Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  Caro winds an arm around my waist, sensing I might need a bit of propping up.

  ‘The last time?’ I ask.

  ‘Correct. The group won’t be the same after today.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Us four – the team that’s left from the Straya Tour – we’ll be five tomorrow.’

  ‘A new resident is moving in!’ says Iggy.

  ‘To House 4,’ adds Dale.

  Iggy nods. ‘That’s right. A stranger. Someone we’ve never met before. So we wanted to make today special. Just for us.’

  I scan the group and swallow hard. ‘Man, I love you guys.’ Faces beam. Eyes glint. ‘Here’s to us. The last time.’

  Kelvin clears his throat. ‘Okay, this is supposed to be a party, not a Harlequin romance. Let’s get it started!’

  Bernie launches into the P!nk song and disappears into the storeroom. She returns dragging the Bauer bags. ‘Floor hockey, my fellow Freetards?’

  For almost an hour, we play three on three with scorers being subbed out. Then I throw on the goalie gear for one last shootout. I get beat glove-side, blocker, five-hole; not all of them are whiffs. Quite a few are quality shots. The team’s improved a tonne since the first session. And the progress will continue – Bernie says lunchtime floor hockey games will start soon. Peer-to-peer training of the other residents is in the works. Iggy adds that he wants to learn the art of goaltending and take ownership of the equipment. Making saves like a superhero, like Infecto. He’s all over that.

  As we pack up the bags, Kelvin brings a cake out on a cart. It’s in the shape of Australia. In the centre are two fondant figures – a bottle of Bundaberg rum and a bottle of Coke. The writing on the cake says A Good Time, Not A Long Time.

  ‘Rowan put it together,’ says Kelvin. ‘His dad dropped it off last night. He assured me there’s no rum in it.’

  We slice it up and hand it around. I’m face-deep in a second helping of south-east Queensland when Caro touches me on the shoulder.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re all pale and sweaty.’

  ‘The guys were awesome in that game. Got my heart going, for sure.’

  ‘They seem to be pretty good at that.’ Caro smiles. ‘I’m heading off now. I need time to make myself gorgeous for tonight.’

  ‘Two minutes is all you need.’

  ‘You’re sweet,’ she says, brushing away the crumbs I sprayed on her shirt. ‘You want to come?’

  I look around The Shed, then at the walkway leading to the outside. ‘Think I’ll stick around. Just for a bit longer.’

  Caro nods and we kiss.

  Dale fires up the iPad. ‘AWW YEAH!’

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ she says, placing her hand on my cheek. ‘Don’t make me come and get you.’

  The Creative Arts Precinct, the Digital Media Centre, the Agriculture Precinct, the Rec Refuge, the Recycling Depot, the Kitchen, the Cafeteria. I imagine each one lifted up, carried across the ocean and set down on the Chilliwack land. I see Evie looking them over. Though I can’t hear her voice, I know she would want changes. Nicer plants. Bigger chairs. Wooden floors out, thick carpet in. Less white. More ruby red. I can actually visualise her as a resident, too. I think it’s because the Coyote’s gone. Or because the sign at the front entrance would bear her name. Or because she would be right at home among the Bernies and the Florences and the Iggys and the Dales living there. I don’t know. Maybe all of the above.

  At the central intersection of Fair Go, signs pointing the separate ways, Bernie breaks the silence. ‘Is there anywhere else you want to go, Munro?’

  I look towards House 4, with its palm trees and its welcome mat and its long windows. The small patio out front and the gentle ramp down the side. ‘One more thing.’

  I haven’t seen the place since my overnight stay. It’s alive again. The dust is gone. The air has a lemony scent. Everything from floor to ceiling has been given a scrub. Scuffs and marks and old fingerprints have vanished; in their place are bright patterns and gleaming surfaces. A fish tank with four residents sits on the sideboard.

  ‘Looks like it’s ready,’ I say.

  Bernie nods. ‘We are, too.’

  ‘Freetard cap on the hatstand? Nice.’

  ‘I thought it would be a good welcoming present. You think so?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  The front door creaks. Soft, swishy footsteps float down the hall.

