by Amie Knight
I stepped off and into an office that looked beyond nice. My palms sweated. I was wearing too big gray sweats and my hair was in a knot at the top of my head. I didn’t have a stitch of makeup on. I probably should have dressed for the occasion, but honestly I didn’t expect much to come of this. All I had was hope. And you couldn’t put hope in a dress or make her up. You couldn’t fake hope. She was real and deep and there I was, huge and messy and sad, and praying for something big to happen. Me and hope.
A woman who looked to be in her fifties slid open a glass partition at the front of the room and leaned out of it a bit. She was put together, well dressed, blond hair sprinkled with gray, bun firmly in place, lipstick deep red and perfectly applied. She looked me up and down. “Can I help you?”
God, I needed help, but she couldn’t help me. Only one man could.
“I’m here to see Dr. Anthony Jackson.” I lifted my chin and prayed she couldn’t hear the nerves in my voice.
Her brow furrowed as she checked a computer in front of her. “Do you have an appointment?”
I shook my head and shuffled my feet a little. “No.”
She looked up at me, eyebrows raised.
“I’m a friend,” I tossed out there. “I’m passing through town and thought I’d stop by.”
God, I was a liar and a cusser. I patted my belly.
Good luck with me as your momma, little one.
She looked me up and down again and pursed her lips. She didn’t believe me and rightly so because I was lying through my teeth. I hadn’t spoken to Anthony Jackson in over ten years. We were not friends. I wasn’t just passing through town. If things worked out the way I wanted them to, I would move here. I would start a new life with my daughter here. And Dr. Jackson would be the one to save her. Save us.
“I’m sorry, but he’s gone for the day. I’m sure since you’re friends you can contact him on his cell phone?” Her eyebrow hitched up and her lips puckered knowingly.
My whole body deflated. I’d missed him. And I sure as hell didn’t have a cell phone number. I’d have to do this again tomorrow. I nodded at the woman and turned on my heel and left the office, making my way to my piece of shit car.
I wouldn’t give up. I’d find a place to stay tonight, and I’d be here early in the morning so I could catch him as he was going into the office. I’d swallow my pride yet another day.
Me, baby girl, and hope would be back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that until I’d gotten what I’d come for.
The heart is exquisite. Other doctors might tell you different. An ophthalmologist may say it’s all in the eyes. And the eyes, they are beautiful. A dermatologist will preach how the skin is the largest organ of the body. A neurologist will tell you how damn fascinating the brain is. And while all of those doctors have very valid points, nothing is as magnificent as the heart.
The heart starts beating merely four weeks after conception, long before the formation of skin and way before the eyes develop. And most certainly before the brain matures. The heart beats on average one hundred thousand times a day and pumps nearly one million barrels of blood during an average lifetime. It does more physical work than any other muscle during that lifetime.
The heart is what the kids call freaking cool.
You’ll never hear anyone become increasingly verbose over an organ quite like they do the heart. A place where you store your memories. The spot in your chest so big it can hold every ounce of your love. The only organ that can “break” and still keep beating. If you’re lost in the world? What’s the old saying? Follow your heart. And when your love for someone is unwavering, unparalleled, and unprecedented, what do you give them? Ah. That’s right. Your heart.
Yes, the heart is amazing, indeed. And everyone knows it.
It is somehow both strong and yet unfailingly delicate.
It’s the leading killer of both women and men.
And nearly one in every one hundred babies is born with a congenital heart defect.
The heart giveth life.
It taketh away.
And I knew that better than anyone.
It was early as hell, but it didn’t matter, really. I’d hardly slept a wink anyway. I’d spent the night tossing and turning on that lumpy bed in the cheap ass motel room only a few blocks from the hospital. I was a ball of worry. I had a feeling that worrying was pretty much all that moms did. I had a lifetime of this coming to me, I hoped. It sucked.
I wasn’t hungry, but I ate breakfast anyway. After all, I wasn’t eating for just me anymore. I squeezed myself into my too small coat and got into my car. The drive to the hospital was impossibly long for such a short drive. Small snow drifts peppered the side of the road. I fiddled with the radio more times than I could count on the less than five-minute drive there. I told myself it didn’t matter what Anthony Jackson thought of me, but I couldn’t help but be nervous.
Daylight hadn’t even come, but there I sat in the parking lot with my car running to keep me warm. Still, I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. The bouncing of my leg rocked the vehicle a little, offering me some small comfort. The sun finally made its appearance as a black Lexus pulled into the parking lot.
It figured he’d appear with the sun. Hilarious, God. You’re so funny.
And my stupid heart, it leapt in my chest. That should have made me anxious, but all it did was remind me of another heart. One that was inside me, too, but below my own. One that was way more important than mine. So, I pushed out of my car and made my way toward the Lexus with the kind of determination in my step I only felt when I was behind a set of drums. I’d have to remind myself of that feeling a lot over the next couple of months. I’d need to conjure it up time and time again to get through the coming times.
