Scott walks ahead of me toward the red barn. It looks slightly dilapidated from the outside, but that just adds to its charm. With a loud grunt, he pulls open the barn doors and waves his hands for me to follow. “That door sometimes sticks. That’s the next project I have to work on.”
I nod my head so he knows I’m listening. Once inside, I can hardly control my excitement. There are six rows of stalls, and the first three have horses.
“They’re beautiful,” I shout. I walk over to the first one, which is brown and has a white muzzle. I place my hand about an inch from the horse’s head. “May I?”
“Of course. They love attention.”
I glide my hand over his muzzle. “I think he likes it!” I giggle.
Scott looks at me and laughs.
“What?” I say, sounding clueless.
“Nothing bad. It’s just I’m happy to see you so excited about something. Usually…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s just that I never get to see you like this.” Apparently, Scott has the same thoughts about me.
“So do you ride them often?”
“Not as often as I’d like. Unfortunately, I have a very hectic schedule. But since that’s not their fault, I hired a couple of people to help out around here.”
“What’s his name?” I ask as I run my hand up and down the horse’s mane.
“Her name is Elita,”
“Elita?” I repeat in astonishment. “You know that’s—”
“Your full name. I know… When I got this beauty last year, she was a racehorse with two to one odds.” He pats the side of her neck and talks like a proud father. “One day, after a bad stumble, the track was ready to put her out to pasture. A friend of mine called me and asked if I would take her. He’d said she was supposed to be one of the greats – ‘the chosen one’, he said – but her bad leg had slowed her down too much. I told him that I would fix her up good as new and I started to call her Elita, because it means—”
“The chosen one.” I finish his sentence. “She is like me,” I whisper. “I can’t believe you never told me that before.” I look at Scott, completely stunned, unsure how to react.
“I figured I’d mention it someday.” He reaches into the stall and pats Elita’s side. “Well, as much as I hate to break up this bonding moment between the two Elitas, my mother is waiting for you. I’m sure her ‘sore,’” he raises his hand and makes air quotes, “leg is better by now.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a last look around the stable. “What’s that room back there?” I ask, walking toward the door.
“Don’t go over there!” Scott says firmly. I stop in my tracks.
“I’ve just never been inside a horse stable before. Is that weird?” I can feel the blood rush to my face. I put my head down and shuffle my feet like a scolded child. “I mean, at my age you’d think I would have visited a farm by now.” It’s suddenly completely awkward. I wish I had just turned and left.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. That’s just the tack room. I have a whole bunch of equipment back there and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”
“Sure.”
“You need to come visit again, when you have more time, and I’ll show you the rest of the property,” he says with a suddenly shaky voice. He holds the door open for me to exit.
As we step outside the barn, I see that a look of relief floods over his face.
Chapter Five
“So you took the car?” Kate says through gritted teeth.
“Yes. I didn’t think you would be home this early,” I admit.
“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” She paces the floor. “Elle, this is not a game. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m worried about the carpet, if you don’t stop pacing. You’re going to wear a hole in the rug.”
“This is not a joke!” She stops to stare at me.
“I know, but I’m fine.” I stretch my arms out in front of her. “See? I’m still intact. Nothing. Happened. Dr. Carmichael was home today. He gave me a tour of his property.”
“A tour? He was there?” She suddenly stops pacing.
“Yes, he was off today.” I say coolly.
“You didn’t happen to know that he was going to be home when you drove yourself over there, did you?” She darts her eyes and gives a look that says she already knows the answer.
“His mother may have mentioned it when she scheduled our session.” I pull Scooter onto the couch. His limp body feels like a sack of potatoes.
“Now this is making more sense.” She steps into the living room and glares at me like she used to when I was a kid.
I give Scooter a pet and aim the remote at the TV. She stands in front of the screen, and I crane my head to see around her. Anything to avoid her glare.
“Elle, I know that this can be confusing and there are times that you feel fine, but the fact still remains that you have this,” she pauses for a moment and tries to choose her word carefully, “condition. And when you drive, you are not only putting your life in danger, but you are endangering other people, too.”
“You mean like if I collapsed behind the wheel?” I snipe.
“Elle, you know what I mean. Please don’t make me say it. Don’t you know how upsetting this is for me?”
“For you?” I snap. “Do you know how upsetting it is for me?” I sit up and move to the edge of the couch. “I feel like I’ve lived my entire life inside of a plastic bubble, never knowing when it would burst and I would die!”
“Let’s be grateful that, for the most part, you’ve been able to live a relatively normal life,” she volleys back.
“Relatively normal? I’m glad you think that’s how my life has been,” I say sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, Elle. You know I wish I could take away all your pain.”
“I know you do and I’m sorry I snapped, but the reality is…” I pause and think about the obvious truth. “Nobody knows what I’ve been going through.”
“I don’t pretend to. I just try to do the best that I can.” She dries her weeping eyes with the back of her hand.
“Please don’t cry.” Now I feel guilty. “I’m going to be okay. I am.” In that moment, I’m not sure whom I’m trying to convince. I get up from the couch and walk over to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Where are you going?” she asks as I turn to leave the room.