  I look at the others, brow crinkled. ‘It’s just us, Kelvin. Don’t worry – we’re not messing up the place. Kelvin?’

  ‘Who you talkin’ to?’ asks Florence.

  ‘You all right?’ adds Iggy. ‘You don’t look so good.’

  I breathe through dry lips. I don’t count. I look around House 4. It’s suddenly different. Far away. Off in the distance. Blurred background for the surprise visitor.

  ‘Evie?’ I whisper.

  My head dips. It stays down, my short-circuiting eyes staring at my sternum. A grunt pushes out of my mouth. My heart is in a vice. I feel shooting pain in my hand. My left, not my right. My feet crumble. I fall.

  Evie kneels beside me. She’s just as I hoped she’d be. Ski-jump nose. Pixie ears. Big tongue. Eyes the colour of Kalamalka Lake. The ribbon in her Caramilk hair is ruby red, same colour as her lips.

  She listens for breathing.

  She checks for a pulse.

  She starts to press on my chest.

  THE END

  Are you there?

  Yes.

  I can’t see you now.

  No. But you can hear me.

  Is it really you, Evie?

  It’s me.

  Not the Coyote?

  The Coyote is gone, Munro.

  Where’s the team? Are they okay?

  They’re fine.

  You sure?

  Cross my heart, hope to die.

  Not funny. Where are we?

  You’re here.

  Where’s here?

  Where you are now.

  I don’t like it here.

  I figured.

  I’m supposed to be meeting up with Caro. It’s our one monthiversary. She’ll be waiting. I have to go.

  You can’t.

  Why not?

  Because you need to stay.

  For how long?

  Until you get better.

  This is bullshit, Evie. I got better already. Now I have to do it again?

  Sometimes, Life takes on a life of its own.

  You heard Kelvin say that.

  No, I heard you say that.

  I don’t want to die, Evie.

  Everyone has to die.

  I mean, I don’t want to die now.

  I know.

  The Coyote’s probably waiting for me.

  Things are different now, Munro. You can hear me. If he tries to mess with you again, I’ll give him the Kookaburra Laugh.

  Yeah?

  Of course! Someone has to watch out for you.

  True dat.

  Okay, I have to go now, but I have a present for you. It’s next to you. Do you like it?

  Another squirrel tie?

  No, it’s the one I gave you for grad. You should put it on tonight for Caro.

  But you said I can’t leave here!

  Just take it, okay?

  Thank you, Evie.

  You’re welcome.

  Hey, Evie?

  Yes?

  I’m sorry I let you go.

  You didn’t.

  I’m not talking about when I was teaching you to ride a bike.

  Neither am I.

  I’m so sorry, Evie.

  Don’t be. I’m glad we were together then. I’m glad we’re together now.

  Talk to you soon, little sister.

  Right back atcha, big brother.

  I love you.

  I love you, too.

  Goodbye.

  REST IN PEACE

  ‘Hello.’

  I open my eyes a fraction.
The light muscles in, grinding on my vision like sandpaper. I blink double time.

  ‘You were away for a bit there.’

  The scene softens. Watery blurs begin to take shape and find definition. I’m in a bed. A machine with numbers and graphs stands to my right. Under it are white boxes and blue bins. To my left are tubes, thick and thin, going up, going down. One tracks into my nose, another into my arm. Wires are stuck to my chest.

  ‘So glad to have you back.’

  Anxious faces surround me. The Hydes. Caro. Kelvin.

  My team.

  I dig my elbows into the mattress and attempt to shift. A volcano erupts in my chest.

  ‘Whoa there, champ,’ says Kelvin. ‘You gotta take it easy.’

  I try to speak, but the words are too brittle to come out in one piece. Dale pushes through to the edge of the bed. He hands me his iPad. I touch the screen. Each movement is like a match being struck on my ribs.

  ‘You’re all here,’ I type.

  Kelvin hikes a thumb over his shoulder. ‘They told us only two at a time, but we told them to get stuffed. Then they told us visitors limited to family. We told them we are the family until your folks arrive. And to get stuffed.’

  ‘Parents.’

