In A Heartbeat (13 page)

He shrugged. “I just thought you weren’t ready to be seen.”

“You were right. Thanks for giving me some time.” She sniffed, and tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.
Don’t
, she scolded herself. She took a deep breath and pointed to a white steeple rising above the bare trees in the distance. “That’s Granville. It’s a sleepy little college town. We can find someplace to grab a bite over there.”

“See, where would I be without my friends?” he teased.

“Utterly and totally lost,” she answered.

Knowing her eyes were undoubtedly red and swollen from her emotional outburst, she had hoped he would stop someplace where they could eat in the car and she might avoid curious glances. He chose, however, an inviting restaurant, quaint and historic, if the brass plaque beside the entrance was to be believed. She lost her concern about her appearance the moment they stepped inside.

Tables, covered in white linen, were scattered throughout many small connecting rooms and patrons were disbursed accordingly, allowing each a sense of privacy. She and Hank were seated in a sunny room with ancient white plastered walls and gleaming antique furniture. The scent of smoke from a wood-burning fireplace lent a sense of intimacy to the open surroundings. One other couple sat at the opposite end of the room. No one here would recognize her, much less criticize her appearance or her judgment. She shed her coat and felt an emotional burden lift from her shoulders as well.

After a quick study of the menu, they ordered. Angie relaxed in a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair while Hank leaned forward, cradling a glass of iced tea.

“What’s it like having someone else’s heart?”

The question surprised her, although she had been asked it many times in the past. Never, though, quite so directly.

“Someone else’s healthy heart,” she said, stressing the word healthy. “It’s wonderful, invigorating, stimulating. I can do things I never could do before.”

“Like what?”

“Like get out of bed.” She smiled. “Hold down a job. Go to a restaurant.” There were many more personal things she could add to that list. Things she had confided to a diary but hadn’t had the opportunity to experience with another person.
And probably never will
.

“How long does this one last?”

“A lifetime.” Her pat answer caused him to practically choke on his iced tea. She felt a little remorse at shifting the discomfort of these all too familiar questions to him. But not much. She waited until he took another sip of his drink and was breathing easily again. “Actually, as long as I’m careful about taking my medication, I should be okay for another twenty years.”

“Do you ever wonder about the donor? What kind of person they were, that sort of thing?” he asked in a breathless voice. Apparently he hadn’t recovered as much from his choking incident as she had supposed. She took a long sip of her iced tea and thought about how to answer his question. Their waiter appeared with their lunches, giving her a few extra moments to compose her thoughts.

“I know she was a young woman, although older than I was at the time of the transplant.” She pushed the green pepper garnish off the mound of chicken salad. “That’s really all I know.”

“Don’t they have agencies that can tell you more?”

She shrugged, not wanting to answer. She didn’t want to know more about the donor, although that was difficult to explain to strangers. Every June, when her family celebrated her successful transplant, Angie knew another family somewhere was grieving over a different sort of anniversary. She may not be responsible for that person’s death, but the guilt was the same.

“It must have been difficult growing up with that kind of condition,” he said.

“It was quiet,” she replied without pause. “My family was afraid that any kind of excitement, loud noises, or physical exercise, just about anything would throw me into heart failure. My life was tiptoes and whispers.

“School?”

“Home-tutored,” she managed to slip in a few bites between words. “Less risk of those nasty childhood infections that way.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“I missed so much growing up, birthday parties and Halloween parades, high school dances and football games. I suppose you always want what you can’t have.” She struggled to keep the wistfulness from her voice. “I wanted to be like the other kids, but I had to sit on the sidelines. I always got to hand out the candy, never dress up in the costumes.”

“Can you do those things now?”

She smiled. “Perhaps, but it’s a little different now that I’m grown.” His dimple flashed, and she anticipated a comment about her diminutive size. She pointed her fork at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

His hands lifted in surrender, “What?” But they both laughed at the unsaid joke and worked on their lunches. Hank broke the fork-clicking silence.

“Maybe it’s not too late. You can still experience all those things through your children.”

