After a few minutes, I emerge from the bathroom. If someone sees me now, they will never guess I am at death’s door.
“Well, good morning?” Dr. Carmichael is standing right outside the bathroom door, and I open my eyes wide.
It probably had not been his best idea to sneak up on a cardiac patient. It’s a good thing the sedatives are still lingering.
“I hope I didn’t frighten you. That’s the last thing I want to do.”
I forgive him immediately. To be honest, I’ve always had a little thing for Doctor Carmichael. Tall and slim, he takes my arm in his and walks me back to bed. He helps me ease into the mattress.
“So, how are you feeling this morning?” He looks at me intently, and I wish I could read his mind.
“I’m feeling okay,” I finally answer. “Whatever you gave me to relax is definitely helping. Do you think there’s any way I can get some of those pills sent home in a doggy bag?” I give him a flirty smile.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he answers with just a hint of coyness. His demeanor is dry and somewhat robotic. Not only is Dr. Carmichael very easy on the eyes, but he is also a genius. And not in the figurative sense, like when my friend, Claire, claims Ian McNeal is a genius and that’s why she cheats off him in Chemistry. Scott is a legitimate genius. He once told me he has an IQ of 170. I know he graduated medical school early, which probably means there’s less than a twenty-year age difference between us. Maybe he’ll wait for me…
“So, Elle. Would it be okay if I had a listen to your heart?” He holds up his stethoscope and dangles it in front of me like a cat toy.
“Yes, of course,” I say, trying to remain focused.
He sets the earpiece of the stethoscope in place and makes a serious doctor face – the kind where it seems like he’s listening to my last breath.
After a few agonizing moments, he removes the chest piece from my breastbone.
“Your heart sounds steady, for now. I want you to continue taking your medication just as prescribed.” He walks to the edge of the bed and pulls back the sheets. He removes the hideous green woolen socks from my feet. I’m mortified. I look around the room to avoid making eye contact.
“There doesn’t appear to be any swelling.” He puts my right foot down and begins to inspect my left.
“Your body seems ready. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed about a donor.” He runs his hand over my ankle and squeezes my toes gently.
Ready? What did he mean by that? I suddenly feel my stomach quake. Even though I always knew I would need a transplant, I’d secretly hoped that modern science would figure out a way to cure me without putting someone else’s heart in my chest. My mother was always praying that a compatible donor would come along, but I never had. I knew that a heart donor for me meant someone else had to die.
My mother justified her prayers as making the best out of a bad situation. When she would explain her logic, I always got the impression she wasn’t only trying to convince me, but herself as well.
“Left foot looks good too,” he continues. “Elle, are you okay?” He must be able to read the look on my face. He sits down beside me on the bed and I scoot over to make room. I could move over a few more inches, but I don’t.
“I know all this is scary,” he says in his usual calm tone, “but I really believe everything will work out.” He pats my hand.
“What about my donor? Things aren’t going to work out for them,” I blurt, feeling my eyes well with tears.
“Elle.” Scott lowers his brow. “Your donor would be giving you an amazing gift.” He moistens his lips with the side of his tongue and gazes at me for a moment, like he is thinking of something comforting to say. I remember reading once how a lot of geniuses are book smart but lacking in the social skills department. I always thought Scott was a little shy – mysterious, somehow. These were traits I found endearing, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe his mystery is just a way of hiding his awkwardness.
“I guess you just can’t think about it too much, Elle.” He shrugs his shoulders and stands from the bed.
That’s it? That is all a bona fide genius can come up with? I look at him and nod my head, like I’m going to take his words of wisdom under advisement. In reality, I’ve already taken this advice a million times. I’ve lived my whole life with my head in the sand. If I thought too much about things like how I’ll never see my dad again or how if I die my mother will never see me again, it would be impossible to get out of bed in the morning.
“Well, you are stable right now and, if you continue to take your meds exactly as prescribed, I’ll discharge you tomorrow. But you should not return to school – not yet, anyway.”
“What? Why?” I know some students would be glad for a sick day, but school is my only link to normalcy!
“What if I promised to take it easy? Or only went half days?” I negotiate, trying to keep my composure.
“Elle, I don’t want to be the bad guy here. After what happened, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go back to school right now. I think your episode was brought on by stress.”
“I didn’t feel any more stressed than usual,” I retort.
“Sometimes we can be stressed and not even realize it until something scary – like this – brings us back to reality. And, unfortunately, your reality is that you just shouldn’t be running from class to class. You should be taking it easy.” Scott’s dark brown eyes seem to look right through me.
I glare back at him, feeling more helpless than ever. “So what do you suggest I do? Stay in bed all day and pray for someone to die?” The rational side of me knows it’s not his fault, but the irrational side needs someone to blame.
“Well. I guess we need to find a way to keep your mind busy.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you take a meditation class? I’ve had patients swear it worked wonders for them.”
“Meditation?” I sniff.
“Actually, if you’re interested, my mother teaches yoga.” His voice softens as he tries to sound persuasive. “In fact, I’ve converted my basement for her studio.”
