“Could you please tell me where you’re going?”
“You mean where we’re going,” he corrects. I raise my brows and suck in one side of my cheek, glaring at him for a second.
“I think we need to go back to that house and talk with Mrs. Brady.”
“You don’t have to try and prove to me that you want to help,” I say, softening my intonation.
“I’m not. I’ve been thinking about this all night.” He puts his car keys in his pocket and opens the front door. I’m suddenly flustered at the thought of him thinking about me all night.
“I think Mrs. Brady remembers more than she thinks,” Rob says, opening the front door.
***
When we pull up to the old house, I notice the first floor window is wide open and I’m almost certain that Margaret is seated on the other side. We get out of the car and Rob holds open the gate so I can pass through. Before we have a chance to knock, Margaret opens the door, confirming my suspicion that she had been watching us from the window.
“I seen you two pulling up. What can I do for you both?”
I look at Rob and nudge his arm.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Brady.” Rob swallows hard and takes the bear from my hands. “Elle found this the other day.” He holds up the bear. “We think it may have belonged to Lily.”
I suddenly feel really awkward. I have to give Rob credit – he really is trying to help me.
“I’d recognize that cute little bear anywhere.” My eyes widen. I’m stunned she remembers the toy. “That little girl was always dragging that bear around with her. You know, I recognize it by that cute little sailor’s hat – you don’t see many sailor bears around. Special place in my heart for sailors, I guess. You know my late husband used to be a sailor—”
“That’s very admirable,” I say. As much as I honor those who serve in uniform, I don’t have time for Margaret’s story telling. “Is there anything else that you might be able to tell us?” Maybe the bear has unlocked some pent-up memories she may have stored in her brain.
“Let’s see now.” Margaret places her hand on her hip and closes her eyes. You could almost see the wheels turning. “Well, I know that she would become very upset without it, because that caregiver of hers woke me up in the dead of night to let her into the house and find the darn thing!” Rob looks at me.
“Is there anything you can tell us about the woman, the caregiver for the girl? Like what she looked like?” I ask.
“I think I mentioned to you before. I don’t know who she was.” She sounds defeated.
“But is there anything, anything at all that you can tell us about her?” I can hear the desperation in my voice.
“Let’s see now.” She pulls the belt of her housecoat tighter around her waist. “Oh yeah, I do remember that she had cardinal colored hair. Ya know, red. Really red.”
The heat drains from my face. “That’s it. It’s her!” I grab Rob’s hand, squeezing tightly.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Brady.” Rob kisses her cheek.
Margaret blushes. “If there is anything else you two need, please let me know.” It is like she has a sudden sense of accomplishment, like all her years of being nosy had led to this defining moment, where she could help two desperate people like us get some answers.
“Don’t hesitate to come by if you have any more questions. I enjoy the company,” she yells out the door as Rob and I dart toward his car.
I slam the car door. “Can you believe it?” My voice cracks on the last word. “Is it really possible that the Carmichaels were the girl’s guardian! I can’t understand why Scott or Jocelyn never said anything.”
Rob’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. “I dunno, Elle. Maybe Scott Carmichael just didn’t want you to know that he knew Cas. I mean it is kind of awkward.”
“They were obviously very close. This just doesn’t make sense.” My eyes flood with tears. “I’m more confused now than I was before,” I say, exhaling deeply. “And how does that newspaper article I found hidden inside my mother’s frame tie into all this?” I turn to face Rob “It’s like everyone I trust most in the world is hiding something from me.” I put my head in my hands. “I feel so stupid!”
“Don’t feel bad, Elle.” Rob puts his hand on my knee. “If it’s any consolation, that Doctor Carmichael guy is a genius. I’m sure he makes a lot of people feel stupid.”
“Rob, please be serious. I’m scared.”
Rob leans in closer, only the gearshift between us. “It’s like I told you before – you are the strongest person I know. You’ll get through this.”
I put my face in my hands and start to sob. “I’m not crying because I’m weak,” I muffle. “It’s just been so much to take – all the stress leading up to the transplant, and then when I finally have the transplant, the first thing that happens when I wake is I hear some girl’s voice in my head. Do you know how frightening that is?”
“I can only imagine,” Rob whispers.
“I know it all sounds crazy, but it’s true. Ever since the transplant, I feel her. Her presence is all around me.” Rob’s eyes narrow. I can tell the idea seems to freak him out. “It’s not always in a creepy way though.” I try putting his mind at ease. “I sometimes feel comforted having her with me – sort of like a guardian angel.” Rob avoids eye contact with me. I wish I had the ability to hear his thoughts. “There’s something she wants me to know. That’s why she’s telepathically communicating. She’s planting images and voices in my head and when I dream… I have the most vivid amazing dreams possible. Rob, what if I can’t figure out what she’s trying to tell me. What if I let her down?”
“Kitten, everything is going to be okay.”
I shudder, terrified. “What did you call me?” I stammer.
“I just said everything is going to be okay.”
“I could have sworn you called me…” I hesitate to say it out loud. “Never mind.”
“What?” Rob insists.
“Kitten. I thought you said, ‘Kitten.’”
