A Matter of Heart (19 page)

“I
see,” Mom says.

There's an edge to her voice that scrapes along my nerves like a razor, shredding me into pieces.

A shadow grows along the stairwell and Dad paces just into eyesight before turning back toward the kitchen.

“Yes, I understand,” she says. “We'll make an appointment to follow up.” I hear her draw in a breath and I draw in my own stomach muscles, ready for the blow. Ready to absorb what cannot possibly be absorbed.

“Yes, well,” she says dully, “that is good news. I appreciate that.”

The phone clicks off.

“What's good news?” Dad asks.

“Her condition is manageable with medication. The doctor doesn't see any need for surgery.”

There's a sharp sound and a grunt of pain. I think he's smacked his hand on the counter. “Then it's the same diagnosis?”

“Yes.”

Pain explodes inside me, ripping through the defenses I built these past weeks. The positive thoughts, the belief, the hope. Gone. I tremble, exposed. I have nothing to hold on to except for pain.

Jen squeezes my hand harder, but I shake loose. I can't be touched…can't. I scramble up one step, wrap my arms around my middle, and hold myself together.

Where do I go that this can't follow?

“Where is she?” Dad is asking.

“Upstairs. With Jen,” Mom answers. “They're in the bathroom getting ready with the music on.” She makes a choking noise. “The party, David. She's been looking forward to it all week. We can't tell her this now.” Mom's voice is softer. “Let her go out tonight and have a good time. We'll tell her tomorrow.”

Silently, I'm on my feet, backpedaling up the rest of the stairs, fury screaming inside of me but even my tears are silent. Go out and have a good time, and then tomorrow she'll tell me I can't swim competitively ever again? That's her solution?

I slip back into the bathroom, but before I can close the door, Jen is there behind me. Pink is on the radio.

Na na na na na na na I want to start a fight
.

So, so what? I'm still a rock star….

I flip up the volume.

The beat pulses through me, and now the fury inside me has found a rhythm.

“Abby?” Jen's face is pale, her eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not.” I look in the mirror and flick away a spot of wetness by the corner of one eye.

“All right, so that's not what we wanted to hear.” Her voice cracks. “I get that. But you're not going to die, Abby.”

“I can't swim, Jen.”

“What about the fifty? I saw your dad's chart. Is there any way…”

I pin her with a look and her words die along with everything else. “It's all a lie. Every last time recorded.”

“But—”

“I figured it wouldn't matter. I'd get an okay from the second doctor and everyone would forget about the fifty-meter free. I'm six days from State, Jen. Six freaking days.” I spit the words out like bullets. But quiet bullets. I'm not ready to face Mom or Dad. “Now what do I do? Sit this one out as if it's a school meet or an invitational? It's the Olympic trial qualifier, and I'm fast enough to qualify right now. I could have done it two weeks ago and I could do it a week from now except for these stupid damn pills.”

“I know. I understand—”

“No, you don't,” I say, cutting her words off with an angry motion of my hand. “I'm not trying to be a bitch, but you don't have a chance for the Olympics. You don't give that up without a fight.”

“Fine,” she says. “You're right. But I wouldn't risk my life.”

“Girls?” Mom's voice startles me and I look toward the door. It's closed. And the music is still loud.

I lean forward to open the door. “What?”

“Dad and I will be out front with the neighbors. We're already getting our first trick-or-treaters. Everything good up there?”

I roll my eyes, but I keep my voice steady. “Yeah. Great. Everything's just great.”

“Okay. Well.” She clears her throat. “Have a wonderful time. In fact, since it's Halloween, you can have an extra hour on your curfew. As long as it's okay with Jen.”

“Thanks.” The word sticks in my throat. Sure, that'll make it all right. Give me an extra hour on my curfew.

I shut the door as Jen sags against the sink.

“Careful,” I say, pulling her up and pointing to an open compact. “You're going to get makeup on your vest.”

She gives me a strange look. “So? Who cares?”

“Serial killers are not sloppy.”

“We're not going to the party now.”

“You heard my mom. We're going to go and have a good time. It's my last chance.”

“Stop it, Abby.”

“No. She's right.” I grab a lipstick and unwind a strip of bright red. “We should go to the party.” I'm careful to put it on straight since my hand is trembling. “There.”

Jen shakes her head. “Let's just hang out. We'll go to my house, or hell, we'll just get in the car and go for a drive.”

“I want to go to the party,” I say, ignoring the tears in her eyes. “Even girls with HCM can party.”

“Abby—”

“I'm serious, Jen. I don't have to stay in peak condition anymore, do I? Might as well go and let loose. No reason not to anymore.”

“Don't say that.”

“It's true, isn't it?” I grab my gun that's propped up on the bathtub. I straighten and it's like I'm a new person. Maybe I am.

This new person is going to go to a party and get drunk and then…well? Who knows.

It doesn't really matter.

I
'm on my third beer. I still don't get the attraction. It tastes bad, it looks like piss, and it leaves a sticky feeling in my mouth.

But what the hell, right? I'm at a party. I'm having loads of fun. So I down another mouthful, wincing at the warm bitterness. The good thing I'm discovering about beer is it makes it easier not to think. Shit-faced is not the right description. Shit-brained is more like it.

Jen is not getting shit-anything'd. She's been holding a beer, but it's like a prop for her costume. At beer number two, she started shooting worried glances my way, so I had to ditch her. She was bringing me down. I'm half listening to Tanya tell a story about the witch cupcakes catching fire, but I can feel Jen watching me from across the room. Maybe if I finish this third beer, I'll stop feeling even that.

Connor is outside messing around on the trampoline with the other guys. He got here after us and his eyes lit up when he saw me in my costume. That felt good.

