Heart Failure

by Richard L Mabry

  “You say you love me, yet you hid your past from me. It took a shooting to change your mind. That doesn’t sound like love to me.”

  Adam felt like one of the early Christians, the ones whose limbs were tied to horses that literally pulled them apart. “I admit it. I’ve put off doing this. I was afraid, because telling you who I am . . .” He took a deep breath, then another. There was a catch in his voice when he spoke again. “I love you, Carrie. More than I’ve loved anyone in my life.”

  Carrie hugged herself like a woman trapped in a deep freeze. “So what happened tonight? Was someone trying to kill you?”

  “I can’t be totally sure. Maybe someone’s found me, maybe it was a random drive-by shooting. But I know one thing for sure. If my true identity gets out, even in the most innocent fashion, Charlie DeLuca will find me and try to kill me . . . and you too, once he discovers that I love you.”

  Carrie’s expression shifted from puzzled to terrified. “So just being with you puts my life in danger?” She almost whispered the next words. “How could you do this to me? Were you using me? Did being part of a couple let you blend in to the population?”

  “No! Absolutely not.”

  Carrie turned away from him and stared at the opposite wall. “What are you going to do next?”

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll call the police and tell them I found my car parked at the curb with three bullet holes in the windshield. I’ll do my best to make them believe this was a case of malicious mischief. I can’t have them digging too deeply into my identity. Because if they do, I might as well pack up and get out of town.”

  Her back still to Adam, Carrie said, “What if the police want to talk to me about the shooting?”

  “They won’t. Not if I tell it the way I’ve described.” Adam rose and began pacing. “Believe me, more than anything I want to keep you out of this.”

  Carrie spun to face Adam. When she spoke, her tone was cold. “I think you’d better go.”

  Adam stood, then stopped. “Carrie, I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked directly into Carrie’s eyes. “I meant the things I said when I proposed. I still mean them. I love you.”

  For Adam time froze as Carrie stared, first at him, then at the ring on her finger, then back at him. Finally she put both hands in front of her, and Adam’s heart dropped when he saw the twisting motion she made.

  “Carrie, please don’t—”

  She took two steps toward him and held out her hand, the engagement ring in her open palm. “I don’t know what to think right now. But it doesn’t seem right for me to keep wearing this. I don’t know whether I love you, or fear you, or feel sorry for you, or . . . I don’t know.” She shook her head. Tears streaked her cheeks.

  Adam took the ring and noticed that her hand, like his, was trembling. He couldn’t let it end this way. He had to make it right. “Carrie, please, we need to talk again. Will you call me?”

  “I don’t know.” Carrie shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Carrie listened to the hum of the motor as the garage door closed. She wasn’t sure whether it was closing a chapter in her life or opening the door to an entirely different one. She was tempted to go to the window and peep through the blinds to watch Adam drive away. Maybe she should do that, a visual punctuation mark to the end of their relationship. But she wasn’t sure she wanted it to end. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

  She took out her cell phone and punched in a number she knew like her own. It was late, but she needed to talk with someone. No, not just someone—to Julie.

  The phone rang four times before a sleepy female voice said, “Yates residence.”

  “Julie, it’s Carrie. I’m so sorry for calling—”

  The voice dropped to a whisper. “No problem. Let me take this into the living room. I don’t want to wake Barry.”

  Carrie had been pacing when she placed the call. Now she slumped into an easy chair and dangled her legs over the arm, unconsciously assuming the posture she’d taken so many years ago when she was a high school student chatting on the phone for hours on end with her best friend.

  “Okay, now I can talk,” Julie said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I had to talk with someone. I was almost killed tonight.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just shaken.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone shot at the car where Adam and I were sitting. They missed, but my world’s been turned upside down.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Julie said. “I mean, having someone take a shot at you—”

  “There’s more. It’s Adam. He’s not the person I thought he was.”

  Who did I think he was? Carrie thought back to her first meeting with Adam, and it made her heart ache. A little more than eight months earlier, she was talking with friends in the foyer after church when a man she knew slightly approached. “Excuse me, Carrie. This is Adam. He’s new in town, and I’m trying to introduce him around.”

  The man called Adam was prototypically “tall, dark, and handsome”: a bit over six feet tall, olive complexion, brown hair with a slight wave, guileless gray eyes. He told her his name was Adam Davidson. He was a paralegal, recently out of a messy divorce, looking to start over in a new location. They exchanged handshakes and phone numbers, and Carrie forgot about it until he called the next day . . . and the next. Finally she agreed to show him around town. Then they had lunch at a restaurant she liked. Lunches led to dinners, and soon Carrie realized she was no longer a tour guide. She and Adam were dating—and getting more serious with each date.

  During that time he was never anything but attentive, charming, and apparently taken with her. And she’d felt the same way. He listened to her talk about her late husband. She cried on his shoulder. And she experienced something she never thought she’d have again—love.

  Carrie forced herself back to the present. “I don’t know if I should tell you . . .” She snatched a deep breath, afraid for Adam, yet feeling the desperate need for her friend’s assurances.