Rob looks at me like I have twelve heads.
“My dad, that’s what he called me: Kitten.”
“That’s creepy. I don’t want to be a father figure to you.”
“It wasn’t you. It must have been her,” I say adamantly.
“Cas? Do you think she’s putting words in my mouth? I bet she could have some fun with that.”
“I don’t know how she does it. Maybe she plants the voice in my head and it’s only something that I can hear. It’s just like how I saw her face on Mrs. Brady the other day and you couldn’t.”
Rob looks like his head might explode.
“Rob, I think my father may have something to do with all this.”
***
That night, I count sheep. Black sheep. White sheep. Fat sheep.
Nothing. Works.
I swing my legs off the side of my bed and stomp my feet in frustration. The clock radio beside my bed reads 3:18 a.m.
I walk down the hall to the bathroom. I pass Kate’s door on the way and pause to listen. There’s complete silence beyond the door. I know she’s fast asleep, her satin sleep mask secure around her eyes. I step into the bathroom, and the cold tile feels wonderful on my feet. I would love to lie naked on the floor right now. I remember the night before the transplant, when Kate had to drag my naked body from the shower. The thought frightens me and I quickly push the image out of my mind. Instead, I put my hands on the edge of the sink. I look in the mirror and see that the brown hair angling around my face is damp and slightly curled. I’ve been sweating.
I unbutton my pajama top and there are beads of sweat running along my breastbone. I open the next two buttons of my pajama top and I look at my scar, a pale pink line slightly wider than a few strands of hair. It starts a couple of inches below my collarbone and runs down to a few inches above my navel. All things considered, I’ve healed nicely. My scar was a true battle scar – the surgeons had traced their p
redecessors’ work like a child traces letters.
I reach for a washcloth hanging from the towel bar and turn the faucet to cold. I run the cloth under the water until it’s saturated. After giving it a good wring, I bring it up to my neck and press it firmly to my throat. The coolness is a welcome relief to the furnace inside of me. I wipe the cloth down my chest and glance at myself in the mirror once more.
I jump back in horror. Instead of the straight line of my scar, I see words carved in my chest and they aren’t backwards, the way they should look through a mirror reflection.
I step away from the mirror, pushing my hands in front of me. I tuck my neck to my chest and look down at my scar, which looks exactly the way it had a few moments before – a pink, thick line. I immediately bring my eyes up to the mirror again, where the two words are clearly displayed.
It reads, “Find Lilly.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Elle, I think we need to set up a time to talk.” My mother keeps both eyes on the road as we drive toward the hospital. I have an appointment to meet Dr. Fitzgerald; she is one of the doctors on my transplant team.
“Why? We see each other all the time.” I reach to turn the dial on the radio. Mom is playing her usual satellite 7 – all 70s hits, all the time. I usually complain about it, like teenagers are supposed to, but I secretly enjoy listening to the disco classics.
“I feel like you’ve been very distant lately. I mean, I can’t put all the blame on you. I have been working a lot. But I feel like we don’t talk the way we used to.” She taps her fingernails on the wheel and gives me a quick glare. “Elle, are you listening to me?” She spins the dial and turns the radio on mute. “I know you’ve been through a lot with the transplant, but it’s been over six months and the doctors have all said you’re doing remarkably well. If Doctor Fitzgerald gives the okay today, you can even go back to school next week. Elle, you don’t have to be afraid to start living again.” Kate takes her eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. “What’s wrong? You look like you want to say something.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. I just wish you would stop worrying about me. It’s starting to make me feel uncomfortable.” To be honest, Kate’s worried glares are annoying me. I know she means well, but her concern about my health only puts more pressure on me. I feel like I would be letting her down, somehow, if I suddenly had a relapse.
“I just want you to know that, if you do decide to talk, I am here for you. Okay?”
I can tell she is holding back tears, and I feel so bad for shutting her out. I keep justifying it by thinking that things will be better once I have the answers that I need.
“I just can’t help but think we were closer before you had the operation. It’s like…” She pauses and takes a deep breath, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “It’s like you’re a different person.”
“You mean like, Cas?” I say. Kate looks at me with a hint of terror in her eyes.
“I have to admit, something like that has crossed my mind.”
“I was kidding.” Although of course I’m not – not completely. Mother always said, “There’s a little bit of truth hidden behind every joke.”
***
“I’m sorry but Dr. Fitzgerald was called out on an emergency a couple of hours ago. We tried to reach you,” a woman with a round face and graying hair says gently.
“I didn’t get a message,” Kate snaps.
“I apologize for that, but Dr. Fitzgerald did call the department a few moments ago and said she will be back within the hour. I can put you in one of the later time slots, or you can see Dr. Harris?”
I look at Kate and shrug. “It’s fine. We can wait for Dr. Fitzgerald.”
“Honey, are you sure?” I think Kate thought we were letting them off too easy. She probably would have liked for me to see Dr. Harris so she could complain about the incompetent staff.
“It’s fine. I have nowhere else to be.” I turn to the woman behind the counter and catch her shoving a handful of candy into her mouth. “I will wait for Dr. Fitzgerald,” I say firmly.
