In a Heartbeat

by Loretta Ellsworth

  “You were her boyfriend,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  We stood there looking at each other. Scott was tall, clean-cut, muscular, with short, dark hair. He was the kind of guy I suspect would date cheerleaders like Rachel.

  “I don’t know how to say this. I feel like Eagan’s part of me. But I’m not her, you know?”

  He nodded again. “I know.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Not long. A couple of months. But I loved her.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I should have been there. I was at my football banquet. Maybe my being there would have changed something. Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen. Maybe she wouldn’t have died.”

  He spun around when he realized what he’d just said. “I didn’t mean …”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. I stared at the picture of them, of how happy they were. My heart fluttered in my chest, as if she was responding.

  He put a finger on the picture. His eyes were watery. He sniffed twice. “I love you, babe,” he whispered.

  I felt like an intruder, so I looked at the opposite wall. There was something wrong with her room. Something not quite right. How could I know that when I’d never been here before?

  Scott wiped a hand across his eyes. “It kinda helps to know that her heart is still beating.”

  “I’m glad you showed me her room.” I turned to go then stopped. “Is this the way it always was? Did they move anything?”

  “I was only here once. It looks the same as I remember it, though.”

  I wrapped my arms together as a shiver settled in my elbows. “I just thought there’d be something else here.” I studied the room: a bed, two dressers, a desk and chair. “A chair,” I said. “It’s missing a chair.”

  Scott’s face clouded. “What chair?”

  I thought of the chair in my hospital room, the one that seemed so familiar. “A rocking chair.”

  Scott gasped. “Holy shit. Who told you about that?”

  I put my hand over my heart. “No one. I just knew.”

  Scott closed the door to her room. “I never told them about it. The chair. Eagan was so mad, she said she didn’t want her mom to have it. They never got along well. I thought it was what Eagan wanted, and then after a while, I couldn’t tell them about it because they’d want to know why I hadn’t said anything before.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The rocking chair that Eagan and her grandpa made for her mom. It’s hidden behind a panel in her closet.”

  “Why didn’t her grandpa say anything?”

  “He didn’t know it was there.”

  We were interrupted then by shouting in the hallway. “You let her into Eagan’s room? You had no right to do that.”

  “I think we better go,” Scott said.

  But I barely heard him. I couldn’t move. Something was wrong. I sat down on Eagan’s bed and leaned forward, doubled over by a sharp pain. It seared through me like razor blades cutting into my lower back. I felt dizzy, like I was going to black out.

  “You okay? Amelia?”

  Scott was yelling down the stairs, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The light-headedness made his voice sound distant.

  Ari was by my side. “It hurts, Ari.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I thought I might vomit and pass out at the same time. I grabbed Ari’s hand. I gasped. “It hurts,” was all I could get out.

  “I’ve called 911,” a voice said.

  I started to cry. “Am I going to die?”

  Ari’s voice was close. “Don’t think about the pain. Concentrate on something else, Amelia.”

  Something else. All I could think about was that I was going to die after all I’d gone through, all the pain and stupid beeping machines. I was going to die on her bed. I’d failed her. Eagan was upset, so she was taking her heart back. God, don’t let me die now.

  I wanted to get away from the pain and dizziness, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t even hear. I was caught in the spiral that was swirling around me, trapping me, killing me.

  I wanted Mom and Dad more than ever. I wanted to tell them I loved them before I died.

  Huge arms carried me. I was aware of people around me. A mask on my face. I felt something go through me, through my veins, seep up my arms. Then everything went black.

  35

  EAGAN

  In one of my flashbacks, the tiniest thing happened during math class. Instead of closing my math book and picking it up like I was supposed to do, I pushed it off my desk onto the floor. It landed with a loud clunk. I stared at the book, at what I’d done, because in my memory that hadn’t happened.

  “I did it,” I tell Miki. “I think I can change the past.”

  She stares at me with wide eyes. “You can’t change things.”

  “But I already did. Okay, so it was something little, but if I could do that, then maybe I could go back to the accident and …”

  “They’re memories. They already happened. The world has already changed.”

  “What if I can change what happened?”

  “You can’t. You just thought you did.”

  “I can try.”

  “It’s time for you to face the truth. I want you to see something,” she says. The fog opens up and we’re in a hospital room.

  A nurse works on a patient, inserting a needle, adjusting a tube, taking blood pressure.

  Who is the patient? I hope it’s not Grandpa.

  Then I see a girl’s form on the bed. For a brief instant I think it’s me. Could it be? Maybe I’m not dead—maybe this has all been a dream, or I’m having one of those near-death experiences. Or am I like Scrooge? Was Miki sent to me to straighten me out before I turned into a real loser?

  Whoever this girl is, she’s hooked to a lot of machines. The room faces a nurse’s station, and monitors beep out numbers above her head. That’s it. I’m in a coma. I just thought I was dead.

  Then I see her face. It isn’t me. She looks so young—her face is pale. Is she dying too?

  As I move to the side, I notice Miki standing next to me.

