Good Works (Hero Hearts: Contemporary)

by Hayley Wescott

  “Natalie, what’s the problem?” Teresa interrupted. “Is there some reason you don’t want to go with Dominic?”

  “No,” I flushed bright red. I hoped Teresa couldn’t see right through me. “Um, I don’t have my car, though. I walked to work.”

  “I’m sure Dominic drove this morning,” said Teresa, her no-nonsense tone right back where it belonged. “Hartley House has a car, too. You can take that. Keys are in the drawer in my desk. Go to Party Supply Outlet and get some supplies for this shin-dig. Any problems, call me. That sound okay?”

  I hated myself for protesting that Dominic come along. I had no idea why I was making this such a big deal. It shouldn’t be. Two minutes ago Teresa thought I was the best employee ever, and now she was back to barking orders at me. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll take the keys for Hartley House’s car.”

  Teresa took the keys from the drawer and handed them to me. “See you later,” she said. My face burned as I headed towards the kitchen to find Dominic.

  He wasn’t there. After searching the house, I finally asked Claudia. “He drove Rachel Stewart to the hospital this morning,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  “Thanks,” I said, a little disappointed. I went back to the kitchen and poured myself a coffee, then paced around for a few minutes while I waited for him to get back.

  When I heard the front door open, I quickly sat down at the table and nonchalantly flipped through a newspaper that was lying there. Dominic came in and I looked up casually, like I had just been sitting down reading the paper when he happened to walk in. “Oh, there you are,” I said. “I was just talking to Teresa and she asked if I’d like to take you shopping for birthday party supplies.”

  “Sounds great,” said Dominic. “I just got back from driving some parents to the hospital. My car’s out front, we can take it.”

  I had Teresa’s keys to Hartley House’s car in my pocket, but I didn’t mention that to Dominic. Driving in the city always made me a little anxious. All the traffic, the one-way streets, parallel parking wasn’t on my favorite things list. I didn’t want Dominic to see me like that, stressed out and clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles. So all I did was accept his offer, and we grabbed our coats and headed out to the car.

  Dominic drove a dark grey Honda Civic, the most generic car in the world. The backseat was filled with clutter – I saw a gym bag and an impressive collection of take-out coffee cups – but the front passenger seat was clear. He had just had a passenger a few minutes ago, I remembered, taking Rachel Stewart to the hospital.

  “Nice ride,” I joked, sliding in to the passenger seat. “I see what happens when you spend all of that major league salary on pony cakes.”

  Dominic grimaced. “Yeah, this car doesn’t really say major league ballplayer, does it? Remember, this is my first year in the major leagues. They don’t pay us the big money in the minors. Everyone there is just getting by on ramen noodles and a dream. We all scrape by at it as long as we can, on the chance that we might make it in the major leagues one day. So, I decided to keep the car to not get ahead of myself. Or forget what it meant to grind it out to get here.”

  “Well, that makes sense. I’d probably do the same thing. I’m kind of conservative like that, though.” Silently, I was surprised at his honesty and his grasp of reality. He wasn’t throwing around an attitude I’d expect from a big time ball player.

  See, once guys get older, if they want to settle down, get married, have a family, that’s when they retire and get a real job. Minor league salaries and riding the bus all over America isn’t a family friendly thing.” He kept his eyes on the road, but I could see him twist his mouth a bit at the truth of his time in the minor leagues.

  “Neither is the major league schedule,” I pointed out. “I looked at the schedule. You guys have almost a game every day.”

  “Yeah, but at least you’re making good money in the major leagues,” he said. He changed the subject. “So, Party Supply Outlet, right? What all do we need to get?”

  “You’re the one planning the party,” I pointed out. “You take the lead.”

  We pulled in to the parking lot and headed inside. It was the middle of the day on a weekday, so the store wasn’t busy, and a sales associate appeared within seconds to ask if we needed any help. I would have said no thanks, but Dominic said “Yes! I’m having a birthday party for a little girl. I have plates and cups and forks, but what else do I need?”

  The sales associate smiled, probably because she could tell that she was going to make a huge sale off a clueless guy. “What’s the party’s theme?” she asked.

  “Ponies,” said Dominic. “And unicorns, I think.”

  “We’ve got lots of unicorn and pony-themed stuff,” said the associate, gesturing for us to follow her. She led us to an aisle that looked like it had the market on pink and purple things. Hats, napkins, blowers, loot bags, party favors, giant blow-up unicorns, every colorful thing a three-year-old could possibly want.

  Dominic grabbed a blow-up unicorn. “We need this,” he said.

