Heart on a String

by Susan Soares

  “And then you tracked me down to return the letter to me. That’s not something most people would do.” He crossed his arms.

  “Well, that was with help from my best friend Zoe. It was pretty easy. Her boyfriend Darren knows you. So, you know, I just wanted to make sure the little boy got his letter back.” I wished I had a muffin or something to pick at.

  He sat quietly, contemplating me, and my story. “It seems like an extraordinary act of kindness.”

  “Oh!” I waved my hand at him. “Not extraordinary. Not at all.”

  “You don’t think it’s extraordinary? How would you describe it?” He raised one eyebrow at me.

  I bit my bottom lip. “Nice, I guess.”

  He nodded his head. “Nice. Hmm. You scaled a tree to get a balloon down, you researched who the balloon belonged to, and then you returned this letter to a family member — all for no other reason than to be nice?”

  “Sure,” I shrugged. “Don’t people do nice things anymore?” I repeatedly sipped my coffee.

  His face looked similar to Marc’s when he would attempt to solve a difficult puzzle. “Not that nice.” He sipped his coffee and then took my hand. “Honestly? It was just to be nice?”

  His words hung in the air around me. The heat from his fingers sent a jolt through me. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t. I wanted to be nonchalant, but I felt he’d see right through me. I wanted to run. I didn’t want to answer any more questions. He was getting too close to the truth.

  “Just to be nice.” The words came out quick and insistent, and I looked back down at my coffee before I could reveal anything further. But it wasn’t just to be nice. Not at all, because if I hadn’t made sure that little boy got his letter to Heaven, the same way my brother made sure I got my own letter to Heaven, I would’ve been devastated. As I looked at Brandon, his eyes looked so inviting. He looked so genuine, like he wouldn’t judge me or my family. “Also…” Pain surged in my heart as the word slipped out, and I realized I couldn’t say any more. I thought of Eric Hunter and that pity kiss he had given me to try to cheer me up after my mom had died. My family’s secrets needed to stay locked safely within me.

  “Also what?” he asked.

  I pulled my hand away from his, and the spot where he had touched immediately went cold. “Also, I’m just awesome, I guess.” A grandiose smile adorned my face, and it made him laugh. Thank goodness it made him laugh.

  Chapter Eight

  It wasn’t like I didn’t know what cancer was, but when your mom gets it at forty-two years old, it’s pretty intense. You would never have known she was sick. To look at her, she looked the same as always. She was blindingly beautiful. It was just a routine checkup, one of those things that as an adult woman you have to do yearly. See your dentist. Get a physical. Once you’re over forty, you need a mammogram. But this was the first time my mom had gotten one. I guess she figured forty-two was close enough to forty. The fact was that if she had gone at forty, they might have caught it sooner. Her breast cancer was already at Stage IV.

  ****

  When she came home from her appointment that day, I was struck at how frail she looked. It was as if someone had removed all of the bones from her body and left her in this limp shell of flesh and organs. She plopped herself down on the couch and deflated, letting a huge exhale escape her body.

  “Wow, what’d they do to you?” I was sitting in the recliner eating a vanilla yogurt. For a moment all I could think of was if I was going to get in trouble for having food in the living room. So, I carefully placed the cup on the floor out of her eyeline so I could retrieve it later and toss it out.

  “I don’t know how I just drove home.” My mother’s words were heavy, and her face was pale.

  I started to get that feeling in my gut, the one that turns your insides into a big triple knot. The one that lets you know something bad is coming. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I moved from the recliner to sit next to her on the couch. She didn’t look at me; she just kept staring off into the nothingness in front of her.

  I watched her try to speak, but she was just mouthing something, and I couldn’t hear any sound. “Mom, you’re kinda scaring me. What’s going on?” The quiver in my voice hurt my throat.

  She looked at me. I had never seen her eyes look the way they did that day. Her normally bright, sparkling, blue eyes now looked like tidal pools of blue dread staring at me. “Oh Marissa,” she squeaked out. “I have… c… I have… c…” She couldn’t get more than the hard sound of that first “c” out.

