ACCLAIM FOR The Heart Between Us
“Lindsay Harrel has penned a charming story that is sure to touch the hearts of her readers. Through the stories of Megan and her sister Crystal, readers get a glimpse of adventure, restoration, conquered fears, and realized dreams. Lindsay will no doubt win readers with this heartfelt story.”
—LAUBEN K. DENTON, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
OF THE HIDEAWAY ON THE HEART BETWEEN US
“A sweet story of sisterhood, familial bonds, sacrificial love and finding your own identity amidst the storms of life. Poignant with tender moments, as well as laughter, The Heart Between Us is a touching novel that is sure to please.”
—CATHERINE WEST, AUTHOR OF THE MEMORY OF YOU
“I love this story of facing our fears. Harrel pens a clever, well-written love story between two sisters, the men in their lives and the dreams of a heart donor. Life is more fleeting than we know and this timeless story reminds us to love well.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING
AUTHOR ON THE HEART BETWEEN US
“The Heart Between Us is an absolute gem of a story. The intriguing premise drew me in from the start, but it was the authentic characters and their relatable struggles that kept me reading. I especially loved getting to travel vicariously through Megan and Crystal! A heart-tugging, not-to-be-missed book from an author who belongs on your keeper shelf.”
—MELISSA TAGG, AUTHOR OF THE WALKER FAMILY SERIES
“Lindsay Harrel has given readers an engaging story about stepping past fear and finding adventure in the unexpected. The Heart Between Us is sure to become a fan favorite!”
—KATIE GANSHERT, AWARD WINNING AUTHOR OF LIFE AFTER
The Heart Between Us
© 2018 by Lindsay Harrel
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Represented by Rachelle Gardner of Books & Such Literary Management.
Author photo by Naomi Fugit Photography.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are taken from The Message. Copyright © by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Epub Edition February 2018 ISBN 9780718075712
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Harrel, Lindsay, author.
Title: The heart between us : two sisters, one heart transplant, and a bucket list / Lindsay Harrel.
Description: Nashville : Thomas Nelson, [2018]
Identifiers: LCCN 2017041988 | ISBN 9780718075705 (softcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Self-actualization (Psychology) in women--Fiction. | Self-realization in women--Fiction. | Twin sisters--Fiction. | GSAFD: Christian fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3608.A7794 H43 2018 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017041988
Printed in the United States of America
18 19 20 21 22 / LSC / 5 4 3 2 1
FOR MY HUSBAND, MIKE—YOU HELP ME
TO BE THE BRAVEST VERSION OF MYSELF.
WITHOUT YOU, I WOULD NOT HAVE HAD
THE COURAGE TO PURSUE MY DREAMS.
“Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of the mountains,
at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers,
at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of
the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.”
—Saint Augusiine
Contents
Acclaim for The Heart Between Us
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Prologue
Amy says in order to move forward, I have to stop clinging to the past.
But it’s not that simple, to just stop doing something you’ve done for years. So instead, she’s asking me to focus on the future. On my dreams.
Because the thing about dreams is, they give you something to live for.
That’s why she had me write a bucket list, twenty-five things I want to do before I die. Twenty-five things that will make my future brighter, that will stop giving my memories so much power over my life.
I’ve been in therapy for seven years, but I still struggle. Not every day—like at the beginning. But sometimes still, the memories sneak up on me when I least expect them. They drag me down and pull me under like a riptide.
And even though I long to fight them, my arms and legs get tired. I grow weak.
In those moments, I’m maybe kind of okay with letting go and drifting away, allowing the sea to carry me wherever it wants to go.
But now when that happens, I have a new tool. I can try to focus on the dreams, the plans, the goals I have. And I can say, “Not today. I won’t let you rip them from me.”
It’s not necessarily about avoidance or forgetting. There are some things you never forget. Instead, it’s about learning to swim parallel to the shore, to be one with the waves, with the pain. To replace weakness with strength, fear with hope.
According to Amy, hope can be my rescuer. If I let it.
Chapter 1
JUNE 1
For the first time in her life, Megan Jacobs felt almost brave.
Her hands continued to grip the steering wheel a moment longer than necessary before she put her Ford Focus into Park and cut the engine. The parking lot at the banquet hall was packed, and people strolled toward the entrance dressed to the nines in tuxedos and ball gowns, ready to enjoy the fund-raiser.
