“We were getting married someday anyway,” she says.
“What’s it like?” I ask. I’m dying to know.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself,” she says.
“Fat chance of that,” I tell her, and laugh and we both end up with the giggles.
Pete will be so happy that I’ve been able to get her mind off the Golden Window.
“So, how did it go?” he asks when Carla goes off to explore.
“It was great. We stuffed ourselves and I got her mind on other things.”
Like what?” Pete says.
“Like. . .like school, and boys, and stuff and—”
“And?” he says. Curiosity’s sitting on his face like lotion.
And, just stuff,” I say.
If he thinks I’m telling him about the sex part, he can just think again.
“So, do I get the job?” I ask.
“Job?”
“As your assistant?”
“Ah,” Pete says, and chuckles.
“Well, do I?”
“Lorelei, you can’t hang around here forever,” he says, and points upwards. “The Big Guy’s waiting on you.”
“Well, please ask him to wait awhile longer. There’s stuff I still want to do.”
First, I want to find out if Andy’s okay and will think and talk and be like he used to be. And I want to take Carla to the Nursery of Lost Kisses and Hugs. She misses her little brother Dillon and her little sister Delia. I know she’ll help me find whatever type of sibling I have.
THIRTY-THREE
The Golden Window
I tell Carla I’ll be gone for awhile and tag along with my father to see the man who has my corneas. I’m hoping Carla won’t ask specific questions. I haven’t told her the bit about my organs because maybe she’d feel bad. I’m sure her parents couldn’t consider donating hers. They were in terrible shape.
She did ask how I got here.
“I can’t really remember, but I’m working on it,” I say.
She nods her head.
“Will you keep an eye on Miss Lily for me while I’m gone?” I ask. “She’s really sweet.”
“Why not?” she says. “I haven’t got anything else to do, except maybe check out the Stairs to the Hereafter. They look cool.”
I hope she won’t do that too quickly. I’m really enjoying her company.
“Just be careful,” I warn her. “If you go too far, there’s no coming back.”
“Pete didn’t tell me that,” she says, a frown on her face.
“Probably because you didn’t ask—I’m sure he wasn’t trying to trick you. He’s a pretty nice guy.”
That makes me think of Miss Lily and how tender he was to her when she got here. I ask Carla to watch out for her while I’m gone.
“Sometime Miss Lily gets all weepy about her husband,” I explain. “He’s down there,” I whisper and point to a dark cloud we can see deep below the earth. “If she does, just order up croissants with butter and strawberry jam. That’s her favorite.”
I’m off.
Then I remember something and call to her over my shoulder.
“I have a great surprise for you when I get back. If you go to the Stairs to the Hereafter, don’t step on any one permanently!”
She says she won’t. Pete’s great, but it’s so nice to have a friend my age around again.
* * *
An old man has my corneas. He’s all excited because his great-granddaughter Rory is getting married and he’s going to walk her down the aisle. That’s because her father’s not around. He left Rory and her mother for another woman years ago, and her grandfather’s dead.
Her great-grandfather, the one who’s got my eyes, lives in Cincinnati. My father’s taken him to a nice restaurant, Bistro at Harper’s Point. His name is Norman Edward Powell. He’s eighty-three years old. Rory better be getting married very soon.
My father’s having crab cakes. Mr. Powell’s ordered Chile-glazed Salmon, which looks gross. After a very boring dinner, my father takes Mr. Powell back to his apartment. He’s fiddling on his computer, Mr. Powell, not my father. It’s kind of neat. I mean he’s this old man and he’s computer literate—amazing. I snoop around his apartment. Why not? He’s got a small color television. An old upright piano loaded with pictures of what must be various family members. There’s a corduroy recliner placed smack in front of the television, a plain green sofa and a brown tweed side chair with a foot rest. He has some newspapers tucked in a magazine rack, so my eyes must be working well for him. Of course he wears glasses that are thick as coke bottles, but the important thing is he can see for the first time in years. His kitchen’s the size of a postage stamp and has a tiny stove with two burners, a refrigerator meant for Barbie, and a drop leave table against a window. His bedroom has a double bed, a dresser without a mirror and a rocking chair. There are hand made doilies on the dresser. Both windows are wearing shades—that have turned yellow—pulled completely down, so the room’s not only dreary, it’s dark as well. I decide I’ve seen enough and hope he’s very happy with my eyes. Before I leave I take a quick peak at what he’s doing on the computer. My father has left, and the old man’s eyes (mine, sort of) have been glued to the screen ever since. When I find out what he is watching, my eyes nearly fly out of their sockets.
Mr. Norman Edward Powel’s zeroed in on a pornography site. It has women of all shapes and sizes who appear to be wrestling with donkeys! Or maybe worse. I look away quicker than you can sneeze.
Mr. Powel has his zipper down. He has one hand on the keyboard, but I will not discuss what he’s doing with the other one—period.
I think I’m major sick to my stomach. I think I made a mistake in coming here. And for sure I think my corneas should be recalled immediately.