“I’m going to take a shower and try to get to bed a little earlier tonight. I feel a little tired.”
“What’s the matter? Why are you feeling really tired? What were you doing today?” She sounds frantic.
“Mom, calm down. I just went for a walk. It was nice to be outside. I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.” I give a backhanded wave as I head toward the bathroom.
“Okay. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”
“No. I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Goodnight, honey. I love you.”
I can hear the kettle fill with water and the tick of the gas stove. My mother always makes tea when she is upset. She doesn’t know I overheard her on the phone, but another agency got the Brentwood listing. I think she’s afraid she might be losing her touch. That is the second listing she’s lost this week.
I open the bathroom linen closet and grab a clean, white towel. Kate only buys white towels because she thinks a towel is only truly clean if it has been washed with bleach. I place the towel on the edge of the sink and pull my shirt up over my head. I slide the glass shower doors open and turn on the water, adjusting until I find just the right temperature.
As I step under the spray, the water hits my face in hard pellets. It feels good. Begrudgingly, I reach down to grab a bar of soap. A sharp pain shoots down the left side of my arm. For a moment, I feel paralyzed. My immediate thought is to yell for help, but I can’t find my voice. I try to take a deep breath, but can’t. I crumple to the tub and feel a strange, tingling sensation zip through my fin
gertips.
“Mom!” I let out a bloodcurdling squeal in a voice I don’t even recognize.
My mother runs into the bathroom and slams the shower door open.
“What is it?” She is the color of her bleached white towels. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my heart! Something is wrong. Call the hospital.”
“I’ll be right back!” She runs out and I wait, helpless, as the running water beats down on my back. A few seconds later, she returns holding the phone, her hands shaking as she dials 911. She soaks her sleeve, reaching into the shower to turn off the running water. The phone is on speaker and is wedged tightly between her face and neck as she pulls me from the tub.
“911, what’s the emergency?”
“It’s my daughter! I think she’s having a heart attack! I live at 42 Chauncy Way.”
“We have an address for you, Ma’am. An ambulance will there right away. Is your daughter breathing?”
“Yes, she… she has a heart condition.” Kate rips a towel off the rack and drapes it around my arms and neck. She drags my limp body to the couch. I wish I had the strength to help her.
“Ma’am, do you have any aspirin in the house?” the voice on the line asks.
“That’s not going to help!” Kate shouts. “I’ll wait for the ambulance, but I need to call her doctor now!” Kate ends the call.
“Mom, you should have stayed on the line,” I whisper. Her skin is pale and she looks to have aged ten years in just moments. Scooter meows and circles her legs. In my sudden state of terror, I focus on him. He’s so cute and completely clueless. His only cares in the world are whether or not his dishes are empty or if there are too many clumps in his litter box.
“The ambulance is going to be here any second. You are going to be okay. We’ve had these scares before. Lie back and relax.” Kate’s attempt to remain calm is futile – I can see her body tremble. Leaving my side for a moment, she runs into my bedroom and returns with a Tee and pair of sweats from the dresser drawer. She’s shaking so badly that she can barely find the dexterity to clench her fingers and pull the shirt over my head. She wrestles to get the sweat pants over my wet legs. “Did you have to have such gorgeous long legs?” she asks.
“Take after you,” I mumble.
“I didn’t grab any underwear but this is good enough. I don’t want the neighbors gawking at you in the hall.” Even under such horrific circumstances, she isn’t going to allow me to be taken out in the stretcher naked. She opens the front door and grabs a book from the coffee table to wedge it open.
“Mom?” I whisper.
“I’m right here. I just opened the door so the paramedics can come in. I’m going to call Doctor Carmichael now so he can meet us at the hospital. You’ll be okay. He’ll make sure of that.” She reaches for the phone.
“Elle?” The phone is on speaker and I’m soothed by the sound of his voice but also consumed with sadness. What if I die, right now? I’ll never get to tell Scott how I feel.
“No, it’s Kate,” she answers through tears.
“What’s wrong?” Scott’s tone immediately turns.
“I just called nine-one-one. It’s Elle. Please meet us at the hospital.”
“What happened? How is she right now?” Scott’s usually calm tone is frenzied.
“Who needs an ambulance?” one of the paramedics shouts as he bursts through the door carrying the front end of a stretcher.
“She’s here! This is my daughter, Elle!” My mother drops the phone.
Chapter Six
They gently place my limp body onto the stretcher. There are three paramedics. “Let’s move,” the female paramedic shouts as they lift the stretcher and carry me down the hall. I can hear the clicking of my mother’s shoes as she races behind. Two neighbors open their doors and try to sneak a peek at the action. From where I lie, I only see their feet. One of the onlookers dons fuzzy slippers.
“What’s going on?”
“What can we do?”
I hear the muffle of their concerned voices as I’m whisked down the hall.
In the lobby, our doorman Eddie runs to hold open the front door. He doesn’t say anything. He has more common sense than most. He touches the top of my forehead and whispers a prayer.
“Okay, on three,” the female paramedic says. I feel them lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. The siren suddenly springs into action.
