The Color of a Dream (23 page)

Five days later I received an email from
Christine. I called Jesse over to the computer to read it with
me.

“Is she serious?” Jesse asked, leaning
forward beside my chair.

“Looks like it. She says they’re leaving
next month.”

Evidently, after talking about it during the
flight home, she and Rick had decided to travel to Africa and help
build schools in small villages. Christine managed to get a
six-month leave of absence from her job.

Jesse pointed at the email. “She says
they’ll probably adopt at least one child while they’re there—maybe
two or three if they’re siblings—and bring them home to raise
here.” He straightened and pushed his hair back off his forehead.
“I think the world just shifted on its axis.”

I chuckled. “I think you’re right. It’s
incredible. She’s
really
good for him, you know.”

Jesse squeezed my shoulder. I stood up from
my chair and pulled him into my arms.

Then
boom
! Ellen toddled into the
back of Jesse’s knees and said, “Evatoo!”

He looked down at her. “You want to play
elevator?”

She giggled. “Evatoo!” Then she picked up
her blue blanket and swung it through the air. “Fwying!”

* * *

After supper, the three of us snuggled
together on the sofa in front of the television. Jesse flipped
through the channels and stopped at a nature documentary on
PBS.

“Great footage,” he said.

The three of us watched aerial shots taken
over the ocean from a low-flying helicopter, then the ascent over a
rugged coastline where the waves exploded on the rocks.

Ellen pointed her little finger at the
screen. “
Ouwix
.”

I gazed down at her, confused. “Do you want
your blanket? It’s right here.” She was already holding it on her
lap.

Sleepily, she laid her head on my lap and
continued to stare at the television. “
Ouwix
.”

I stared at it, too, mesmerized by the views
over a fast flowing river and waterfall.

Abruptly I sat up.

“What is it?” Jessie asked with concern. I
could feel his eyes on me.

I shook my head with confusion. “This is
just like my flying dreams, and I forgot that I had another one
when they took me to the hospital in the ambulance.”

I sat forward, still staring at the
television, though my mind was somewhere else. “I need to check
something.”

Gently I shifted Ellen onto Jesse’s lap and
went to log into the computer.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“I want to check obituaries for the day I
had my transplant.” I typed the question into the Google search
field and waited for the results to pop up. “I’m looking for
someone named Alexander. Or Alex.”

Ouwix
.

After a few clicks, an obituary with a
photograph appeared.

There he was—the man in my dream who had
flown with me to the hospital that night before the scheduled court
appearance.

I quickly read over the text and learned
that Alexander Fitzgerald was a firefighter in Manchester who had
died on duty.

Swiveling around in the chair, I asked
Jesse, “Did you bring my heart from Manchester?”

He regarded me intently. “You know I’m not
supposed to tell you that.”

“I know,” I replied with defeat, swiveling
back around to face the computer screen. “It’s confidential.”

I continued to read the rest of the obituary
that ended with the statement that Alexander Fitzgerald was
survived by a wife named Audrey and a three-year-old daughter named
Wendy.

“Do you think I knew somehow?” I asked Jesse
when I slipped into bed beside him that night. I reached for the
hand lotion and rubbed some on my hands. “When I had that last
flying dream, did I know my donor was named Alex? Had I read it or
heard it somewhere? Maybe when I was on the operating table they
mentioned his name and I heard it, stored it in my memory. That
could explain this. But what about Ellen’s blanket? Why would she
name it Ouwix? Is she having flying dreams, too? Does she associate
Alex with sleep and her blanket?”

Jesse closed the book he was reading and set
it on the table. “I don’t know. But whatever she’s experiencing
can’t have anything to do with cellular memory because she was
delivered before you got your new heart.”