  “What is it? This sounds ominous.”

  “You have to promise not to tell a soul, not even Barry.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Carrie tightened her grip on the phone. “I’ve already told you that someone took a shot at Adam’s car after we left the last show at the movies. Well, Adam refused to call the police to report it. When I pressed him, he told me his real name wasn’t Adam Davidson. He’s on the run—not from the law but from what he calls bad men. And it’s critical that his true identity be kept a secret.”

  “He called them bad men. So does that make him a good man?” Julie asked.

  “I don’t know. What really hurts is that he’s been lying to me! I feel as though I’ve been part of a play, and I’m only now getting to know the actor playing opposite me,” Carrie said. “I’m confused.”

  “So . . .” Julie hesitated, and Carrie could tell she was treading lightly. “So is the engagement still on?”

  “I gave him back the ring. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “You have to answer one question: do you love him?”

  Carrie shook her head, even though there was no one to see it. “I love Adam . . . or thought I did. But now I don’t know who Adam is.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I need to let you go. I wish we could get together to talk about this. You always help.”

  “Barry’s going to be in Dallas soon, maybe next week. Why don’t I plan to go with him? We can meet somewhere halfway between Dallas and Jameson. I’ll give you a call and set it up.”

  “Thanks, Julie.”

  “And in the meantime,” her friend said, “pray about it.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Carrie said. “I—”

  “I know. Some well-meaning people told you that if you prayed hard enough, John wouldn’t die. But he did. That doesn’t mean you have to stop praying. God doesn’t alwa
ys answer prayers the way we want, but He sees the big picture. And He loves you.”

  Carrie didn’t respond.

  “I’ll call you soon,” was all Julie said.

  Later, as Carrie lay in bed, she stared upward into the dark and wondered if Julie was right. Maybe prayer would help. Even if God didn’t answer, it might help get this burden off her shoulders. Of course, since John’s death, her belief in the power of prayer had gone downhill. But it was worth a try. She began, “God, I don’t know what to do. Please give me wisdom to deal with this.” But soon she found herself on a familiar track, wondering why her prayers for her husband hadn’t been answered. Grief mixed with anger boiled up yet again, stirring a pain that was always there, just under the surface. Finally she rolled over, buried her head in the pillow, and sobbed herself to sleep.

  The first thing Sunday morning, Adam dug out his phone directory and looked up the non-emergency number for the Jameson Police Department. “This is Adam Davidson. I left my car parked at the curb in front of my apartment last night, and when I came out this morning, I discovered three bullet holes in the windshield.”

  After Adam gave the necessary information, the man on the other end of the line asked him to stay where he was and meet the patrolman who’d be there soon.

  “How soon?”

  “Maybe an hour. Maybe a bit longer.”

  Adam didn’t argue. He knew that complaints like this didn’t carry a sense of urgency like those where the caller was in immediate danger. Besides, he could use the time to make another phone call.

  He didn’t have to look up this number. Several times Adam had started to program it into his cell phone’s speed dial, but for the sake of security, he decided to store it only in his memory. The call was answered on the second ring.

  “Branson.”

  The voice brought an image to Adam’s mind and a smile to his lips—an image of a man who looked like a slightly stockier, slightly older version of himself. “Dave, it’s me.”

  “Keith?”

  “You mean Adam.”

  “Sorry, old habits die hard.” A door closed softly in the background. “Okay, what’s up?”

  “Someone shot at me last night. Might be a random drive-by, but I can’t risk thinking that way. I have to assume I was the target.”

  Adam envisioned his older brother rubbing his chin, a sure sign he was thinking. “So I guess you’re about to leave again. Adam, are you sure you want to live the rest of your life this way? Always on the run, always looking over your shoulder. Changing names and locations so often that you sometimes wake up wondering who you are, where you are.”

  “No, I’m not going to run anymore,” Adam said. “You forget, I’m in love. I just asked Carrie to marry me, and if she’ll still have me, I’m prepared to stay and fight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Was he sure? He’d spent most of the night thinking about that question. “Yes. I’m convinced God brought Carrie into my life to complete it.” He sipped from the mug at his elbow and grimaced when he found the coffee had gone cold.

  “Does she know who you are? And does she understand the situation?”

  “Not the whole story, but enough. Last night I told her that Adam Davidson isn’t my real name and that I’m on the run from some dangerous people.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “About what you’d expect. She’s angry, hurt, confused. Besides all that, she realizes she’s in danger by being close to me.” The simple act of saying the words made Adam’s throat tighten, a lump that all the coffee in the world couldn’t wash away.

  The silence on the other end of the line dragged on so long Adam thought they’d been disconnected. Then Dave said, “Where do you go from here?”

  “I’m not sure yet. A lot depends on Carrie, I guess. If I stay, I put both of us in danger. If I go, I lose her.” David felt tears forming. Stop that. Real men don’t cry. Or maybe they do if they’ve really fouled up and possibly lost the woman they love.