“Elle?” A male paramedic with a beautiful smile and really white teeth leans over me. His voice sounds Jamaican or something. “Can you hear me, Elle?”
“She’s going in and out of consciousness,” the female paramedic shouts. I hear the tear of Velcro; she straps a cuff around my arm. Someone else straps a plastic mask over my face. I breathe the oxygen slowly, trying to make sense of all that’s happening. It feels like a dream.
“We’ll be at the hospital momentarily. Hang in there,” the man says. He looks at me and smiles a white, toothy smile. I force my eyes to stay open. Keep smiling, I think. If you’re smiling, I know things can’t be too bad. I feel my eyes closing. I have no control over my body. No. No. I see his smile fade.
Whatever happens now is in God’s hands.
“Her blood pressure is dropping!” The female paramedic yells.
“Hang in there, Elle. We will be there soon!”
“I think we’re losing her! Elle! Stay with us! Stay with us!”
***
“Good morning!” a nurse whispers. I smell stale coffee on her breath as she leans over to take my temperature.
She adjusts my IV and stares at my monitors. I try to move, but a sharp pain shoots through my chest, rendering me immobile.
“Don’t try to move just yet, hun.” With a pale, freckled face, she doesn’t look much older than me. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
It takes a moment to find my voice. “What’s happening?” I feel like a baby uttering my first word, as though I’ve never tried to speak before. My voice is hoarse and my throat is dry and scratchy.
“You’re at Simms Memorial Hospital. Don’t worry. You are in very good hands.”
I try to force a memory and am alarmed by how hard it is for me to gather my thoughts. I’m here because of my heart, I’m sure of that, but I can’t remember what happened.
“Where’s my mother?”
“I just sent for a nurse to escort her to your room. I know she’ll be happy that you’re finally talking.”
“How long have I been sleeping?” I whisper.
“You only briefly opened your eyes after surgery,” the nurse answers in a hushed tone.
“Surgery?” A chill implodes through my body as I envision myself on a table, naked beneath a sea of strange faces, as hands reach into my body, doing things I can’t even imagine.
“She’s awake?” Kate’s voice bellows.
“Yes, and don’t worry, Kate. Everything looks good. I just paged her doctor.” The nurse is speaking to my mom like they’re long lost friends. I wonder again how long I’ve been unconscious.
I want to sit up and find my mother, but don’t have the energy to move. The nurse’s pink scrubs pace back and forth as she vigilantly monitors me.
My mother leans down next to me and squeezes my hand. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? You pulled through like a champ!”
“Pulled through?” I repeat.
She gently pecks my cheek. Her blonde hair is tousled and messy. “I knew you’d be okay.” Her voice cracks. She blinks, and then gets up to drag a large leather chair across the floor, the kind that flips into a makeshift bed. “How are you feeling?”
I turn my face toward her. Her blue eyes are usually accentuated with charcoal liner. They look naked without it. Her voice sounds different, too.
“Talk to me, kiddo.” She must be feeling maternal.
I shrug my shoulders, not sure how to answer. The truth is, I feel like I’ve been hit by a train. “Okay,” I mumble. There’s a burning pain running up my middle.
<
br /> My mother rubs her watery eyes. “You are going to be fine. You made it through.”
I try clearing my throat, but it hurts to swallow. “Through what?” I whisper. “Mom, what happened to me?” She moves in closer, brushing the hair from my eyes. “You’ve had it, the transplant. It’s all over and things look good, really good.” Tears stream down her cheeks.
“Who?” I ask, gathering what little energy I have. Instead of answering, Kate adjusts my pillow and straightens my blanket. I know she understood me. “We have to keep you nice and snug. I don’t want you to catch a cold – not now.” She tucks the blanket tightly around my legs, rolling me up as tightly and gently as a burrito.
“Well?” I whisper.
She lets out a long sigh. “I heard that you received the heart of a girl about the same age as you.” She looks at me intently. I can tell she’s trying to read my expression, but I play it cool and keep a straight face. “She had an accident, honey.” After a long pause and a moment of uncomfortable silence, she continues. “There was nothing anyone could do,” She takes a deep breath and pushes the strands of hair away from my face. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say, surprised by my composure. A sense of calm washes over me and I use my pain as a guide to trace my fingers over my chest. I feel the bulkiness of the bandages under the linen hospital gown and rest my hand over my chest. It takes a moment before I feel the beating of my new heart. It’s different – steadier. I slide my tongue over my lips and taste the salt of my tears. Thank you. Thank you. I’m not exactly sure whom I’m thanking – God or my donor. It doesn’t feel right to thank God for what’s happened. He couldn’t have taken this girl’s life just to save mine. Closing my eyes tightly, I say a quiet prayer. I wish I knew your name. Then I could know whose soul I am praying for.
“Cas!” The voice is a soft, willowy whisper. I open one eye and gaze around the room. My mother is seated in the chair next to me, a closed People Magazine on her lap. She’s staring at a blank TV screen, lost in thought. The nurse is standing in the doorway, speaking with a doctor. From where I lie, I can’t see anyone else around.
The Divine Heart Page 5