THIRTY-FOUR
The Golden Window
Before I re-join Carla, I check in on Mona. Andy’s home! And he’s doing just fine. It seems children can sometimes survive under water for a longer period of time than you’d ever expect—something to do with their body temperature dropping to levels that don’t require the need for as much oxygen to the brain. Even though the weather wasn’t cold the day he climbed into the pool, the water was cold enough to lower Andy’s core body temperature. This is the best news!
Rita and Mona and their husbands and the kids are having a cookout. They’re grilling chicken. They’ve got potato salad and three-bean salad and heaping glasses of iced tea. And there’s cupcakes and milk for the kids. Bobby and Allison are licking the frosting off their cupcakes and Andy has more of his on his face than in his mouth. Bradley’s running circles on the lawn, with a new puppy at his heals.
The pool has a brand new cover anchored properly in place. That’s not going to keep a child from sliding under, given the right circumstances, but it’s a good start. Inside the house, locks on the doors have been bolted in place near the top. That should keep Andy inside until an adult decides to slide the bolt back and open the door. I’m relieved. I don’t like to think about what would have happened if Mona hadn’t been there—if Mona had not been alive to be there! My kidney not only saved her life, it saved Andy’s as well. I’m beginning to see that organ transplantation is like a ripple of water. It has far-reaching affects. Generations to come that might not have been will be able to be here—heavy stuff.
Rita picks up her glass of tea. “A toast,” she says, and turns to Mona. Their husbands join in.
“To Mona, who saved our precious Andy!”
“Hear, hear—to Mona!” Rita’s husband says. I think his name is Jon. “We are forever grateful. Hear! Hear!”
“Where? Where?” Bobby raises his glass of milk, slopping a good portion of it onto the picnic table. He’s a little ham.
“To life,” Mona whispers, “absolutely, positively, to all those who give life.”
Speaking of which, my father is now leading a double one. He flies to Savannah to see Kirsten t
hree days a week, under the pretense of a business investment on Tybee Island, and the rest of the week with my mother. I don’t follow my father when he spends time with Kirsten. When I see them together it makes me feel like I can’t breathe, and of course, I can’t breathe, not like before, but still it’s not a comfortable feeling, so I leave them to themselves and watch over my mother.
She and I are sort of sharing a common experience. The woman in her support group, Mrs. Charles, whose daughter died from, you know—that botched operation to get rid of the baby—well my mother has taken her under her wing. They get together with dear Mr. Warren and go for coffee after their meetings, the three of them. And I’ve taken it upon myself to safeguard Carla. It’s nice looking after somebody else. I’ve never had a sister, so Carla is as close as I’ll come, and it’s fun!—like having a best friend who’s not only a friend, but related under the skin—pretty wonderful.
We decide to prick our fingers and mingle our blood in a special ceremony. Huh! We discover we don’t have any blood! Spooky. But we pretend we do, and follow through with all the motions.
“So, what’s the surprise?” she says.
“Close your eyes,” I say, and take her hand.
We head to the Nursery of Loss Kisses and Hugs. “No peaking till we get there!”
When I open the door to the nursery, she as surprised as I was the first time I came here. I share my secret—that somewhere among all of these hundreds and hundreds of babies is one that’s my very own brother or sister.
“But how will we ever find which one?” she laments.
“I’m thinking we may have to enlist Pete’s help,” I say.
“Will Pete know?” she says.
“Pete knows everything.”
“But will he share everything?”
“That,” I say, “is the problem.”
Carla loops her arm around my waist. “Then we need to ask him. Let’s go find him.”
“Right now?” I say.
“Better now than never.”
THIRTY-FIVE
The Golden Window
I’m down in the dumps. Pete says it’s not a good idea.
“I’m concerned,” he says. “You’re having enough trouble letting go and going on. This could complicate it.”
Pete looks so sad—I want to just give him a hug or something. He tries so hard and I mostly never cooperate. I can’t imagine being in his shoes and having to help all these people that come here to move along. Are they all as stubborn as me? I picture myself stepping into his shoes. Thirty million people stand before me and refuse to budge. There’s no way I’d last more than ten minutes in his job. I’d open the door and throw them back. Fine, you don’t like Heaven? Here, have some more Life. Smack, right in their face.
So Pete’s doing a really good job. He’s always so patient. A tender spot just for him curls up inside me. But, is that enough for me to cooperate? No, it’s not,—I’m as stubborn as ever.
“How could it complicate things?” I say, “I just want to see him.”
“Your little brother—”
“Oh my gosh!” I say, jumping up and down. It’s a little brother?”
Pete nods.
A little brother of my very own—I can hardly believe it! A little brother! A little brother! I wonder if we look alike. Will I know him when I see him? And what will I say to him? I’ve got a million questions.
“As I was saying, Lorelei,” Pete continues, “your little brother will always be in the Nursery of Lost Kisses and Hugs. Your paradise is further on.” He points to the gold and purple mist, which seems to get more beautiful each time I look at it.
“And you hang on to Earth,” he continues, “even more, now that I have created the Silver Lining for you. I’m afraid, I’m not doing my job very well,” he says.