The black car door opened long before I could waddle my way over to it and a blond giant of a man unfolded himself from the vehicle with the kind of grace I’d never had. Not even when I was thirty pounds lighter and a hell of a lot cooler. I paused on the sidewalk. I could only see the side of his face, but nonetheless I knew it was him. He was bigger. His shoulders broader. His hair a little darker. His chin more square, but there he stood, the sun over him just like the golden Greek God I remembered. He turned and started toward the building, and for some reason I became frantic. Worry filled me that I’d never have this moment again. I rushed forward.
Before I could stop myself I yelled out, “Dr. Jackson!” When he didn’t immediately turn I panicked, shouting, “Anthony! Anthony Jackson!”
He turned around just as I came up on him, nearly barreling him over. I stopped precious inches from his body and looked up and up some more because Anthony, he was an unbelievably tall man. At least six feet five inches. And I was itty bitty, in height anyway.
I stepped back, embarrassed at how close we were, and took in his green eyes, remembering they somehow seemed magical that one night we’d had together.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed out, feeling the need to explain, but also realizing I was out of breath from trying to catch up to him.
Those green eyes stared down at me, piercing me, splitting me wide-open because they didn’t smile. They didn’t say that he remembered our night or even me. They just seemed hard and confounded and mostly impatient.
“I don’t mean to take your time. You probably don’t remember me. I’m K—”
“I know who you are,” his deep voice interrupted, sharp and to the point.
I looked down, embarrassed at having nearly tackled him in the parking lot and ashamed that while I’d been nervous but excited to see him, he seemed aloof and ready for our meeting to be over. I felt my hackles rise as my eyes did. I took in his shiny, fancy shoes and black slacks. I got to the light blue dress shirt and was shocked to see he had on a green bow tie with light blue polka dots.
My eyebrows rose, and my smart ass mouth couldn’t stop itself “Nice tie.”
I mentally rolled my eyes. I’d never been able to shut my mouth, not even w
hen I was supposed to be full of grace and kissing ass.
He arched an eyebrow down at me. “The kids like it.”
I nodded and felt like a complete ass.
Of course they did. And I was a bitch.
This time he cleared his throat. “Is there something you needed, Ms. Potter?”
Ms. Potter?
Ms. Potter?!
If he remembered me, which he obviously did since he threw out my last name easily enough, then he should remember I was never Ms. Potter to him. Kelly? Yes. Baby? For sure. As in “Come for me, baby. Right now.” It grated on me. This Ms. Potter business. For some reason it pissed me off. The whole thing. The fact that he made me like him entirely too much that one night ten years ago. The way he ended things the next morning. Yeah, that pissed me off, too. Really bad. But what really chapped my ass most of all was how his pompous, unfeeling, Ms. Potter calling ass was behaving right now. And my ass hadn’t been chapped in a long damn time. It was foreign, this passionate feeling of being so angry at someone. It almost felt good.
I tilted my chin up at him and stepped closer, feeling like I was on fire. For the first time in months, I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t worried. I was fucking angry.
“Ms. Potter, huh?” I spat at him as his eyes widened.
I thumped that ridiculous bow tie he was wearing “for the kids” and said as close to his face as I could with his height and mine, “I think you can call me Kelly, Anthony. You know, considering you’ve seen my lady bits and all. Come to think of it, you’ve more than seen them, you’ve tasted th—”
“Okay,” he said, backing away a step and running his hands through his hair grumpily. My Anthony had never run his hands through his hair like that. He’d been fun and carefree and sweet.
“I get it…Kelly.” He ground out my name and I smiled, glad I’d made him as uncomfortable as he’d made me.
Baby girl did a somersault I couldn’t ignore, and I immediately placed my hand over the bump covered by my coat. Anthony’s eyes tracked my movements and the exact second I laid my hand to my pregnant stomach, the shock registered on his face followed by a bit of softening that made me the opposite of angry.
His head fell forward, and he let out a long breath that had me holding mine. His eyes met mine again, and he ran a large hand through that angelic dirty-blond hair again. He said nothing, but his eyes were brimming with questions.
I had the answer. “You,” I whispered.
His brows furrowed. “Me?” He angled a long finger at himself.
“You,” I said louder this time. “When I typed in Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome, your name came up in all of the search engines on the amazing inter-web.” My words felt stuck in my throat, too thick and hard to say, but I pushed on. “It almost seemed like a joke, or maybe if you were a person who believed in fate, like some kind of destiny that was written in the wind.” I huffed out a sarcastic laugh. No, I didn’t believe in fate or destiny; those things wouldn’t make my baby girl better. I wasn’t leaving her life up to some divine intervention. I was here, instead, begging for her life.
“It’s what you do and it’s what my baby needs for a fighting chance. A series of three surgeries over the next few years that could save her life, and from what I understand, you’ve trained under the best doctors around here to do these surgeries.”
Yes, as soon as I’d found what was wrong with my baby, I’d done what any other crazy ass grief-stricken mother does. I’d scoured the web for hours, bound and determined to learn as much as I could about the heart defect my baby would be born with. I was more than surprised to learn that yes, Anthony had become a heart doctor. A pediatric heart surgeon that specialized in exactly what my baby needed. Fucking Fate. She was a sick and twisted, sometimes cruel bitch. But, I was hoping against all hopes that this time, she was on my side.