  I shrugged. “It’s your money.”

  He picked up a package of sparkly headbands with unicorn horns on them next. “Oh, we need these too, definitely. How many people are there going to be? Do you think everyone should have unicorn horns, or just the kids?”

  “You might like these balloons, too,” said the sales associate, showing us some marbled pink-and-purple balloons. “How old is your daughter?” She looked at me.

  “Oh, it’s not our daughter,” I said quickly.

  “No, we’re not married,” said Dominic at the same time. We glanced at each other, then I looked away quickly.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry,” said the sales associate. “I assumed you were shopping for your daughter’s birthday party. I’m sorry. Do you need any more help, or should I meet you up front when you’re ready?”

  “We’ll meet you at the register when we’re ready,” I told her, and she scurried away, embarrassed.

  We were left in the pony aisle, staring at each other uncomfortably over marbled balloons and unicorn headbands. Dominic cleared his throat. “So. Should we get these balloons?”

  “Sure,” I said quickly, tossing them in our basket. “Get a pack of the regular pink balloons, too. You can never have too many pink and purple balloons.”

  He grabbed the pink balloons and added them to the basket. Quickly we picked out some party hats, blowers, napkins with ponies printed on them, some party streamers, a Happy Birthday banner, and a ‘Pin the Horn on the Unicorn’ game. When the basket was full, we headed for the cash register, where our sales associate rang us up without making any more small talk.

  “Anywhere else we need to go?” asked Dominic as we left the store.

  “I don’t think so.” I tried to sneak a sideways look at him so I could see the expression on his face, but when I saw him looking back at me I immediately averted my eyes. “Um, no, we should probably get back to Hartley House.”

  “Okay then.” He tossed the Party Supply Outlet bags in the backseat, and moved like he was going to open my passenger door, but I got there first and opened it myself. Things were already feeling weird. I didn’t need them getting weirder.

  But I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be a couple. With him. He was annoying, but I had to admit that was probably all on me. Honestly, he seemed like a sweet, genuine guy. Totally out of my league, though. He probably dated hot chicks. Women with different lifestyles than me.

  But I needed to refocus. Fast. I reminded myself that this was a short term thing and that I wasn’t sure I really liked him anyway. I slammed the door and sat quietly while he got in and started the car so we could head back to work.

  11

  The drive back to Hartley House had none of the chatter and jokes like we’d had on the way there. I looked out the window as we left the megastore parking lots on the outskirts of the city behind and entered the downtown area. We had
just passed the street my favorite Thai restaurant was on when I saw something on the sidewalk that made me sit up straight. “Dominic! Stop the car and pull over! I see something!”

  “What?” He pulled the car over to the side of the busy road and turned his flashers on. I didn’t answer him, just jumped out and climbed over the snowbank to the driveway we had just passed. There, presumably in preparation for garbage day tomorrow, someone had put a perfectly good desk chair out on the curb.

  I sat down. It wasn’t lumpy or hard. It had decent back support. The armrests weren’t broken. I could use the lever to raise or lower the chair. It was on wheels, and none of the wheels were broken. I couldn’t find a thing wrong with it. I picked the chair up.

  The passenger side window rolled down and Dominic leaned over to talk. “What are you doing, Natalie?”

  “I found a chair,” I said.

  “I can see that. Why are you picking it up?”

  “It’s a better chair than the one I have at work,” I said. “I’m going to take it back to Hartley House.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “I have a Honda Civic. It isn’t going to fit.”

  “The house is only about a mile away,” I said. “And it has wheels. I can push it.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” said Dominic.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I can’t stand the chair I have now. You’ve sat in it. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  “It is terrible,” Dominic admitted. “You really think this garbage chair is going to be an improvement?”

  “It’s not garbage!” I protested.

  “It is garbage! Doesn’t the garbage get picked up tomorrow? Someone set the chair out for the garbage truck to pick up.”

  “If it was actual garbage, they would have waited and put it out at nighttime with their trash bags,” I reasoned. “It’s out in the middle of the day, so they must just want to get rid of it and put it out here for someone to find. I looked it over, I can’t find anything wrong with it. It doesn’t even smell of smoke.”

  Dominic sighed. “Okay. Let’s try to get it in.”

  The trunk popped open, and I dragged the chair over. I couldn’t quite haul it over the snow bank in between the sidewalk and the street, so I had to wait for him to come and help me. He took charge and picked it up and stepped over the snow bank. When he got to the car, he lifted it in to the trunk. It mostly fit, kind of, but we couldn’t close the trunk, so we had to drive the last mile or two back to Hartley House with one eye looking out the back window, just in case it bounced out.