Megan really hoped Caleb was among them.
On the other hand, she hoped he wasn’t.
But that was the whole point of coming. Not that a fundraiser for the very hospital where she’d received her heart transplant wasn’t worthy of attendance. Still, the only thing that had prompted her to accept the invitation in a last-minute RSVP was seeing on Facebook th
at her old hospital buddy was heading home for the weekend.
It was finally time to apologize.
Megan blew out a breath, flipped open the lighted mirror on the visor, and angled it downward. Her natural dark-brown hair hung in waves around her face. She’d filled out a lot in the last three and a half years since her surgery, looking healthier than she ever had. Would Caleb notice a difference in her?
Her trembling hand touched the scooped neckline of her red satin dress. Her fingers found the scar that ran from the bottom of her neck nearly to her belly button. The doctors had said it would fade with time. But more than three years later, it was as prominent as ever, like a plump white caterpillar that never moved.
She snatched the smooth, lightweight scarf that lay on the messy passenger seat and for a moment imagined what it would feel like to leave it behind. But then she sighed, wound it around her neck, and draped it to hide the scar.
When she leaned over to grab her clutch, her hand brushed the letter she’d received last week—the one she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about. Megan covered it with a magazine that lay on the floor. She’d think about it later. Right now she had to focus on finding Caleb Watkins.
She opened the car door and climbed out into the fading Minnesota sunlight, wobbling on her brand-new stilettos. The days were getting longer now that summer had finally arrived. Winter had lasted longer than usual this year, with a flurry of snow falling in early May.
Megan loved all the seasons but felt a special connection with winter. Maybe that was because she understood it best—the snow covering the ground, burying it, waiting for something to happen. To grow.
Sometimes it seemed she’d been waiting her whole life.
Tiny pebbles crunched beneath her heels as she approached the hall. Strands of classical music drifted toward her. A few other people converged at the door, where a large sign indicated she was in the right place.
Megan said hello to the greeters and was swallowed into a glamorous room decorated with at least thirty round tables, each one featuring a black shimmery tablecloth, an ornate gold-and-floral centerpiece, eight place settings, and name cards. People milled everywhere, gathering in small clusters and gripping champagne flutes or wine glasses. Servers bustled in and out of a swinging door to the left with silver trays, stopping to offer hors d’oeuvres to attendees. The faint scent of seared beef made its way from the kitchen every time a server disappeared or reappeared through the door.
She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, sneaking peeks around the room for someone she knew—specifically, a lanky guy with dark hair who’d always had the ability to coax a smile out of her even on her worst days. Megan wandered toward the edge of the crowded room. Dealing with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy for so much of her life hadn’t provided many opportunities for swanky social gatherings like this one, and so far she didn’t recognize anyone. Maybe Caleb wasn’t coming after all.
By instinct, she placed two fingers over her wrist. For fifteen seconds, she counted, then did the math in her head. Ninety beats per minute. Right within range, even though a little higher than normal. She took the small notebook out of her purse and jotted down her latest stat. Some might call it an unnecessary habit, one formed during that first year after surgery when her doctor had suggested tracking her heart rate, along with what foods she ate and when she took her medication.
At her first-year checkup, he’d recommended getting a heart-rate tracking device like a Fitbit—something that wouldn’t require her to be so vigilant.
She hadn’t. If she left it up to a device, she might eventually forget altogether about the need to track her heart rate—and she couldn’t afford to be so lax.
Megan capped the pen and stuffed it and her notebook back into her purse. She took a deep breath. Time to find her seat. With steps that were surer than she felt, Megan found the seating chart, then headed toward the front row of tables, looking for her name card. She was so focused, she didn’t see the person in front of her and ran straight into someone tall and solidly built.
“Oof.” She closed her eyes at the pain that shot through her nose and stepped back. “I’m so sorry.”
Two arms steadied her. “Meg?”
She’d know that voice anywhere. She opened her eyes and craned her neck upward. Caleb stared down with his emerald eyes.
Oh.
No longer was he her pale, skinny friend with a mullet who needed a new heart. His cheeks weren’t sunken in, his hair had been cut, and his skin had a nice bronze to it. He filled out his suit with muscles she’d never seen before. There hadn’t been any recent pictures of him on Facebook. The only photos he’d posted were those he’d taken as a professional photographer. She was wholly unprepared for this transformation.