He’s got a point. The more trips I make through the silver window, the more I want to make. But before I can stop, I want to see what would have happened to the people who have my organs if they’d never gotten mine—don’t ask me why. I’ve always been nosey, I guess. And the only way to do that is to travel through the Silver Lining. These people are part of my life now. They’re important to me. And Garrett, who I thought to be a total geek, is becoming so much more. When I saw him last he’d taken charge of his pimples. Yes, totally taken charge! He ordered Proactiv Solution straight from the television ad. And it works! His skin’s nearly as smooth as that totally cool looking guy in the ad who acts sort of bashful and then he looks up and grins into the camera, and he’s totally dreamy. And now Garrett has skin like his and he’s getting contacts, too! He’s like a chameleon. He hasn’t grown any taller, but he’s definitely cuter. Even his clothes look good on his body. He’s wearing big oversized shirts and painter’s pants and he doesn’t look so skinny.
“You’ve got it major bad for him,” Carla says.
“You think?” I say.
“That’s how it started out with me and Joey,” she says. “Just wait, soon it will smack you right in the head and you’ll be a goner.”
I make a deal with Pete.
“If I absolutely make my final trip through the silver window, will you help me find my baby brother?”
Pete doesn’t answer.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking,” he says.
“And?”
“And I’ll get back to you.”
“When?”
“After—”
“After lunch?” That’d be perfect. Carla and Miss Lily and I are having Filet Mignon and double- baked potatoes and Caesar Salad. Yummy.
“After I speak to my boss.”
Okay!” I say.
This is paradise, right? He’s bound to say yes.
THIRTY-SIX
The Golden Window
We have a deal. Pete says he’ll help me find my baby brother, if I’ll agree to let him dismantle the Silver Lining. Who cares about that right now? I’m thinking of names for my brother!
“Agreed,” I say, “but first I must say goodbye to Mona and Garrett, and check on Kirsten.”
“Kirsten?” Pete says.
“The woman who has my kidney, the one my father is—
“Yes, I recall,” Pete says. “Why must you check on her?”
“My father’s making her life miserable. She thinks he’ll leave my mother for her. I don’t think he will. I want to make sure she’s alright.”
I want to see what would have happened to her if she’d gotten someone else’s kidney, maybe from someone’s father who was perfectly ugly, or whose father was a priest—maybe an Episcopalian priest—who’d never cheat on his wife.
“Three quick visits?” Pete says. “That’s it?”
“Well, maybe a quick trip to Mr. Powell.”
“Mr. Powell?”
“Norman Edward Powell, he’s wasting my eyes. I want to see if he got someone else’s would he waste them, too.”
“Lorelei, Lorelei,” Pete sighs.
But what else can he do? His job is to encourage us to move on, but it’s against the rules to force us, and he knows that I know this. He’s stuck. But at least now I’m willing, yes willing, to go forward. So I’m getting unstuck. It’s perfect!
Unfortunately, all that I find through the Silver Lining is not.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The Silver Lining
Pete’s seeing me off.
“On second thought,” he says, “I think I should go with you.”
“You need to stay here and hunt for Christopher,” I tell him.
“Christopher?”
“My baby brother—that’s his name, well, I’ve decided that’s his name. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes, yes, quite nice,” Pete says.
The sun is high and brighter than a flashbulb. The gold and purple mist is a giant canopy far above us. It’s a beautiful morning. I’m all excited. When I get back I’ll see my baby brother. Life—I mean—death has never looked so good.
“I’ll be al
right,” I say. “I promise.”
I hug his neck.
“Wish me good luck.”
“No,” he says and waves. “I wish you God Love, instead. With that you don’t need luck.”
First I check on Mona. She’s still at Mayo Clinic in Rochester. There’s a lot of activity going on in her room. I hoping she’s getting ready to go home. She got the kidney of a man who rode his motorcycle into a car, and never lived to know he had—very sad for him, that’s true, but how much better, that some happiness should come from it.
But there’s trouble. All the commotion in Mona’s room is because her immune system refuses to be immunized. The suppression drugs to keep her from rejecting her new kidney aren’t doing their job. Her new kidney is failing. Mona’s getting sicker every day. The toxins in her body are overloading her bloodstream, so dialysis is her only answer. That—or another kidney.
“If she’s well enough to receive one,” a doctor notes.
“If there’s even a match available,” another says.
“How can this be?” Mona asks. “For weeks I’ve been doing fine!”
“The chance of rejection decreases with time, Dr. Woodard says. “But it can occur any time after the transplant.”
It began with a fever and flu-like symptoms. Soon Mona was gaining weight and retaining fluid. Then she got real tired. They’re going to do a kidney biopsy to see if rejection is actually occurring. In the interim they’re adjusting her medication dosages along with adding other types of immunosuppressants. Because these medications interfere with the body’s natural immunity, Mona will be more susceptible to infections. To combat this, they prescribe antibacterial, antiviral, and anti-fungal medications to prevent her from contracting more harmful infections. She’s a walking medicine cabinet. Mona’s trying to remain cheerful, but I can see the fear in her eyes. It’s standing at attention. She was expecting to go home in a few days. Now she has to stay at the clinic indefinitely. Disappointment and worry take the place of joy and gratitude.
The Heavenly Heart Page 10