She placed her fork on her plate, the food had suddenly lost its appeal. “I can never have children. The doctors say it would be too risky to put such a physical strain on my heart.” She took a deep breath. “And then, of course, all those medications I take would cross over to the fetus.” It hurt. She knew all the logic, but it still hurt. “I suppose it’s a small price for a chance at life.”

“But there are other ways…”

She looked at her watch. “Can we go back now? I don’t want to leave Max alone too long. Although knowing Max, companionship is one thing he never lacks.”

“Cathy brought me a piece of the cake. Are you really finishing up today? I didn’t mean to scare you off.” He sounded sincere and for an instant she almost regretted announcing her intention to wrap things up. Now that he knew the whole truth about her heart, she had expected he’d be anxious to see her go. Her medical condition made most people uncomfortable. But Hank… Well, he hid any discomfort well.

“It’s not you,” she lied. “Our field budget is just about spent. There’s a few loose ends, but I think we can resolve those from the office.”

“Figures.” He flagged the waiter for the check. “Just when I find a friend, she runs off.”

“Well, maybe I won’t run too far,” she said, feeling empowered by his mention of their pact. “I’d like to talk to you about additional services.”

“Additional services?” he repeated, placing an appropriate number of bills on the table. “Sounds expensive.” He helped her with her coat as her confidence slowly deflated. “I’m not sure now is the right time, but we’ll discuss it on our way back. Shall we?”

But they never did.

Chapter Eleven

“BUMMER.” MAX STUDIED the decided tilt of her Honda Civic and the spill of black rubber around the left front tire. “You got a spare?”

Bummer
summed up her day perfectly. First the public argument with Wilson in the parking lot, then the emotional outburst in front of Hank, followed by his refusal to consider additional services, followed by the discovery that she had caught part of her coat in the car door. It had dragged in the muck from Granville back to Hayden. Not unlike her own self-esteem, she added mentally. Now this.

“I don’t understand.” She set her audit bag on the curb. “Everything was fine at lunchtime. This tire wasn’t even low.” She groaned. “Why me? Why now?”

“Who knows? Maybe you picked up a piece of glass.” Max stripped off his suit coat and dropped it across the audit bag. He rolled up his sleeves, then loosened his tie. “Got your keys?” She handed them to him. He crossed to the trunk and removed the jack and spare tire. “Ever change a tire?” Angie shook her head. “Then watch and learn.”

Angie watched so intently, she missed the shadow that fell over the precariously tilted car.

“Is there a problem here?”

Angie bumped into the adjacent car. Her hand fluttered to her heart.

“Mr. Renard,” Max called in greeting. “Angie’s having a problem with a flat.”

“I see.” Hank slipped his hand under her arm to steady her. “Do you need any help?”

“No, I’ve got it covered.” Max pulled the bad tire off the rim and rolled it to the back of the car.

Angie removed Hank’s hand from her arm. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Renard, but you can see Max has everything under control.”

“I’ll be darned.” Max glanced at Angie. “I think you better take a look at this.”

Both Hank and Angie hurried to the trunk.

“Here’s the problem.” Max leaned on the sidewall, exposing an inch wide slash in the rubber. Hank and Max exchanged glances.

“What is it?” Angie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It looks like this was no accident,” Max said.

“Someone slashed your tire,” Hank added.

“Who would do something like that?” Angie poked around the gash as if the perpetrator had carved his initials in the rubber. “Why would someone want to slash my tire?”

“Good question,” Max said. He looked at Angie, then Hank, before fitting the tire in the trunk. He rolled the spare to the naked axle.

“You’ll have to replace that tire,” Hank said. “Do you have insurance?”

She nodded. “Why would someone do that?” She shaded her eyes with her hand as she glanced at Hank. “Do you think it could be a mistake? Someone thought my car was someone else’s?” She glanced around the parking lot, hoping to see another Civic parked nearby. Not a one in sight.

“Could be.” He followed her gaze around the parking lot. “Or it could be something else. Either way,” he lowered his voice. “Be careful.”

