hospital, I guess.”

  Macey looked at Harper’s file again. “It says here you were released this morning. Does that mean it hurt this morning? Or yesterday? Or a few days ago?”

  “A few days ago.”

  Macey nodded as she typed the results of Harper’s temperature, pulse, and blood pressure into her laptop. “And how long have you been having these pains?” She looked up and noticed Harper’s eyes for the first time—they were the same beautiful color as Ben’s, except she had specks of gold flecking the blue around her pupils.

  Harper shrugged. “I dunno. Since I was seven? It’s been worse lately.”

  “Can you show me where it hurts?”

  “Right in the middle,” Harper said, pointing to her sternum.

  Macey nodded and looked at Cora. “Heather said there are no medical records, other than this file?”

  Cora sighed. “We know Harper was born in Atlanta, but I don’t know if they have anything up there.”

  “When’s your birthday, Harper?”

  “March first.”

  Macey tapped this last bit of information into her laptop and looked up. “All right. Dr. Hack will be right in. Always good to see you, Cora, and it was really nice meeting you, Harper.”

  She closed the door behind her, and then closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of the little girl with the potentially serious heart condition sitting bravely on the exam table. With some patients, she’d learned, it was better to not get emotionally involved. She had enough going on.

  She walked back to the staff room, took a sip of her coffee—now cold again—and sat down to finish her paperwork for the day. Just as she was gathering her things, Dr. Hack came in, looking dismayed.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe the
state doesn’t have any medical records—how was she even able to go to school?” He rubbed his eyes. “Melissa is making an appointment at Savannah Children’s Heart, and I told Cora that Harper needs to take it easy until she goes. I also told Cora to call nine-one-one immediately if the pains comes back.”

  Macey shook her head but didn’t say anything, and Dr. Hack looked over the file again. “I think she may’ve had undiagnosed strep at some point and ended up with rheumatic fever—without her medical records we’ll never know, but that seems the most likely cause.”

  Macey nodded, her heart suddenly aching for the little girl. “I wish there was more I could do to help. Please let me know if you need me.”

  Dr. Hack looked up from the file. “We always need you, Mace,” he teased, “but you can head home.” He smiled. “Have a good weekend.”

  “You, too,” she said, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. She said good night to Melissa and went out into the cool autumn air. As she walked across the parking lot, she noticed Harper swinging Cora’s hand as they walked toward their car.

  “Lord, please take care of that little girl,” she whispered. “If anyone needs you, she does.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Macey pulled into her driveway and saw all the lights on. She frowned, trying to remember what Ben had said he was doing that night. He’d mentioned Henry, but she’d been so preoccupied that morning, she’d only half listened.

  “Hey,” she said, coming into the kitchen. “I didn’t expect you home. What smells so good?”

  Ben turned, his hair still wet from showering. “Supper—isn’t that what you always say?” He smiled, too, as she leaned up to kiss him.

  “And you smell good, too.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

  “What are you making?” she asked, lifting the lid of the pan and releasing a cloud of steam.

  “Sausage and peppers.”

  “Do we have rolls?” she asked, reaching for his beer.

  “We do,” he said, watching her take a sip.

  “I thought you were doing something with Henry tonight.”