“Killer,” he said.

“Thank you.” I looked him up and down. “And who exactly are you?” Was this what he was keeping quiet about all week? Black dress pants, a black belt, and a white button-down shirt?

He grinned and yanked his shirt open wide. Instead of buttons flying off, Velcro parted with a loud
zipht
and there was his broad chest painted with a bright blue
S
for Superman.

I laughed and ran my hand over the dried paint, feeling Connor's smooth skin under my fingers. Then Tanner showed up spouting a bunch of “dudes” and “right ons.” He pointed Connor toward the back door. “The guys are all outside.”

Connor pulled his shirt together as he backed toward the door. “I'm going to go hang out, okay? Find me later.”

“If you're lucky,” I called after him.

And the idea hit.

Maybe Connor should get lucky. Why not? What was I saving myself for anyway? I had a heart condition. I could die at any moment.

Why die a virgin?

A
n hour and another beer later, the idea seems better and better. Why not tonight?

Why not now?

My hair feels hot and heavy on my neck. I lift it, fanning myself, and wonder if Connor is still outside. I've ended up in the dining room and as I work my way back to the front room, I can see how much the party's grown. Music blares and a few couples are dancing—mostly rocking on their feet, hips glued together with red cups in their hands. Kids have multiplied like swarming bees, and it sounds like a giant buzz in the house.

I've just skirted around a pirate, two vampires, and a yellow M&M, when I glance over and there's Alec. He's standing halfway up the stairs. He's not wearing a costume, and I'm not surprised. I can't see him dressing up. Gabe, a guy I know from
Spanish class, is next to him, and they're talking to a couple of scantily dressed ninjas.

As if he feels me looking, Alec's face shifts and our eyes meet. He doesn't check me out—but his gaze is so intense I feel as if he has. A shiver works through me and I turn my back, every muscle suddenly quivering. It's just because of the albuterol. Because of what I know and haven't said.

Maybe because of what he knows and hasn't said.

Or maybe it's the damn shark game. I've tried to block it out, because remembering it now makes me shiver in a different way. Did I really jump on his back and press myself against him? Wrap my arms around his waist? I'm embarrassed—I am—but I'm feeling something more, something my mind shies away from.

Is he still watching me? I picture the tramp stamp painted into the hollow of my low back, just above the waist of my trousers. Does he see it?
Why do I care if he sees it?

I toss away my empty beer cup. My stomach rolls. I'm drunk. It's official. And I need to find Connor.

He's outside sitting around a fire pit with a group of guys. The flames are orange and they look like little lightning bolts to me, shooting up from gray stones. It smells good out here, fresh, and the night air clears my head a little. Cicadas are chirping and the guys are laughing about something Tanner did as I weave my way across the flagstone on my sexy stilettos to where Connor sits. I thread my hands over his shoulders and lean close, pressing my chest against his back. “Hey, Superman. I'm taking you hostage.”

There are catcalls from the other guys and a lot of envious
looks. I breathe them in like oxygen. I've gotten used to admiring looks for my swimming. To climbing out of the pool and feeling all eyes on me. It doesn't just feel good; it feels
necessary
. I've missed it these past weeks, so this is nice, even if the admiration is only for the cleavage I'm showing.

Connor stands. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just follow orders. I promise I'll go easy on you,” I add in a loaded voice.

Connor holds out his arms for the benefit of his buddies. “What can I say, guys. Being this good-looking is murder.”

They groan as Connor busts up laughing. I tug his belt loop, laughing myself, and he swings an arm around me and pulls me forward so I'm walking half backward and holding his middle to stay upright.

For some reason, this seems hysterical and I'm laughing hard enough that the corners of my eyes leak tears.

“Are you drunk?” he asks as we step inside.

I steady myself, the indoor buzzing louder now, the smell of beer strong in the air. I tighten my arms around his middle. “No.”

“Why is Jen staring at us?”

I swivel my neck and sure enough, she's watching us from the edge of the kitchen. “She's worried about my frontal lobe.”

“Huh?”

I giggle. “Never mind.” As I turn away from Jen, my gaze catches Alec. He's barely two feet away. The happy beer-feeling drains away and I'm suddenly sober.

“What do you want, Mendoza?” Connor says, his voice tight.

“Just getting another drink.”

“Celebrating your win today?” Connor sneers. “It's the last one you'll have.”

“We'll see,
pendejo
.” Alec's smile is strained. Dangerous.

The air crackles with tension and Connor pulls his arm from behind my waist. “You want to say that in English?”

Alec opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Gabe stumbles up, sloshing beer all over our feet. “Alec.” He smacks his shoulder. “There you are.”

“Right here and going nowhere.” His eyes haven't left Connor's face.

“Connor,” I whisper. “Come on. Forget this.”

Alec glances at me and there's ice in his expression again. “Looks like someone is having too much fun.” His eyes see too much, and my stomach churns. I'm afraid of what else he'll say, but a second later he turns, shouldering a clear path through the crowd, and disappears. I'm glad he's gone. I don't want to think about Alec. I tighten my hold on Connor's arm.
Not Alec. Connor
.

I'm sweating for some reason, dizzy and too warm. “There are too many people here,” I mutter to Connor.

“It's a party.” He's still staring after Alec.

“So let's have our own party.” I hook my fingers behind his back and press up against him, thigh to thigh. “Forget Alec.”

His face shows surprise, but now I have all his attention. “Yeah?”

“Let's forget everything. Let's forget ourselves.”

He gives me a sexy smile and there's a catch of excitement in his voice. “Lead the way.”

I do. My heart thumps with nerves. I ignore it. My heart has screwed up everything else. It's not going to screw this up too.