I pondered that. “You’re right. Then could
it be his ghost? They say children can sometimes see spirits better
than we can. Maybe Alex is checking in on both of us.” I sighed
heavily. “Or maybe I’m losing my marbles. Maybe I heard the nurses
mention his name in the OR, remembered it subconsciously, and now I
talk in my sleep and she hears me say his name. We did share a room
for the first year of her life.”

“Who knows?” Jesse replied. “I never used to
believe in the paranormal or magic, but lately I feel as if I’m
seeing things for the first time.”

“How so?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I’m still
amazed by the fact that I was the one to deliver your heart to you.
Then your sister contacted me out of the blue and now here we
are—married. How could that all be a coincidence? And now I’m
speaking to my brother again after ten years, and I have a feeling
that if he and I can smooth things over, anything’s possible and
there might be hope with my parents, too. Ellen has named her
blanket Ouwix, and you somehow knew that Alex Fitzgerald was your
donor…”

“I thought that was supposed to be
confidential,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“You figured that one out on your own,” he
reminded me.

I slid deeper beneath the covers and rested
my cheek on his shoulder. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across
my arm.

“Was I really just dreaming about flying?” I
asked. “I know I’ve never actually gone flying at night. People
can’t fly. We don’t have wings. But what does it mean? Is it astral
projection? Or is it my spirit—somehow merged with Alexander’s
because I have his heart inside me now? And was my spirit merged
with yours as well, because I had dreams about you, too? Or is it
just my imagination making all this up?”

I thought about the book I’d read by Sophie
Duncan—the author I met at the book signing who’d had an
out-of-body experience when she crashed her car into a frozen lake.
While she was unconscious, she’d learned things about her family
she never could have known otherwise. Later she’d also found an old
manuscript in her stepfather’s attic that turned out to be written
by her real father—a man she never knew existed before that.

My own situation was curiously
similar…because even if I’d heard my donor’s name on the operating
table, it still didn’t explain how I could know what he looked
like.

Were our spirits somehow connected? Or was
this just some sort of psychic ability?

Jesse turned out the light and held me close
as he drifted off. I had a harder time falling asleep, however,
because all I could think about was the life my donor had lived,
and all he’d left behind. Since seeing his face in my dream, he was
so much more real to me now.

“We’re almost there,” I said, glancing back
at Ellen in the rearview mirror. “Then we’ll go to the playground
and have a picnic.”

I smiled at her and continued driving
through the city of Manchester. I was looking for the fire station.
I had done some online research about Alexander Fitzgerald and
couldn’t help myself. I was curious. I wanted to see where he’d
lived and worked.

I would leave it at that, of course, because
I’d already tried to contact his family and they’d made no
overtures to meet me. I simply needed to see something of his life.
That was all. Then I would go home and put it to rest.

* * *

Ellen looked out the window when I pulled
over on Merrimack Street.

“Look at the fire station,” I said. “See all
the red trucks?”

She made no comment. She was more interested
in flipping her fabric doll around like a gymnast, so I decided to
move on. I checked my mirrors and pulled out onto the street
again.

A few minutes later I turned onto Notre Dame
and drove slowly, searching for Alexander’s house. I spotted the
right number and pulled over at the curb.

It was a large white three-story building
that looked as if it had been converted into apartments. I wasn’t
sure what level he lived on, but it didn’t matter. It was enough
just to see his neighborhood and know he had walked along these
sidewalks.

I’d done my homework and knew there was a
playground across the street, so I turned off the car, got out and
slung the lunch bag and diaper bag over my shoulder.

“Ready to go play?” I asked as I opened the
back door and freed Ellen from the safety seat.

I carried her across the street and set her
down in the play area where she toddled to the red slide.

Keeping my eye on her, I pulled the blanket
out of the diaper bag and spread it out on the grass, then went to
help her climb the steps of the play structure. She slid down the
baby slide and shouted, “Again!” as she ran back around to the
steps.

We were the only people in the park, but we
enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. It was a beautiful day and I was
grateful—as always—to be alive.