  Nina steps forward. ‘They’re on their way, Munro. Flight lands in a few hours. Geordie’s going to pick them up and bring them straight to the hospital. They’re staying with us.’ She begins to well up. Geordie pulls her close. ‘They know you’re okay, Munro.’

  ‘I fell.’

  Kelvin surveys the others, then nods. ‘You collapsed. Doc gave us the story. Your heart’s a bit out of whack.’

  ‘A hole?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Is there a hole in my heart?’

  ‘No, no hole. Doc thinks your heart may have sustained some damage a while back. Stopped it pumping properly. You had any chest pains, shortness of breath, light-headedness, that sort of stuff?’

  ‘Only the last fifteen months.’

  ‘Well, that’s probably how long you’ve had a heart problem. Doc called it some fancy name. Hyper-active, hyperbolic … cardio-something-or-other.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘It’s okay. Thanks to our mate Iggy and his first-aid skills, you got the jump-start you needed. And it’s not a permanent thing. Doc said it’s treatable. Things will go back to normal.’

  I take a deep breath. Not a good idea. ‘Iggy did CPR?’

  Florence releases Iggy’s hand and urges him forward.

  ‘You saved my life, Ig. You’re incredible.’

  He blushes and puffs out his chest. Then he gets into a stance. ‘I’m a good goaltender.’

  Tired laughter flits through the room. Rowan speaks as it dies away. ‘I brought you something. Caro suggested I get it from home and bring it here.’ He points at the safety bar by my right hand. I scrabble around, grab the object hanging on the bar. With gritted teeth, I bring it up to my eyeline.

  The squirrel tie.

  ‘Put it on me.’

  ‘You think that’s wise?’ asks Rowan.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Okay then. Promise I’ll be really gentle.’

  ‘Not you. Caro.’

  Rowan huffs. ‘Typical.’

  He hands over the tie. Caro’s different from this morning, different from any other time I’ve seen her. Her hair is pulled back into a long braid. The black wristbands are gone. Her nails are bright yellow. She’s a sight for sore eyes. And hearts. Caro leans in and presses her cheek to mine. She cradles the back of my head in her hand.

  ‘You made me come and get you,’ she whispers.

  She kisses me and withdraws. The tie is looped around my neck and laid out on my upper body, covering the wires on my chest.

  Kelvin raises a hand. ‘Um, Munro, the residents have asked for five minutes alone with you. Is that cool?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Hydes exit, pledging to be ‘back in a tick’. Kelvin is on his phone before he reaches the door. Caro squeezes my right hand and follows him out. There’s a minor commotion outside the room and down the hall. The door shuts and quiet resumes.

  ‘Noise?’

  ‘People from your school,’ says Bernie. ‘A few teachers, some students. They asked me how you were feeling.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told them you are feeling like a Freetard. Then I told them where they could get my exclusive Freetard shirts and hats.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  The foursome moves closer, crowding the bed. They look beat but not freaked. Tough buggers. I offer Dale his iPad. He gestures for me to keep using it.

  ‘So glad you’re here.’

  ‘The hospital wanted us to talk to a counsellor,’ says Iggy. ‘I said I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘You’re in a lot of pain,’ he adds.

  ‘I can handle it.’

  ‘I drew a picture of Infecto for you while you were sleeping.’ He holds up the sketch and shoves it in my face. ‘I made the outfit just like you said at South Bank. Skin-tight yellow suit. Cape made of wipes. I did the skull and crossbones instead of a Petri dish – I like that better. And she’s got the platinum mask with the germs on it.’

  ‘I thought Infecto was a guy?’

  ‘I changed him to a girl.’

  ‘She looks like somebody we know.’

  I turn my head towards Florence. She’s standing at the foot of the bed. Her pose matches Iggy’s drawing – legs apart, arms folded.

  ‘Thumb wrestle.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Right hand. Right now.’

  Florence smirks and cracks her knuckles. ‘Finally! I thought you were just gunna lie there all day.’

  ‘Before you do that and get crushed, Munro,’ says Bernie, ‘we need to vote. Actually, you need to vote.’ She pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. ‘We didn’t know your heart was sick. We would’ve skipped the floor hockey. Or told Caro to take you to Emergency. Or called the ambulance instead of eating cake. It would be great if we could have a do-over, but we can’t. Do-over – that’s one of your Canadian words, isn’t it?’

