In a Heartbeat (16 page)

32

Amelia

“I told you this would happen,” Mom said. “I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.” Her hands were clasped together just below her chin.

I stood between Mom and Dad as they pondered this life-altering moment.

“Our little girl is going on her first date,” Dad said, shaking his head.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Now, you’ll be careful, won’t you? You have your mask with you? And sit away from the crowd. Maybe up front. Most people don’t sit in the first few rows.”

“Ari said the matinee is never crowded,” I told her. “And the movie has been in the theater for three weeks already.” I’d rehearsed these lines in front of the mirror. But guilt has a way of making everything sound faked. I looked away from Mom in case she could tell I was lying.

The knock on the door was a relief from my parents’ watchful eyes.

Dad ushered Ari in. He extended his hand and Ari responded with an enthusiastic shake. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Monaghan.”

I put on my coat.

“You’ll be home around five?” Mom asked, even though we’d been over this ten times already.

“Yes,” Ari said, looking at me for confirmation. His eyes didn’t show anything except politeness. Ari obviously excelled at being polite.

I was too nervous to say anything.

“Don’t overdo it, Amelia. If you get tired, come home right away.”

“I will,” I said in a soft voice.

“Well, good-bye,” Mom said. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t about to betray Mom’s trust. I was going to cause her such worry, after all she’d been through already.

“Have a good time,” Dad said.

Two years ago, I watched from our front window as Brea Taken and her prom date posed for pictures across the street on her front lawn. I remembered how her dress sparkled as it caught the light, how they stood in front of the maple tree and posed, looking a little uncomfortable, as though they couldn’t wait to get this obligation over with so they could get on with the fun part.

Now I knew what that felt like, except that I had to remind myself that this wasn’t a real date. But as I inhaled Ari’s clean hair and soap smell, I couldn’t help but imagine us in a darkened theater, our arms brushing each other and his hand pressed into mine.

Ari opened the car door for me while my parents watched from the window. I felt their eyes on us as I put on my seat belt, as Ari got in and put on his seat belt, and as he started the car, checked the rearview mirror, and slowly pulled away from the curb.

He turned right at the corner as though he was heading toward the movie theater at the mall. But instead he turned left at the next corner toward the interstate.

As he pulled up to a stop sign, his car made a loud sound like a lawn mower. “I need a new muffler,” he said sheepishly. He reached over and opened the glove compartment, taking out the directions he’d printed. He handed the paper to me. “You can navigate. Make sure I don’t take any wrong turns.”

“Okay.” I had a feeling he already knew the way, but it was something to keep me preoccupied.

I noticed that the rearview mirror on my side was held on with duct tape. Ari had said his car was a beater. He wasn’t kidding.

The inside of his Honda Civic was clean, even if there was a small rip in my armrest. I leaned back and looked out the window at the bare trees waiting for a blast of December snow to give them color. This was the first time I’d ever been out without an adult watching over me. The first time I’d been in a car with a boy. We had a five-hour drive, each way. What do you talk to a boy about for five hours?

But even nervousness couldn’t stop the feeling of freedom from sinking in. I had ten unchaperoned hours with no one checking on me or poking me.

The Honda moved away from the stop sign, but Ari suddenly slammed on the brakes.

“Your medications,” he said, as though he’d just thought of it.

I patted my bulky purse. “I brought the ones I need. I already took eleven pills this morning. My dose of prednisone, the blood pressure meds, infection meds, statin drugs, magnesium supplements, and aspirin are once-a-day pills. I won’t need to take them again until tomorrow morning, and we’ll be back before then.”

Ari stepped on the gas again. “What are your parents going to say when you’re not home by five?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. I guess they’ll be mad.”

“I have my cell phone if you want to call them.”

“I don’t think I can handle that until I’ve talked to Eagan’s family. I left a note on my bed, because Mom will notice the pills are missing.” She kept them lined up on the kitchen counter. They stretched across the entire length of the counter like a row of Kyle’s army men, ready for action.

“I didn’t tell them in the note where I was going, just that I planned to meet my donor’s family and would be home late.”

Would Mom check my room and find the note? Maybe I should have left it in a more conspicuous place.