After awhile we sat down on the blanket and
I opened the lunch bag. Ellen enjoyed some Cheerios and a juice box
while I sat back and crossed my legs at the ankles, watching her
chew.

Every so often I glanced across at the big
white house on the other side of the street and thought about how
the man who once lived there had died before his time. He was gone
now. Gone from this world. But how generous of him to choose organ
donation while he was still alive. I might not be sitting here
today if he hadn’t signed those papers. And where would Ellen be?
Not with me. She would be somewhere else. With Diana most likely.
Perhaps with Rick if things had been different.

The front door of the house opened just
then. I sat up on my heels when a woman walked out with a small
child. She locked the door behind her.

Good Lord. Was it Alexander’s wife, Audrey?
Her child looked to be about two or three years old. A girl.

My heart began to race and I wasn’t sure
what to do as they crossed the street and started walking toward
us.
Does she know who I am?
Did she somehow sense her
husband’s heart beating in the playground across the street? Is
that why she was walking toward us?

I managed to relax when she didn’t make eye
contact. She merely jogged to the play structure with her daughter
who climbed the yellow bars and slid down the big, swirly
slide.

Ellen turned and saw that another child had
arrived, so she dropped her juice box and toddled back to the
structure. I had no choice but to follow. Soon I was smiling
pleasantly at the mother.

“Hi,” she said. “Great day isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous,” I replied.

“Your daughter’s adorable,” she said. “How
old?”

“Thirteen months,” I replied. “How old is
yours?”

“Wendy turned three a couple of weeks
ago.”

I swallowed hard. “Your daughter’s name is
Wendy?” I asked. “What a great name.”

“Thank you. I loved Peter Pan when I was a
kid. I always wanted to have a daughter and name her Wendy. Do you
live near here?”

“No,” I replied. “We live in Waltham. We’re
just passing through.”

By now Ellen was trying to keep up with the
climbing skills of Audrey’s daughter, but she needed some help so I
followed her to the big slide.

“Do you want to go down this one?” I asked.
She hugged my leg. “Come on, we’ll do it together.” I sat down at
the top. “Sit here on my lap.”

Ellen climbed onto my lap and we slid down
the twisty red slide. She laughed and said, “Again!” when we
reached the bottom.

I took her hand and together we circled
around the structure and climbed back up the steps.

“I confess,” Audrey said when I returned to
stand beside her, “that we only came out here because we saw the
two of you from our front window. There aren’t many kids on this
street—at least none that are Wendy’s age. She’s an only
child.”

“My Ellen’s an only, too,” I told her.

“Oh. Are you married?” she asked.

I nodded. “Just recently, but my husband’s
working today.” I paused. “You?”

She looked down and kicked the grass with
the toe of her sneaker. “I was, but my husband passed away about a
year ago. He was a firefighter. Died on the job.”

I shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry to hear
that.”

She nodded. “Thank you. It’s been a rough
year but we’re doing okay. Each day gets easier. It just makes me
sad to think that Wendy won’t remember her dad at all. She was so
young when he died.”

I watched the girls try to climb up the baby
slide. “You’d be surprised what they remember. Even if it’s just a
subconscious memory.”

“I hope so,” she replied, “because he was a
really good man. He had a good heart, you know?”

I swallowed over a lump in my throat. “I’m
sure he did.”

A strong breeze blew across the treetops and
whispered through the leaves.

“Does Wendy like peach yogurt?” I asked. “I
have a few tubs in my lunch bag and some juice boxes. Would you
like to join us?”

“That sounds lovely,” she replied. “Wendy!
Want a snack?”

The two girls came running, and we all sat
down on the blanket to enjoy ourselves in the sun.

On the day I met Audrey Fitzgerald, I
understood that coincidences like this make our world a remarkable
place to live in.

If that’s all they
are…
coincidences
.

Personally, I believe certain things are
meant to be and “coincidence” is far too casual a word for what
happens to many of us.