  Strings inside my stomach knotted themselves tightly. “Mom!” I half-shouted as I grabbed her shoulders to turn her to face me. “What’s wrong?” I suddenly felt like the parent and she, my frail, little child.

  “Cancer, Marissa. I have st-stage four cancer.” The second the words fell from her lips she collapsed, burying herself into my chest. My brain couldn’t register the words she had just spoken to me. It was just a massive confusing mix of nouns and verbs that created a cohesive thought, but it wasn’t a rational one, and I couldn’t for the life of me comprehend it.

  “I don’t understand.” I said it five times in a row. My mother’s silken blond hair tickled my chin as her face was buried in my neck, sobbing on me. “I don’t understand.” Six. “I don’t understand.” Seven. “I don’t understand.” Eight. I bit my lip to stop it from quivering but it didn’t matter. A cascade of tears and snot and saliva seeped from my face while I cradled my mother. My mother who had breast cancer. Stage IV breast cancer. “I don’t understand.” Nine.

  It was Hank, Mr. Brockwell, who tried to put things into perspective for us. He came over right away after I incoherently called him to ask him to pick up my brother from soccer. I don’t know how much I told him, but I know I got out the words “bad” and “mom” and “cancer.” At least I think I said the word cancer.

  By the time Mr. Brockwell and Marc got to the house, I had already moved Mom upstairs to her bedroom. She pretty much collapsed into a deep sleep. Sheer exhaustion overtook her from her afternoon at the doctor’s office and telling me her horrific news.

  “So what does this mean? What does this mean?” Marc was pacing back and forth in the living room, and I kept staring at his shoes as I sat on the couch with my knees hugged to my chest.

  “Well kids, this isn’t easy. I mean, cancer, cancer is never easy.” Mr. Brockwell said.

  “Cancer isn’t easy? Seriously, what does that even mean?” Marc yelled just before he kicked the coffee table, sending magazines soaring toward the floor.

  Mr. Brockwell got up from the couch. “Now listen son, I know you’re upset, but please try to calm down.” He put his arms out to hug Marc, but Marc just made a growling sound and pushed past him. Mr. Brockwell joined me again on the couch, and Marc resumed his pacing.

  “Marissa, sweetie, do you want me to get you something? A soda, water, anything?” His voice was so soothing.

  The fabric from my jeans scratched my chin as I hugged my knees tighter to my chest. “No thank you, Hank. I wish my grandmother would call back.” At that time my grandmother lived two towns over from us. In that moment, I wanted to hear her voice more than anything. I stared at Marc’s feet as he dragged them back and forth across the floor.

  “She’ll call, Marissa. She’ll call,” Mr. Brockwell said.

  “Marc, stop pacing.” I didn’t think I could take watching him pace anymore.

  “Oh, shut up.” He scowled at me.

  “I mean it, Marc. Stop pacing.” My voice was louder than before.

  He stopped for a minute. “What does, ‘I mean it’ mean? Are you planning on doing something about it? What are you gonna do, go tell Mom that I’m pacing?” He started pacing again.

  “Marc!” I yelled. “Take your shoes off. You’re getting dirt and sand all over the floor, and it’s going to upset Mom!” I stood in front of him.

  His eyes blazed down on me. “Mom won’t care about the dirt on the floor, Marissa. Do you know wh
y? Because Mom has cancer!” His breath was hot on my face as he spit out the last word at me. I fell to the floor and cried into the sandy carpet.

  “Marc!” I heard Mr. Brockwell yell before I felt him at my side rubbing my back. Then I heard Marc growl again. It sounded like he kicked something, and then I heard the front door slam. Next, the phone rang.

  “Grandma.” I got up from the ground and wiped my face with the bottom of my T-shirt. The caller ID confirmed it was my grandmother calling. I answered, and as soon as I heard her voice say, “Marissa, what’s wrong?” I lost it again. In a stupor, I handed the phone to Hank, and he informed my grandmother that her only daughter had terminal cancer.