  “Are you praying about it?” David asked.

  “Of course. I’ve prayed every day since I left Chicago. Sometimes it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.”

  Before Dave could respond, Adam heard the doorbell. “Gotta go. Police are here to take a report on the shooting.”

  Even after leaving his original identity, Adam had always been truthful with law officers. Not only was it part of his nature, it was an obligation. As a lawyer he’d been an officer of the court—still was, although his license was in his original name—sworn to uphold the law, cooperate with authorities, never withhold pertinent information. Now what he was about to tell the policeman at the door would be an outright lie. And so it begins.

  Adam wondered where it would end.

  THREE

  CARRIE AWOKE ON SUNDAY MORNING TO A GRAY WORLD. SHEETS of rain beat against her windowpane, matching her mood. Maybe this was a good day to stay in bed. She burrowed deeper into the covers and thought about the changes in her life.

  The shooting in the movie parking lot had shaken her. Then Adam’s revelation turned her world upside down. She didn’t really want to go to church. She wanted to hide her head, block out the world. But church was a habit she’d acquired years ago, and Carrie knew that ultimately she’d leave the safety of her bed and get dressed. Duty or desire, it made no difference. Church was on her agenda today.

  She visited the coffee pot, then set about getting ready to face the world. As she did, she took stock of herself in the mirror. Her blond hair was cut in a no-nonsense short style that framed a face others told her was attractive. Her green eyes saw things clearly without the need for glasses, although obviously they had been unable to penetrate Adam’s disguise. She was an attractive professional, still in the prime of life. But after John’s death she’d put up an invisible fence that might as well have had warning signs on it. I’ve been hurt. I’m healing, but I’m still vulnerable. Stay away.

  When she met him, she’d opened the gate and let Adam in. In hindsight that was probably a huge mistake, one with which she’d have to deal. And now her world had changed again. Her ringless finger felt peculiar. Even more peculiar was a morning without the usual call from Adam, a day without a lunch or dinner date. She’d adjusted before. She’d do it again. Carrie wiped away the tears that formed in the corners of her eyes. Maybe church would help, maybe not.

  She slipped into a simple green dress, gulped the last of her coffee, and grabbed an umbrella. Ready or not, world, here I come. But be aware. The gate is closed again.

  The organ was sounding the final notes of the prelude when Carrie slipped into the half-filled sanctuary. She stowed her umbrella under her seat and tried to put her mind in neutral. Maybe the service would calm her heart. Maybe it would help her find the answers to the questions nipping at the edges of her thoughts like a pack of wild dogs. She hoped so.

  Carrie found it hard to focus on the service. She went through the motions, but her concentration kept slipping. She sang the hymns without letting the lyrics sink in. She stood for the reading of the Scripture, but the words washed over her like waves on a beach. There was no comfort there. And through it all, her emotions were all over the place.

  She alternated between anger at Adam for the lies he’d told and disgust at herself for believing them. Carrie revisited her sorrow for John’s death and the part she might have played in it. She was wracked with pain thinking of her short time with John, snatched from her after only five years of marriage. Her heart ached as she realized the perfect life she’d envisioned with Adam was now disappearing as well, replaced by a situation that was dangerous at best and fatal at worst.

  Carrie considered slipping out during the offertory, but then the pastor stepped to the pulpit and it was too late for her to move without attracting attention. The preacher seemed to stare straight into her soul, and his first words tied her stomach in knots. “Let not your heart be troubled.”

  The Scripture should have m
ade Carrie relax, but instead it gave her the sensation of being trapped in an elevator in free fall. In an instant she was transported back to a scene from almost two years ago, a scene she’d never forget but wished she could. Her mind’s eye saw the same pastor, the same pulpit. But this time there was a bronze casket at the front of the church, banked on either side by floral tributes that assaulted her nostrils with a sickly sweet scent.

  Instead of her current seat in one of the back rows, Carrie was in the front row, with John’s sister and her husband on one side, John’s mother and father on the other. Carrie’s parents hadn’t bothered to come. Even the death of their son-in-law couldn’t bridge the rift between them and Carrie, the chasm that developed when she embraced Christianity in her first year of medical school.

  That day the pastor had read that same Scripture: “Let not your heart be troubled.” She supposed the message he brought was one of comfort and hope, but other than the opening verses from the Bible, Carrie couldn’t recall a single word he spoke. There’d been music and words of tribute from a couple of friends. But all Carrie could think about during the entire service was, We should have had decades together, but all we had was five years. It was such a freak thing—a punctured coronary artery during a routine procedure. I’m a doctor—why couldn’t I save him? She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. What did she do wrong? Why did God let it happen? Why?

  The swelling notes of the organ brought Carrie back to the present. She’d apparently stood at the proper time. She’d managed to bow her head with the rest of the congregation for the closing prayer. As she joined the crowd filing out, she thought about the morning’s Scripture passage. “Let not your heart be troubled.” The words brought a wry, mirthless smile to her lips. Sorry, God. I can’t help it. My heart’s been troubled too long.