“Really?” I am suddenly very interested. Scott has spoken about his mother a few times before. She sounds like a hippy, like the polar opposite of him. According to Scott, Jocelyn prefers reading palms to books. “I think it will definitely be worth a try,” I say, trying not to sound too anxious.
“Good, then it’s all set,” he says with a smile. “I will ask her to reach out to you and make the arrangements.” Scott pats my hand again and gives me an odd look. It’s an expression I’ve never seen him make before. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but then closes his lips.
Chapter Two
The next day I am back home with the strict stipulation that I will take it easy. By midafternoon, I am already bored. I slide open the hallway closet and stand on my tiptoes in order to see the top shelf. The duplex condo I share with my mother is in an upscale building with plenty of amenities, although the real clincher for my mom was the ample closet space. I drag over a chair from the dining area, trying to avoid scratching the hardwood.
The shelf is stacked with boxes. The first one has the baking supplies we use only for special occasions, like the cake pan shaped like Santa’s head and the heart-shaped cookie cutters we use every Valentine’s Day. It isn’t until I get to the back of the shelf that I see the paint-splashed palette that looks nicer than anything I’ve ever intentionally painted.
“Elle!” My mom’s voice suddenly roars. “What are you doing? Please get down!” She tries to suppress her anger, but is not doing a very good job of it. “What are you doing up there? I told you before I left that you need to take it easy and I come home to find you balancing on a chair! And you’re holding a heavy box to boot!”
“This box is not even heavy; it just has some of my paint supplies. I’m thinking of painting again,” I say as I step down from the chair.
Last year I decided to take up painting as a way to unwind.
I picked up lots of hobbies, actually, but paring down the tension had always been the main goal. I bought a couple of how-to DVDs that show professional painters coaching how to paint using oil colors. A couple of quick strokes and suddenly there appears a beautiful landscape. Whereas I created something that looks like it should be hung in a pre-school.
“I think that’s a great idea.” She takes my arm and helps me off the chair. “But you could have waited for me to get home so I could help you. You shouldn’t be climbing on things.”
“I’m not a complete invalid yet, Mom.” I brush the dust off my pants. I walk toward the kitchen and she follows.
“I know that, honey, and I think it’s great that you are finding ways to keep your mind busy.” She lets out a deep sigh. “Speaking of which, have you had a chance to contact Mrs. Carmichael about that yoga class?” She opens the bag of groceries she set on the kitchen counter and takes out a carton of milk.
“I called earlier today and left her a message.” I open the other shopping bag and begin to unpack.
“That’s good. I bet you’ll see some familiar faces in her class. Dr. Carmichael probably recommends a lot of his patients to her.”
“I didn’t get that impression,” I say testily. Kate’s comment annoys me, probably because I want to believe the class was something Scott told only me about.
Kate gives me a knowing look. She probably thinks of me as having some cute teenage crush.
We first met Doctor Carmichael four years ago. He contacted us after hearing about my case. My mom and I did some research and were amazed by all his credentials. We felt really lucky that he had reached out to us. I guess he was looking for a challenge.
The first time I stepped into his office, I was so hopeful. It felt like my entire life had led me to that precise moment and he was the miracle I’d been waiting for. But now, nearly five years later, not much has changed. To be honest, I’m having a hard time believing in miracles, lately.
I reach inside the grocery bag and hand my mother a bag of cereal.
“Mom, would you stop buying the generic cereal? I think we can afford the real deal.” I toss her the bag.
“Once I put the cereal in a canister, no one will ever know the difference,” she says with a self-assured smile.
“I’ll know the second I take a bite,” I say. I tap my cat, Scooter, off the counter.
“Scooter, get down!” Kate yells. “I’ll spritz you with the bottle.” Usually all she has to do is reach for the squirt bottle and Scooter knows she means business. Scooter leaps down without even a meow.
I take a small cylinder of cat treats from the grocery bag and walk into the living room, Scooter dodging at my heels. I plop down on our white chenille sofa, which is the bane of my existence. I’d rather have furniture that I’m allowed to eat on, but my mother is all about staging our home like she’s expecting the editor of Home & Garden to stop by.
Scooter jumps in my lap and rubs his head against my face. He’s not as agile as he once was. I’ve had Scooter since I was eight. He was a present from my father, a stray he found and brought over as a surprise one night when he decided to pop in. Scooter purrs loudly as I rub his short, tabby-colored fur. After a couple of minutes, I feel my eyes become heavy.
I am suddenly startled into wakefulness when the phone rings. My mother picks up in the kitchen. “Hello?” … “Yes, that’s my daughter. May I ask who’s calling?”
A pause as I strain to hear.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Carmichael! Thank you so much for reaching out to Elle. I know she has been looking forward to your call.”
I can’t believe my ears. Did my mother just tell Jocelyn that I was looking forward to her call? What was she trying to do? I jump from the couch and wave my hands wildly, motioning for her to stop talking. “If you could please hold a moment, I will get Elle.” Kate shrugs her shoulders and gives an innocent smirk. I take the phone and walk into my bedroom.
“Hello, this is Elle.” I speak in my most sophisticated sounding voice.