  ****

  Zoe was giving me this look with her big eyes that could only be described as sad-take-me-home-please-I-will-love-you-forever eyes. “Please Marissa, I need your help.” She had her hands folded over themselves in a begging position, and she rested her face on them as she mouthed the word “please” over and over again.

  “You know how I feel about loaning my car out to anyone.” I stood protectively in front of the driver’s side door.

  “I know, Marissa, but please? For me?” She now added pouty lips to the puppy eyes.

  “You know how I feel about loaning my car out to someone who has gotten a moving violation, right?” I had to look at the ground; those eyes were killing me.

  “Marissa, I promise I’ll be good. Stop at all stop signs.”

  “Not rolling stops, actual stops. Complete stops, Zoe.”

  She bobbed her head up and down. “Actual stops. I promise.”

  Ugh. I passed her my keys, which I had been clutching in my hand. “I get off work at four. You need to return those to me before then.” It was bad enough I had to work with Taylor on a Saturday afternoon, but now I had to worry about Zoe blowing through stop signs in my car.

  She threw her arms around me. “You’re the best friend ever! I love you so much! I’ll be totally careful. I promise.”

  She was beaming as she waved goodbye to me. I pulled the heavy glass entrance door to the mall open. The smell of cinnamon rolls and french fries permeated my nose, and I already felt like I wanted to go home. Only five more hours to go!

  My afternoon went like this:

  Fold, fold, fold. “Marissa I need you to help on registers.” Clean out fitting rooms. Restock, restock, restock. “Marissa, this table up front looks like a hurricane hit it. Grab the clipboard.” Fold, fold, fold. Kick out a couple that was making out in the fitting rooms. “Marissa, I can’t leave the store unattended. I need you to go get me a coffee and muffin from the food court.” A wave hello and goodbye to Rob at Freshly Made. Clean out fitting rooms. “Marissa, where is the natural sweetener I asked for. You know, the stevia. I can’t drink this without stevia.” Back to food court to get stevia. Fold, fold, fold.

  “Hi!” Zoe had snuck up behind me while I was refolding, for the hundredth time, a stack of pink tank tops.

  “Don’t scare me like that. I’m on edge enough with Taylor barking at me every two seconds.”

  Right on cue Taylor popped up out of nowhere. “Marissa, the back fitting rooms are a disaster. I need them cleaned out before you leave.” She glared at Zoe, who politely gave her a Cheshire cat grin in return.

  “All right, Taylor, but this is still a mess up here, and I only have thirty minutes left, and I never even got my fifteen minute break today.” I was kind of whining, but it had been a long day.

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “Just finish this table up and leave at your normal time.” She huffed a little bit and then headed to her dungeon in the back room.

  “Gag,” Zoe said. “Well, I’m off. Darren’s meeting me at the food court. Thanks again for the car.” She tossed me my car keys.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Luckily, the last thirty minutes of my shift flew by, and before I knew it, I was clocking out, much to the chagrin of the cashiers. Saturday night was always mobbed at the mall, and I knew those girls would be toast by the time the store closed at ten o’clock.

  I was glad to be going home early. The night before, I had slept horribly, tossing and turning and overall feeling a bit anxious. Yesterday had been my coffee outing with Brandon, and now with it being the weekend, I had more and more time to overanalyze everything that we said to each other. I wondered if he’d be waiting for me again on Monday. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. I wondered if he realized how much he hated me for intruding on his family and their lives. I wondered if I wondered too much.

  About ten minutes into my twenty-minute drive home my car starting bucking like a sick bronco. The car was ten years old, but it was a good car. Never any problems, which is why I was completely shocked when it starting jerking as I inched my way down one of the lonely streets on my route home. Then I realized why. It’s hard for a car to run when there’s no gas in it.

  “Are you kidding me, Zoe!” I grabbed my purse from the backseat and reached for my phone. Man, was I going to lay into her when I talked to her. As I clicked on the “go” button to take my phone out of sleep mode nothing happened. So I clicked again, and again. That’s when I saw the little red light. Taunting me. The dead battery light was taunting me.

  “You have GOT to be kidding me!” I was yelling to no one, in my car that was out of gas, and I was clutching my phone that was out of batteries on a road that was vastly empty.