“IT’S GOOD TO be home, isn’t it, girl?” Angie bent down to brush her hand along Oreo’s back before she slipped the house key into the front door lock. The dog raced inside before her, but she followed close behind. She closed the front door and stumbled into the nearest chair. “Let me catch my breath for a minute.” Oreo finished her inspection of the house and returned triumphantly to flop at Angie’s feet with her favorite squeaky toy.

Immediately, the phone began to ring. “Let the machine get it,” she instructed the dog, then laughed when Oreo cocked her head at the suggestion.

“Angela? It’s Mom. Are you sure it’s wise to move back to the house? Stephen was quite upset that you moved out and were driving home by yourself. I’m not sure I approve.”

Angela grimaced, remembering the argument she and Stephen shared when she drove the Civic to his place after work. It sure didn’t take him long to get Mom on his side.

“I’m a little worried, dear, with your foot and all. Stephen said the weatherman is calling for sleet turning to snow tonight. Call me when you get in so I’ll know you’re all right. Perhaps I should find someone to stay with Cecilia and come home. You shouldn’t be all alone with… What’s that?” Angie could hear background voices but couldn’t make out the words. The tape continued, “Cecilia sends her love. I have to go now. Call me. I love you.”
Click.

Angie pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the kitchen. She drew a large glass of tap water and stared out the back window. Given the weather forecast, perhaps tonight wasn’t the best night to investigate that strange address for Timone Industries.
It’s probably nothing
, she told herself. She squinted out the window, but it was too dark to see anything. No point driving out in bad weather to check out a legitimate address.

“You feeling neglected?” she asked the plants on the windowsill, giving them a drink from the glass. “I bet Stephen forgot all about you when he stopped by for the mail.” The phone rang. Angela sighed and dumped the rest of the water unceremoniously on the dieffenbachia. She picked up the receiver. “Hi, Mom, I was—”

Click.

She looked at the receiver as if it could tell her who had just hung up on her. Mom never bothered with caller ID. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay with me.” She headed for the kitchen to fill Oreo’s dog dish. “We sure could use a nice, quiet night at home, couldn’t we, girl?”

The dog’s tail wagged a few times, then stopped. Oreo issued a low warning growl, seconds before someone knocked on the door.

“Just a minute.” Angie frowned at her dog running toward the door at full bark. She placed the filled dish on the floor, then cautiously opened the door enough to peek outside.

“Oh, Mr. Thomas, uh…Walter.” She caught Oreo’s collar so she couldn’t escape.

Something about that man… she shuddered. What did Hank call him, a little weasel? Holding the dog by her side, she opened the door a little wider.

“I just stopped by to see how you were,” he said. “Your brother mentioned that you had an accident.”

“That’s very neighborly of you,” she said dismissing the other adjective that had sprung to mind. “It was nothing serious, just the ankle.” She feigned a quick laugh and tried to gesture to her plastic cast, but Oreo pulled so hard in a lunge, it threw her a little off balance. Walter jumped back a foot or so.

“Oreo,” she scolded. “Stop that.”

“I’m just next door if you need anything,” Walter added in full retreat. “I’m glad to see you back.”

“Me too.” she replied, but he was already halfway across the front yard. “You bad dog,” she lectured as she closed the door. “That wasn’t very nice.” Oreo drooped her ears and head. Even her tail lowered an inch or two before slowly resuming its steady sideways swing.

Alone once again, Angela surveyed the living room. A shiver rattled her spine, but she brushed it off. A few lit candles would banish the stuffiness, she decided, and an evening wrapped in one of her mother’s quilts with a cup of hot chocolate and an intriguing romance novel would chase the uneasiness from her bones. But first, a call to Mom before the phone started ringing again.

THE NEXT MORNING, Angela studied the audit spreadsheets while safely ensconced in the firm’s library. The walls of leather-bound books and the hint of wood polish normally instilled a comforting sense of tradition. Today, however, anxiety pricked at her, disturbing the serene environment.

“How many documents couldn’t they find?”

“Just three,” Max answered. “But Beth said Accounts Payable hired this goofy file clerk about six months ago. She only lasted two months, but they still haven’t cleaned up the damage she did to the filing system.” Max’s brows lifted. “Is that so bad? They found forty-seven of the fifty I asked them to pull.”