  “Who is she?” I ask.

  “She’s a girl who had a heart transplant. But she’s having some problems.”

  “Who was the donor?”

  Miki looks at me.

  “Oh.” This really complicates things.

  “You can come in now,” the nurse tells someone in the hall. A woman walks in. She has one of those green hospital masks over her face, but I can see a smile in her eyes, and I recognize the worry behind the smile. She takes the girl’s hand with her gloved one. I move in for a closer look.

  The girl has light brown hair, straight and fine. She looks younger than me, but there’s a wisdom in her face, as though she’s older than her age.

  “Mom?” Her voice is rough. “I’m sorry.”

  She sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me, Amelia?”

  Tears run down Amelia’s face. “I should have. I didn’t know how.”

  The woman reaches out a gloved finger and wipes away a tear. “It wasn’t a rejection. You had a reaction to the buildup of cyclosporine in your system. It caused a bad urinary tract infection. They switched your med to tacrolimus. They have it under control now. You’re out of danger.”

  “Promise?”

  Her mom moves closer and takes Amelia’s hand. I think she’s going to put it on Amelia’s heart, my heart, but she places it on her own and puts both her hands on top of Amelia’s hand. “I promise. With all my heart.”

  The girl sniffs. “Speaking of promises, don’t blame Ari. I made him do it. Now he probably hates me.”

  Her mom’s mouth turns into a smirk. “Oh, I doubt that. He’s outside waiting to see you.”

  “He’s here? Can I see him?”

  “I’ll send him in.”

  A boy enters. He looks about my age. The mask on his face squishes his dark hair against his neck. His dark brow
n eyes are bloodshot.

  I sense Amelia’s shyness, hear the familiar beat of my heart in her chest. I’m in awe of my heart inside her, keeping her alive. I feel the heart, my heart, flutter.

  “I thought I was going to die,” she says.

  He moves closer and takes her hand. “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “You got it out of the way,” he says softly. “Now you can get on with your life.”

  “Are you talking about the rejection scare or meeting her family?” she asks.

  “Both,” he says.

  The girl’s face screws up like she’s going to cry again. “Eagan’s mom didn’t want to meet me, Ari. She hates me.”

  He squeezes her hand. “Give her time. At least you made the effort.”

  Figures. Mom wouldn’t even see her. I’m irritated with Mom even though a moment ago I was crying for her. “Is she going to be okay?” I ask as I watch them.

  Miki shrugs. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “What? You don’t know? Then what are we doing here?”

  “You wanted to change the past. You should know what you’d change.”

  I get it. I had my shot at life. Now it’s someone else’s turn.

  I let out a long sigh. “I guess I can’t go back after all.”

  “You never really could,” Miki says.

  “Amelia,” the boy says. “You’ve got quite a crowd outside. Your dad is out there, and that guy Scott is waiting to see you. Didn’t you tell him you already have a boyfriend?”

  Her pale face takes on a bit of color. “Did you just say you were my boyfriend?”

  He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “If that’s okay with you. I mean, if your parents will ever let me see you again.”

  “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “I’m saying it because the first time I saw you in the hospital, I wanted to come back the very next day. But I was afraid you’d think I was stalking you. I mean, I wouldn’t drive my beater to Wisconsin for just anyone.”

  A blush works its way onto her cheeks. “I wonder what Scott wants.”

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad he’s not competition because, to be honest, I think he could beat the crap out of me. That dude is built.”

  I let out a scream. “Oh my God! Scott’s here?”

  Miki twirls around in her yellow dress. “See? You thought you’d never see him again.”

  The boy, Ari, leaves, and a moment later Scott walks in. I’ve been so immersed in my life, it only seems like a moment ago that I saw him. So the first thing I notice is that he’s lost weight. Instead of filling out his letter jacket, it hangs from his frame. Not that he isn’t still gorgeous. But he carries himself differently. He walks like someone who’s suffered a serious defeat. I’d love to give him a big kiss underneath that hospital mask.

  He stands away from the bed and holds a bouquet of white roses in a pink vase. “How are you feeling?”

  “Stupid. Scared. The doctors said I had a chemical reaction, a buildup of the cyclosporine. They switched me to another drug. I’m feeling a lot better already. I can’t believe this happened at her house. I thought Eagan was trying to tell me something. Maybe she just wanted me to go away.”

  Scott sets the vase down on the nightstand. “I’m sorry you got sick, but I’m glad you came. I think she was trying to tell me something. I mean, you knew about the chair.”

  The girl takes a deep breath. “That was unreal.”

  Scott sticks his hands into his pockets. “I told her parents about the chair. I should have told them sooner. It was this secret Eagan and I shared, and I guess I didn’t want to let it go. It was something just the two of us knew, and that made it special. But I figured if you knew about the chair, then maybe Eagan wanted them to have it after all.”

  The chair. I’d forgotten about it. “How sweet.” I sniff back a tear. “Scott was keeping the rocking chair safe for me. But they should have it. Besides, Mom will need it for the new baby.”