  I start working the iPad. Bernie holds up her hand. ‘S’ is for Stop.

  ‘You may never want to think about how your heart stopped today,’ she says. ‘Because of that, you might not want to see us again. Or hear from us or talk to us. You might want to leave and never come back. And we would be sad if you did. But we have lots of great memories. So, there is a question we have to ask. And you need to vote “yes” or “no”.’

  Bernie looks to the others. They nod in agreement.

  ‘Do you still want to be our Living Partner?’

  I scan the hopeful faces, then type. ‘To make the right choice, I must listen to the voice inside my head.’

  ‘What’s it saying?’ asks Iggy.

  I tap the screen. ‘HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO HELL NO.’

  I bring my right hand up to my chest. Despite the agony, laughs come. Real ones, not programmed from the iPad.

  ‘Actually, we were just being nice,’ says Bernie. ‘You don’t get a vote.’ She gives me a gentle fist-bump. Three more fist-bumps follow. ‘Okay, then,’ she adds, ‘we should go now because you probably need to sleep again.’ She turns to Florence. ‘Don’t worry – you can crush Munro in the morning.’

  ‘Morning?’

  ‘We’re ditching,’ says Iggy.

  I gingerly lift my arm and wag a finger. I go to hand the iPad back to Dale. He leans over, types and stabs the screen: ‘Keep it until you can talk again. I’ve got another.’

  The team says one last goodbye, waves, then exits. Before the door can shut behind them, a nurse bustles in. He’s tanned and blond and has biceps like bowling balls. He looks like Whistler material.

  ‘You’re awake, Munro!’ he says.

  ‘Only just.’

  ‘You got a vocal aid there? Nice!’ He takes a clo
ser look. I read his name tag.

  ‘You gotta be shitting me.’

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Your name is Wiley?’

  ‘Yep. Grant Wiley, Super Nurse.’

  ‘Wiley. As in Coyote.’

  ‘Spot-on. That was actually my nickname in high school.’ Grant Wiley checks my pulse, takes my blood pressure. After some chart scribbling, he folds his bulky arms and smiles. ‘Not bad, young fella. Now, you feeling chilly at all? Need an extra blanket or two?’

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Righto. I probably don’t need to tell you to take it easy, but … no star jumps, no one-arm push-ups. No bench pressing the bed.’

  ‘I’ll resist the urge.’

  ‘Right on. It’s going to take you a little while to feel like yourself again, Munro. You’ll need to stick around here for a bit, get better. Just until you’re good enough to go home.’ Grant Wiley claps his hands once. ‘Sound like a plan?’

  I turn off the iPad and open my mouth. My voice is weak and scratchy, but it’s definitely mine. ‘I can do that.’

  Visiting hours are done. My family has left for the night. Grant Wiley is checking on other patients. It’s my room now. My place of rest.

  Sleep is calling. My eyelids are heavy. The room is already unconscious; only the quiet hum of the machines and shallow huff of the tubes remain. As I start to drift, an object on the windowsill makes a final impression: my koala buddy. I don’t remember anyone saying they brought him to the hospital. And I don’t remember anyone admitting they put a ruby-red ribbon in his oustretched arms. Maybe my eyes are playing a trick on me. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there.

  That’s okay. My hearing is just fine.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The writing of this tale was, at times, Faint of Heart. Fortunately, I had a lot of great family, friends, colleagues and Google searches in my corner. I’d like to thank my beautiful wife and first reader, Wend; my wondrous twins, Chloe and Jared; the Groths; the Frasers; my peerless, fearless editor, Sarah Harvey, and the Orca team; my splendid Oz publisher, Zoe Walton, and the Penguin Random House gang; my invaluable agents, Tara Wynne and John Pearce; Aaron Cully Drake; the ‘End Crew’ of Patrick, Lauren and Julie; Youngcare; Bittersweet Farms; 2011 flood hero Chris Skehan; and all the young, special people I ever had the privilege of teaching.