“Hello Elle, this is Jocelyn Carmichael, Doctor Carmichael’s mother. Scott tells me that you’re interested in my class.” She has a confident tone to her voice.
“Yes. Well, Doctor Carmichael recommended I learn to meditate. He thinks I could use some help relaxing.” I cringe at my choice of words.
“Of course. That is something I can definitely help you with,” Jocelyn says kindly. “So tell me, what days would work best for you?”
“To be honest, my schedule is wide open.” I suddenly feel pathetic.
“Okay. Great. Well, just a little background about me: I am a former nurse, a licensed yoga instructor, and I was recently certified in Reiki. Are you familiar with Reiki?”
“No, I can’t say that I am.” I have never heard of Reiki and am intrigued, although not as intrigued as hearing that she used to be a nurse. Scott makes it sound like they have absolutely nothing in common. “Did you say you were a nurse?”
“Yes, I was a nurse, but I stopped practicing years ago. I found that I just didn’t agree with much of the conservative methods of Western medicine.”
“I see.” I really don’t, but I also don’t want to seem stupid.
“Yes, it’s been a few years now. There are days when I miss working with patients, but, in a way, I still think of myself as nursing my clients. Now I’m nursing their spirit, as well as their minds and bodies.”
That sounds more like the Jocelyn I expected.
“Well, since your schedule is pretty open, how would you like to start your first class tomorrow around noon?”
I step back into the kitchen, where my mother is busily checking the expiration dates on the yogurt in our fridge. I nudge her arm. “So, tomorrow at noon?” I repeat. Kate nods her head in approval.
“Okay, Mrs. Carmichael. Tomorrow will be fine,” I say, trying to match her enthusiasm.
“Great. I have your cell phone number, so I’ll go ahead and text you the address. And please, call me Jocelyn.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jocelyn.”
“I look forward to meeting you, Elle.” Her voice cracks when she says my name. I hear the click as her phone disconnects. I stand idle for a moment, just holding the receiver in my hands.
***
When I first met Dr. Scott Carmichael, I’d envisioned him living in a swanky penthouse somewhere in Manhattan, so I was surprised to learn that he owned a rural estate in Connecticut. To be honest, I’m glad the classes are in his home, I’ve always been curious to see where he lives.
The next morning as I prepare to meet with Jocelyn, I feel a bit flustered, which seems to defeat the purpose of my meeting her. Even though Scott won’t be home during our session, I still take a few extra minutes getting ready. I pull on a pair of black yoga pants and a cream-colored tank that is high-necked enough to cover my scar. I’ve had four open-heart surgeries since I was a child, each one slicing me from just below my collarbone down past my breasts. Luckily, I didn’t suffer any keloid scarring. I was always afraid of that and applied vitamin E like some kind of a neurotic.
The drive to Scott’s house is shorter than I expected. If Kate weren’t so overprotective, I easily could have driven myself. But after the incident at school, I promised her I wouldn’t drive.
“Look at this,” Kate mutters as she scans the property.
“It is beautiful. How much do you think a home like this goes for?” If anyone could guess the value, it would be her. Real estate seems to run in her blood.
“I’m not sure – I’d have to take a look at the comps in the area. But in a location like this, I’d say at least three.” She shrugs. “Could be a lot more.”
“Three million?”
“Oh, easy. Although who knows what’s inside the house.”
As we drive through the property, I am truly impressed.
“This place is beautiful!” I feel like a giddy child. “Mom, look at that pond. And the stable on the right! I never knew S
cott had horses!”
It is a few minutes before the winding driveway terminates at the front entrance to the house. Kate puts the car in park.
“You know, you don’t have to come in, Mom,” I say, unclipping my seatbelt. “I don’t want it to look like I need an escort.”
“Oh, sure.” Kate removes her hand from the ignition. “I’ll be back to get you in about an hour, unless you call me first.” She stares at me for a moment. “I know you want your freedom back, sweetheart, but this is just for a little while. You’ll see, everything will work out.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I blow her a kiss before I step from the car. As Kate pulls around the circular drive, I think about how she has coddled me throughout the years, unintentionally treating me like a little girl. Perhaps I lack the street smarts that others gain only through experience, but I haven’t had many basic life experiences.
I pensively make my way up the large, wooden stairs. The white, wrap-around porch smells like it’s just been painted. One side supports a large, hanging swing. It’s like the set for a lemonade commercial. All I want to do is plop down and have a swing. I turn to appreciate the whole property before ringing the doorbell. It’s a beautiful autumn day, with only a few clouds in the sky, long and thin like streaks of whipped cream. There’s a cool breeze and I can hear it blowing through the chimes that hang all around the porch.
I open the screen and look for the bell, but there isn’t one. Instead, there’s a large brass knocker shaped like the head of a bull. The brass ring is designed to look like it’s hanging from the bull’s nose. Clever, but I secretly hope the previous owners left it behind and this doesn’t represent Scott’s taste.
A moment after I lift the ring and knock, a woman with red, wavy, shoulder-length hair answers the door. She doesn’t look a day past thirty, although common sense tells me otherwise.
The Divine Heart Page 2