  Miki nods.

  Strange how I have a need to make Mom and Dad feel better. My former self might not have. Who knew that death would make me a better person?

  “Well, the nurse said not to stay long. One visitor at a time. And your dad is waiting to see you. I just wanted to say that seeing you made me feel a connection,” Scott said.

  “I know what you mean. I feel like she’s part of me now, and I’m going to live for both of us.”

  He turns toward the door. “Believe me, Amelia. You got a strong heart. It’s not going to give out on you.”

  “Thanks for the flowers, Scott.”

  He leaves. Amelia sighs and closes her eyes. I want to follow Scott, but something is keeping me here.

  “She needs to talk to your mom,” Miki says.

  “How can I help her? Nobody can see or hear me. I can’t talk to anyone.”

  “Wanna bet?” she says.

  “But how?” I ask.

  “I’ll show you.” And she pulls me away.

  Ask anyone who’s died and you’ll get the same answer: the best way to talk to someone still living is in their dreams.

  My parents waited for me in their dreams, hoping that if they found me, they could somehow keep me from leaving again. Dreams let them pretend. So much easier than facing real life.

  Mom had dreamed of me as a little girl. In that dream I was still alive, and she was upset when she woke up and realized I was dead. It was as if she’d lost me all over again. That dream led to uncontrollable sobbing in the middle of the night.

  I came in the faint early morning light after she’d had a restful night’s sleep and was ready to hear what I had to say. Her mind was unusually clear. Mom’s arm was tucked under her pillow and her brown hair was disheveled. She’d kicked off the bedspread earlier and now had drawn her body into a fetal position in search of warmth.

  In this dream she knew I had died. She was sitting at the kitchen table and she saw me as I looked the day of the accident. I had on my warm-up pants and a sweatshirt.

  I stood at the other side of the table, my hand resting on the back of the chair. I was quiet until I knew she’d seen me. I didn’t want to scare her.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  She looked hard at me, not sure she could trust her eyes. “Eagan? Is that really you?”

  I nodded.

  “How could you leave me like that?” She said it as if I’d broken her heart on purpose.

  “It’s not like I wanted to leave,” I said.

  She shook her head, both in her dream and in real life on her pillow. “I need you,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said in a softer voice. “You’ll have another child. She’ll be a comfort to you until you see me again.”

  “But she won’t replace you.”

  “Good,” I said. “I wouldn’t want her to.”

  Then I changed form. I don’t know how I did it. Maybe because it was a dream and in dreams you have that ability. I became that other girl, Amelia. Mom stared at me. Her eyes widened in panic. “Eagan!”

  “I’m right here, Mom.”

  She stared at me, at this other girl I’d become who had the same voice as her daughter’s.

  “You’re not my daughter.”

  “No. But maybe Amelia can show you where I am.” I paused. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you.”

  “I don’t fear the worst anymore. It’s all good.”

  Then Mom dreamed about the baby, whispering softly to her about her big sister. I could tell Mom was going to wake up differently this time. No more sobbing. She’d remember this dream and would keep it close to her heart.

  I waved as I faded from her dream. “Be happy, Mom.”

  Mom nodded at the thought, and she smiled at me, both in her dream and on her pillow.

  36

  Amelia

  I stared out the window at the Milwaukee skyline. If I leaned just ri
ght, I could see Lake Michigan. The whitecaps reminded me of the froth on the top of a root beer. I had on the same jeans and shirt I’d worn to Eagan’s house. It had felt weird to lie in bed with my clothes on. But I didn’t want to sit in the chair. So I perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for Mom and Dad to take me home.

  They were downstairs talking to reporters at a press conference that the hospital had set up. It was national news that I’d had an episode at the home of my donor. Reporters kept coming to the ward, asking to see me. Dad said that someone from CNN had called. Mom kept them all away. I just wanted to be left alone.

  My levels are good now. The danger has passed. What if I’d died in her house, right on Eagan’s bed? Now that really would have been news.

  How would the reporters react if I told them how she’d changed me? Would they believe that Eagan gave me a sense of humor and a feisty mouth that seemed to spill out thoughts that came from nowhere? Would they believe that she’d told me her nickname was Dynamo? That I knew she was a figure skater? That I knew about the rocking chair she’d hidden in her closet?

  As I watched the waves splashing against the shore, I remembered watching the video of Eagan on the ice, her body effortlessly flying through the air. I’d heard her laugh, watched her move with a confidence I couldn’t imagine having. She might have died, but at least she knew how to live.

  All I had were my drawings. Pages of that magnificent horse from my dream, the one who’d led me here. I’d tried over and over to capture the image on paper, but each effort came up short.

  Someone behind me cleared her throat. I turned around, thinking the discharge nurse had more instructions. But a woman stood just inside the door.

  “May I come in?” she asked. I recognized Eagan’s mom from pictures at her house. She was short but carried herself in an upright, almost regal stance. Her curly hair was pinned up. She smiled at me, but her pointed chin and high cheekbones made her seem less inviting than the smile intended.