I’d calculated a five-hour trip to Milwaukee, a couple of hours to meet Eagan’s family, an hour for restroom and food stops, and another five hours back to Minnesota. That would put us home at one o’clock in the morning. I’d never stayed out that late before in my life.

Ari frowned. “I don’t want your parents to hate me, Amelia.”

“I’ll tell them I made you do it.”

“Just the same, they’ll probably never let me see you again.”

“That won’t happen. I won’t let it,” I reassured him, although I didn’t know how I’d pull it off. I liked the sound of Ari’s voice when he said it, though. At least he did want to see me again.

“What about you?” I asked. “Will you get in trouble with your parents?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve spent whole nights in the garage working on my car, and no one came out to check on me. Tomas has taken so much of their attention the last couple of years that I’ve gotten used to taking care of myself.”

I thought of Kyle, of how he must have felt when Mom missed his baseball games because of me.

Ari looked over at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I know that Tomas didn’t ask for his problems.”

“But you need to be noticed too.”

He shrugged. “I do okay.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

Ari smirked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You probably wouldn’t be hanging around hospitals if it weren’t for Tomas.”

“That’s true,” he conceded.

“Thanks again for taking me,” I said. I’d already thanked him more times than I could count, but it never seemed enough. “I didn’t have anyone else to ask.”

We were going down a side street when Ari looked over at me and slowed down. “Hey, could you take the wheel for a minute?”

“Me? I’ve never . . .”

“Here.” He put my left hand on the wheel. It moved and the car wriggled back and forth. I grasped the leather grooves tightly, trying to keep the car in a straight line while Ari searched his pants pockets. I was steering. It was scary. And exciting.

“There’s a curve up ahead,” I shouted.

“Got it,” Ari said, taking the wheel from me.

I let out a nervous laugh. It was kind of fun, after all.

Ari handed me a slip of paper. A phone number was scribbled on it.

“Eagan’s parents’ number. In case you chicken out,” he said.

“I won’t.” But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure.

We reached the interstate and I felt both regret and excitement mixing with the essential meds that kept Eagan’s heart beating in my chest. This journey had started out as a dream, and now it was really happening. Flashes of sunlight hit my eyes until we turned east toward Milwaukee.

Traffic was busy, and Ari had his hands full keeping up with the white minivan ahead of us. He motioned toward the backseat. “I brought along some sandwiches and sodas in case you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved.” I reached into the back and opened a plastic bag. The smell of peanut butter wafted up. “You remembered!”

“Not just peanut butter,” Ari said. “Extra crunchy peanut butter.”

I took out a sandwich and a soda. “This is great.”

Ari smiled. “You’re the only girl I could impress with a peanut butter sandwich.”

“It’s not just the sandwich. It’s the thought behind the sandwich.”

“No big deal,” Ari said.

“It is a big deal. I’ve seen how you are with Tomas. You’re like his best friend instead of his brother. And you volunteer at the hospital with him when you could be off doing your own thing.”

Ari pushed his hair behind his right ear. “Okay, now I feel like a jerk.”

“Why?”

“I only volunteered that one time, when I met you.”

“But you came back three more times, and you helped me find my donor.”

“Yeah, about that.” Ari shifted in his seat. “I figured that if I helped you, I could spend more time with you.”

He looked over at me. “You do think I’m a jerk. Don’t you?”

“No. Not at all,” I said, feeling shy.

Then Ari reached over and held my hand, the one without the sandwich in it. We crossed the Mississippi River into Wisconsin and passed contoured cornfields that had been cleared for the winter, as though a giant comb had been pulled across the land. It was there, next to an open field, that I saw a black-and-white horse standing by a wooden fence, facing away from the cold wind. I knew it was just a horse, but today it held meaning. It was a sign, I decided, showing me the way. Today that horse was waiting there for me.

33

EAGAN

There weren’t a lot of defining moments in my life. Lots of little moments, like when I saw a sunrise or a stunning view of the mountains, or when my dad carried me to bed, tucked me in, and read me a book. Or when Scott put his arm around me during a movie and I barely watched the show because I was more excited by him.