Because frankly, he was gorgeous.
Megan blinked in rapid succession and stood there like an idiot, unable to say a thing. Their easy camaraderie was gone, now that she and Caleb hadn’t spoken in over a year.
Not since he’d called and asked her to come work with him in London like they’d always dreamed—and she’d said yes, only to change her mind a week before the trip, leaving him to scramble for another writer at the last minute.
“Meg? You okay?” Caleb studied her face, his brow furrowed in worry.
She lowered her hand. “Yes.” Her voice squeaked as she pushed the word from her lips. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry about running into you. I mean, literally running into you. It doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you.” Oh man. This was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. And what now? Did she hug him? Fist bump like they used to? Turn and run right out the front doors, not looking back?
A different kind of anxiety than she’d been feeling that night zipped through her. Almost like . . .
But that was nonsense. This was Caleb. The guy who had been her fellow-patient-slash-friend since their awkward teenage years, who’d maneuvered his wheelchair into her hospital room at two in the morning to share his forbidden pizza more times than she could count. The friend who had spent hours and hours in the hospital’s children’s center looking at old copies of National Geographic with her, dreaming of what life would be like once they got their new hearts. He’d received his five years ago, and she’d been thrilled for him.
But oh, it had been so hard to watch him go on almost immediately to do what they’d dreamed of doing, together—without her. Of course, it didn’t make sense to begrudge him. It’s not like he’d stopped calling her and giving her encouragement during her presurgery and recovery days.
Well, not until a year ago, when he’d asked her to join him, and she’d chickened out.
So tonight she’d come to make amends.
Enough. Megan stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his chest. His arms encircled her, and for a moment, she was home. The loudness in the room faded.
When she pulled away, the noise came careening back. Caleb smiled, but his features seemed tighter. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” She wanted to say more, but how could she go from “Hi” to “I’m sorry” in two seconds flat?
Crystal would have known what to say. She’d have walked into the room completely competent, like she owned the place. Unlike Megan, who shifted from one foot to the other and picked at her cuticles.
But then, her twin had always been Megan’s opposite in every way, hadn’t she?
Megan tugged at the short waves at the nape of her neck. “H-how are you?”
“You know, living the dream.” Caleb chuckled, but something about his laugh sounded off. He fiddled with his bow tie.
“That’s great.” The words had a ring of fake brightness to them. “You’re working as a freelance photographer still, right?” As if she didn’t stalk the gorgeous photos from around the world he posted on Facebook—amazing landscapes, dangerous animals, foreign people, wonders of the world.
All the places they’d talked about seeing “someday,”
he was seeing. And she was busy . . . doing what?
“Yeah, I just got back from Cameroon.” A smile settled on Caleb’s lips. “You wouldn’t believe how lush it is there. And the people are so friendly. You’d be jotting everything in your journal.”
Her memory was filled with so many nights in the hospital with Caleb, watching the Travel Channel together, Megan recording details as they flashed across the screen, then attempting later to form them into a written account. Caleb would read her “articles” and decide what pictures he’d take to complement them.
And now it had been years since she’d even touched a journal.
“I’m sure I would.”
“Still working at the library?”
“Yes. Same ol’, same ol’.” Megan had been an aide at the small library in her hometown since high school, and despite the bachelor’s degree in English she’d earned online, she’d stayed in the minimum-wage position.
Not just that, but at the age of thirty-two, she still lived with her parents with no concrete plans of moving out. She’d intended to, once she was “well enough.” Then the days slipped into weeks and months, even years, and Megan had stayed put.
Her life seemed more pathetic by the moment.
Caleb frowned. He opened his mouth to say something else.
But she couldn’t take whatever he was going to say. It was bad enough she was disappointed in herself. Adding her once-upon-a-time best friend’s disappointment to the load was more than she could bear. “It’s really stuffy in here. I need air.” Megan turned on her heels and pushed her way through the crowd. She burst onto a balcony, inhaling the fresh air, taking it in gulps.
Her lungs burned.
“Meg, wait.”
She leaned against the concrete railing, her back to Caleb as he approached.
He placed his elbows next to her on the railing. His cologne floated on the evening breeze—a woodsy scent that wasn’t familiar. Not familiar but not unpleasant. Not at all. “Can we start over?”
Megan tilted her head toward him. An apology rested in his eyes. She nodded and chewed her bottom lip.
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