  Silently I sat in my car. The sound of my breathing grew more and more agitated. I remembered the roadside safety kit that sat on the drugstore shelf. The safety kit that I looked at and pondered getting before I made the better decision to get new mascara and the latest Allure magazine. The safety kit that, at this point and time, probably would have had something totally beneficial in it. With my index finger I wiped specks of mascara from my eyes and cursed at my stupidity.

  Out of my peripheral vision I saw a car slow down to the left of me. I was afraid to make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact with a stranger. Then, in the rear view mirror I saw the car slowly pull up behind me. Oh, no. A small, maybe middle-aged, woman then slowly made her way over to my driver’s side. She waved, and I rolled down my window.

  “Hi, are you okay?” Her voice was so sweet. Just like a mother’s.

  “No gas.” I sounded stupid using monosyllabic words. “Dead phone.” I held my phone up to show her.

  “Oh dear, that’s not good,” she said, and I nodded my head in agreement that it wasn’t good. She smelled like blueberries.

  “Listen, I know this little garage. It’s about twenty minutes from here. See, I live out near Freemont.”

  “Oh, I live in Bermont.” Our two little towns were near each other.

  “Oh great,” she said. “Let me call them.” With that she walked back to her car. I watched her in my rear view mirror. She talked into her phone, and she was one of those people that seemed to smile while talking on the phone, even though the person on the other end couldn’t see her. She tucked a piece of her dark blond hair behind her ears. I wondered if she felt me staring at her, because she caught my eyes in the mirror and she smiled. To distract myself I began fiddling with my MP3 player that I had dug out from my purse to at least have some music to listen to while I waited, and she walked back up to my window.

  “Okay, so they’re on their way. It’s a nice shop. Family business. But he did say it’ll be about thirty minutes.” She smiled again, and a few wrinkles creased around her eyes.

  “Oh, okay. I mean, thank you. Thanks a lot.” I looked away, but she stayed near my door.

  “Do you want me to wait with you? I could. I was just on my way home. I can call my husband and tell him I’ll be a little late.” The smell of blueberries wafted into my car again. I wondered if she worked at a bakery.

  “Oh no, that’s okay. I mean… I’ll be fine.” I looked at her just briefly, but her motherly smile made a pain in my heart so great that I had to look away.

  “I’ll just wait in my car.”
/>   “But—”

  She cut me off. “Like I said, it’s no big deal. I know I wouldn’t want my daughter stranded on the side of the road alone while she waited for help. I have a book. I’ll just sit and read, and when the truck comes, I’ll be on my way.” She smiled; she never seemed to stop smiling.

  I opened my mouth to object again, but she spoke before I could. “And I won’t hear another word about it.” She touched my shoulder briefly and then walked back to her car.

  “Thanks again,” I shouted out the window.

  While I waited, I reorganized my song lists on my MP3 player switching around songs that were in “dance” that should have been in “house”. Others that were way too upbeat to be in “mellow” got moved to “happy”. Then the whole “names” playlist was messed up. That was an entire playlist with songs having a name in the title. It included my mom’s favorite song of all time, “Mandy”. My mom almost named me Mandy instead of Marissa. As I sat contemplating my life being lived out with the name Mandy instead of Marissa I saw the tow truck heading towards me. After it passed by me, I saw the woman, whose name I should have asked, drive past me with a smile and a wave.

  The tow truck then made a U-turn and pulled in front of me. I watched a guy in blue coveralls climb out from the driver side. My MP3 player slipped out of my hands, so I bent down to the floor in front of me to retrieve it.

  “Hello,” a male voice said.

  I hit my head on the windshield wipers control stick on my way back up. I rubbed the spot and then looked out my driver’s side window.

  “Brandon?”

  Chapter Nine

  You literally could have put a nest of angry bees in my lap at that point, and it wouldn’t have fazed me as much as staring into Brandon’s hazel eyes did.

  “This is… strange,” he said.

  I began biting my bottom lip, listening to that anxious little voice inside my head. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?