No doubt about it. The most important event of my life was my death. That day, that moment, seems to stand out above all the rest. Everything intensifies, slows down. I watch it in slow motion. I see the audience, the horror on their faces when I don’t get up.

I feel bad for them. I mean, they’re all left with that same image. Everyone there will remember that moment for the rest of their lives. For some, it will become one of the most important events of their own lives. It will change everything.

I’ve avoided thinking about how it is for everyone on Earth. I haven’t had any desire to see my funeral. And I don’t want to see any skating competitions without me in them. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to accept my own death.

I have a sudden ache to see Mom now, not just as a memory. I want to make sure she’s okay, that she knows that I loved her even though we fought all the time. I want her to know that I’m sorry I left.

I wonder what she’s doing now, whether she’s still selling houses. Or has she become a recluse who stays in bed and never leaves her own house? I wonder if seeing my old pond skates on the back porch brings her pain or comfort.

I imagine her in my head. I see her dark, curly hair, cut just below her ears because she thought her ears stuck out otherwise. I see her manicured nails painted a rusty red color, the black-rimmed reading glasses she wore on her head. I see the way she puckered up her mouth when she drank lemonade, and the intense gaze of her watching me skate, as though she was on the ice with me.

And suddenly I’m back in my room. My own room with my comfy bed and pillows and the purple and white bedspread. Is this another memory? I didn’t see this one flashing before me. So how did I get back? Was my death just a dream? Or did I wish this so hard that I made it happen?

Mom is here. She’s going through my drawers. My green cashmere sweater is in her hands, the one I begged for when school started, even though it cost more than two pairs of jeans.

“Mom!” She doesn’t answer. Can she hear me?

I’m an arm’s length away. I step forward. The floor creaks, and I wonder if I made that noise. But our old house makes all kinds of noises.

Then Mom looks up, straight at me. But her eyes look right through me. She has dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Her hair is longer than I remembered and it’s uncombed. So unlike her. She looks as though she hasn’t slept in a long time.

“Mom,” I say again. But she doesn’t hear me. She looks back at the sweater, brings it to her face, and inhales the scent. Tears stream down her face.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I’m crying too. “I never meant to leave you.”

Then I notice her swollen belly under the blouse. Is she pregnant? At her age? What a shock! But I feel a sudden rush of joy. I’m going to have a baby brother or sister!

“Is that what you were going to tell me?”

Mom moves the sweater from her face and places it back in the drawer. Then she opens my desk drawer. A crumpled piece of paper sticks out. The letter she wrote me. She presses it open with her palm and reads it. Fresh tears flood her eyes and drip down onto the writing, smearing the ink.

Dear Eagan,

How did we get to this point? You’re my whole life and I only want the best for you. That’s why I’m hard on you. But please know that I love you more than anything else in the whole world. If I could take back that slap or anything else I ever did in my life that upset you, I would.

I can’t, of course, so I don’t expect you to just forgive and forget. I look forward to the day when we’re not always at odds with each other. I had a difficult relationship with my own mother, and I was sure I would be different when I had children of my own. Sadly, it seems I have become all that I didn’t want to be: my own mother. But my mother and I reconciled when you were born, and I hope you will one day be able to forgive me as well. I only hope I don’t have to wait until I have grandchildren for that reconciliation to happen.

Love,
Mom

Thank God I saved that. I’d have hated for her to find the letter in the trash. That explains why we rarely visited Mom’s parents, who lived eight hours away from us. Mom didn’t get along with her own mother.

“Why?” she says, and her voice sounds like a wounded animal. “Why, why, why, why?”

I reach out to hold her, but my hands go right through her. How can I comfort her? How can I tell her I’m okay?

Am I really dead? If so, why do I feel so torn up inside? Why am I sobbing? Why do I feel so helpless?

“Mom,” I shout through my tears. “I’m here!”

And as suddenly as I was thrown into the world, I’m torn out of it again. The gray mist swells around me and I hold my head, feeling dizzy. It’s almost a relief to be back. Mom’s grief was too much to bear.

“Where were you? Did you go back?” Miki asks me.

“In a way. I wanted to go back so much. But I didn’t expect it to be so complicated.”

Miki shakes her head. “That’s just the beginning.”