Siphoning every bit of courage I could from the cold air around us, I breathed deeply in before starting, “I don’t have any money. I don’t even have a place to live, but none of that matters but this baby girl. None of it.” I slashed my hand across the air in front of me.
Half of his mouth hitched up in an almost smile. “A girl?”
“Yep. Me and baby girl. We’re a team. And we’re gonna do this thing. With or without you, but I hope it’s with you because I hear you’re good and I need someone who can deliver a miracle.” My lips trembled as I said the words and I covered them with the tips of my fingers.
He held up a hand, staving me off. “Of course I’ll help you.”
I rocked back on my heels. “You will?” I couldn’t quite believe it was that easy. I hadn’t told him everything. I had a whole speech prepared. And he said yes just like that?
“I don’t have insurance. Just Medicaid and I can’t trust that Medicaid is going to give me the best, but you, you’re the best. I trust you.”
He leaned over and grabbed my hand. “I said I’d do it. I’ll do anything I can to help you and your baby girl.”
Relief settled in my chest like a soothing balm and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I used shaking hands to push the hair out of my face that had come loose from my ponytail. Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes and over my cheeks, but I couldn’t let them. I had to be strong. For me and her. Weeping wasn’t an option. Being fearless and brave was my only choice.
So I choked out the next words, feeling more than I could say. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t, it’s fine, but I have a full docket today and I don’t like to be late for my little people. Can I get you to come in tomorrow? Where are you staying? Maybe I can come by there after work?”
“Oh.” I didn’t want to tell him I’d stayed at that shitty motel less than a mile away. I looked around, praying for some interruption. I turned and noticed people pulling into the parking lot.
A black BMW pulled up next to us, and the lady from Anthony’s office from the day before got out of the car, studying me and my baby bump a little too close for comfort. Anthony gave her a pointed stare and she turned away, abruptly making her way into the building.
“Kelly,” he said, pulling my eyes away from the lady and back to his. “Where are you staying?”
I fidgeted with my coat.
“I’m staying at the hotel with the blue roof a few blocks away.” I looked away. For some reason I knew he wouldn’t like that, and I didn’t want to see the judgement in his eyes.
His hands went back to his hair, and I had the feeling he wasn’t about to say anything good.
“You can’t stay there again.”
My eyes snapped back to his. He couldn’t tell me where to stay. He needed to keep his opinions to himself and by opinions, I meant everything he ever thought about me and what I should do.
I rolled my eyes and gave my lips a smack for effect. “I can stay wherever I like. Believe it or not, I’ve stayed in far worse places, and I’m just fine. And besides, it’s what I can afford. Not everyone is rolling in the dough, Dr. Jackson.” That was a lie. I’d stayed in places just as bad, but I didn’t think it got much worse.
I wasn’t being nice. I was hitting below the belt. I shouldn’t have brought up money. It was rude and mean, and even though I was being petty because he’d succeeded at his dream and I’d failed at mine, I couldn’t stop myself.
He stood straighter and taller and reached his hand out, wrapping his elegant fingers around my wrist. “Listen, Ms. Potter,” he said my name with snark, clearly proving a point that he could call me whatever the hell he wanted to call me as long as he called me. And wasn’t that the damn truth. I needed him. He didn’t need me.
“You won’t be staying in that hotel tonight. It’s not safe. You’re an old friend, and I would never permit a friend to stay at that shithole.”
I was confused. I was an old friend? Was that what he considered me? It sure didn’t seem like I was, considering how our one hell of a one-night stand ended. It had felt like it that night, bu
t the next morning had sure been one heck of a wakeup call.
He let go of my wrist and fished around in his ridiculously expensive slacks. “Lucky for you, I’m working an overnight at the hospital tonight, so you can stay at my place.” He held out a set of keys, and I took a step back.
Nope. Just nope. I might have been poor and needy, but I sure didn’t want him giving me any more handouts than he already was. I was already asking too much of him. I couldn’t let him give me a place to stay, too.
He jangled the keys in front of me, and my eyes widened in horror. What in the hell was going on? I didn’t even think this beautiful, successful man had remembered me and now he was trying to give me the keys to his house.
“Wipe that crazy look off your face, Ms. Potter, and take the keys. It’s only for one night until we find more suitable accommodations for you.”
Taking another step back, I shook my head, but he took a giant step forward. And let me tell you, for every five steps of mine, he probably would only have to take one. It didn’t take long for him to catch up to me and grab my hand again, this time turning my palm up and placing those damn keys right in the center, using his other hand to curl my fingers around them.
“You’ll stay at my place tonight and you won’t give me any more shit about it. This conversation is over.”
He rattled off an address and told me he’d be in touch while I stood here shocked. And I was hardly ever shocked. I was the shocker. Not the shockee, damn it. It took a lot to surprise a girl who’d been on the road for ten years with a rock band. He turned on his heel and marched toward the medical building like he was king of the fucking world, his pricey shoes clacking against the pavement, his swagger unbelievably cocksure. King of the fucking world in a ridiculous bow tie. And he still looked good. Shit.
That Night Ten Years Ago