“No problem,” she mumbles, tapping on the computer keys. “You can just have a seat in the waiting room.”
“Thank you,” I say. Kate nods her head and forces a smile. The truth was I felt more comfortable with Dr. Fitzgerald. She was in the operating room during my surgery, the only female doctor present. For some reason, it made me feel better knowing she was there. Maybe it’s because of that, I feel like I have a connection with her. Kate takes a seat in the waiting room and motions for me to sit next to her.
“Elle, honey, sit down. I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait.”
“It’s okay.” I wave my hand. “Do you have any change? I want to get a bottle of water.”
Kate unzips her handbag. “There’s a vending machine over by the elevator.”
“I know.” I take the change. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
I walk down the corridor toward the vending machines. I walk right past the machine selling water and stop to stare at the candy machine. I count the change in my hand. Enough for a bottle of water and something to snack on. I look at the rows of choices. I’m not satisfied with the selection. Why can’t they have baked chips? It seems wrong to have a vending machine filled with artery clogging snacks on the cardiac floor. I’m about to choose B6, a bag of popcorn, when I’m distracted by two passing nurses. I watch as the two walk and talk. They are about twenty feet from where I stand. They don’t seem to be speaking very loudly, yet I can hear their conversation as if they’re standing right beside me.
“That poor man. He’s delusional,” the thin black nurse says.
“I think so, too. We’ll have to ask the doctor about increasing his meds,” the older white nurse agrees.
“He’s a nice enough guy. He just gives me the creeps.”
“Me, too.” The thin nurse nods her head in agreement. I strain my ears to hear what they say next, but I can’t. They haven’t gotten much further from where they were standing a moment ago, but now I can’t hear them.
I put the money in my pocket and walk toward the hall they just left, not knowing why I had the sudden urgency to do so. I pass rows of wooden doors reading names of patients written on cards adhered to the doors. Dugan, Kostas, Ramirez. I scan the names as I walk, all the while trying to figure out what it is I’m looking for. I see an older woman standing outside one of the rooms. I look at the door behind her and see the patient’s name is Johnson. I smile at her and she smiles back.
“Are you lost, honey?” she asks sweetly.
“No, I’m just waiting for an appointment.”
“Walking is certainly a good way to spend the time.” She turns and looks at the name on the door. “That’s my husband in there, Roy Johnson. He was admitted a couple of weeks ago for open heart surgery.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask sympathetically.
“Not well, I’m afraid. He’s had a bunch of setbacks since the surgery. I don’t think his body was strong enough to handle it. Heart surgery is a major thing.”
“I know,” I say nervously, playing with my fingers. “I had heart surgery myself a few months ago – a transplant actually.”
“A heart transplant! Wow! But look at you now; you seem to be the picture of health.”
“Thank you.” I blush.
“Would you mind doing me a favor?” The old woman’s eyes narrow and she frowns.
“Okay.” I nod, suddenly very curious.
“My husband, Roy, doesn’t have a good outlook about his health. I think that’s why he’s doing so poorly. It’s like he’s given up the desire to live. In fact, he almost did stop living. The doctors lost him during surgery. They had to work on him for nearly five minutes to bring him back.”
“Wow, that’s scary, but what can I do to help?”
“I’d like for you to talk to him. I think if he could see how well you’re doing after such major surgery, it might help to motivate
him. I think he’s just feeling sorry for himself. He’s been that way for years. Ever since…” She pauses and gives me a wink. “I really appreciate you speaking to him.”
I slowly step into the room. I wish I hadn’t left my sweater in my mother’s bag. I should have remembered that the cardiac unit is usually cold. I take a few more steps and I see a man with gray thinning hair lying in bed. He is surrounded by wires and machines. Memories, I think. I close my eyes and pray for a moment that I don’t ever end up like that again. I tiptoe over and peek to see if he’s awake. His eyes are closed – at least I can tell his wife that I tried. As I’m about to turn and leave, his eyes open. I cringe.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I walk around to the foot of the bed. I don’t want him to feel I’m invading his space or anything. He doesn’t attempt to move; instead he follows me with his eyes.
“My name is Elle. I came here because…”
“I know why you’re here,” he says weakly. “You’re another one, aren’t you? Someone else who came to talk some sense into me.”
“I could leave,” I say awkwardly, turning for the door.
“No, that’s okay. So tell me…” He pauses for me to say my name.
“Elle.” I answer.
“Tell me, Elle, what’s your story?”
“My story?” I bite my lip. “Well, I understand what it’s like to have heart surgery. I actually had a heart transplant.”
“You don’t say.” He wriggles his body a smidge. “Please.” He straightens his arm with the IV attached and points to a chair.
“Thank you.” I take a seat.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” he says glumly. “You were a young one. Pretty girl, too.”
“Excuse me?” I’m suddenly horrified.
“Your surgery. Did you die on the operating table?” he whispers.
I stand from the chair, suddenly frightened. “Sir?” I question.
“Wait a minute. Could you come over here for a second?” I look at him, afraid to move.
The Divine Heart Page 13