  When we got to Hartley House, I jumped out of the car and took it out of the trunk by myself. I started wheeling it towards the door.

  “Hang on,” yelled Dominic, grabbing the Party City bag and hurrying after me. “You’re gonna need help getting it up the steps!”

  “I can do it,” I said, but when I reached the two small steps leading up to Hartley House’s porch, I saw that he was right. He caught up to me, and while I held the top of the chair he gently tipped it back and picked up the legs on the bottom. We lifted it up the stairs carefully, then he set the chair legs back down on the porch and hurried around me to hold the door open.

  “Thanks,” I said, and he gave me a small smile. I dragged the chair in the rest of the way, then rolled it through the hallway triumphantly to my own desk past a very surprised Ryan.

  “Where’d you get that?” he asked.

  “Found it at the side of the road,” I said triumphantly, moving my old chair out of the way.

  “I call it the garbage chair. Affectionately, of course,” said Dominic. I hadn’t realized that he had followed me back to the offices. “What’re you going to do with the old one?”

  “Put it out for the garbage, maybe,” I said. “It’s so bad I don’t even want to pass it on to anyone else.”

  Teresa stuck her head out in the hallway. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Natalie, is that a new chair? I only authorized you to spend a set amount and only for the party.”

  “She got a great deal on it, don’t worry,” Dominic assured Teresa, and he started to laugh. I caught his eye and couldn’t help but let out a giggle, too.

  Teresa ignored us. “Claudia was looking for you,” she told me. “She’s been speaking to Amy Wachowski and wanted to tell you something.”

  Amy Wachowski’s name was enough to snap us out of the giggle fit. “Everything okay?” asked Dominic.

  “You should probably speak to Claudia,” said Teresa.

  I didn’t even look back at Dominic as I pushed past him, running for the stairs and yelling Claudia’s name. My mind raced ahead, imagining all of the worst case scenarios. It was more common for our residents to take their children home from the hospital with a lifetime of medications and therapies. But sometimes the worst case scenario did happen and they did have to go home alone after they lost their children.

  Ethan Wachowski had been sick for a long time before the doctors had finally diagnosed him with an unpronounceable rare autoimmune disorder, and they felt that with the upcoming bone marrow transplant his chances were very good. But still, I feared the worst.

  Claudia was upstairs, standing at the end of the hallway gazing out the window at the late afternoon sun. She turned around when she heard me pounding up the stairs.

  “Claudia! Is Ethan okay? Is Amy okay? Teresa said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “And Dominic, too,” said Claudia, stepping away from the window. She looked past me and nodded, and I turned around to see that he was right there, just a few steps behind me.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is Lillian okay? Is it her brother?”

  “I was at the hospital for a while this afternoon with Amy and Lillian, since Chris had to go to work,” she said. “Ethan had a rough night last night. He’s been having some high fevers and low blood pressure.”

  “Is he okay?” I repeated.

  “Right now, yeah. I just wanted to let the two of you know, because of Lillian’s party coming up in a few days. Amy said the doctors told her that this isn’t out of the ordinary. He started a new medication to prepare his body for the bone marrow transplant and the fever and low blood pressure can be common side effects of that. So we’re hoping that with some rest he can get through this and be all ready for his transplant on Monday. But there’s a little more stress to this than there was at first.”

  “Okay,” I said, and I could feel my body relaxing a bit. I hadn’t realized how tense I had been waiting for Claudia to update us. “So he’s not doing great right now, but they’re still preparing for the transplant on Monday.”

  Claudia nodded, and I looked over at Dominic to confirm that he was okay. Dominic was as white as a sheet and looked about to pass out. I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Dominic! He’s going to be okay.”

  He stared at me, and for the first time I saw something different in his eyes. He was always such a positive person, to the point of annoyance, but now I saw fear in his eyes.

  “Come on. Thanks, Claudia,” I called over my shoulder, and turned back towards the stairs. I grabbed Dominic’s hand – warm, and callused, which made sense if he made his living throwing a baseball – and led him down the stairs. He followed me obediently until we reached the big tables and sat down in two chairs opposite each other. “What’s the matter?” I asked him, as gently as I could.

  He shook his head. “Just... oh, man. Remembering. Poor Ethan. Bone marrow transplants. Radiation. He’s been here for the past few weeks having radiation treatments, hasn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “Poor kid. Radiation’s tough. They do it to save you, but it almost kills you in the process. And the bone marrow transplant. How did they find a match?”

  “Through the bone marrow database,” I said. “They were lucky. They waited almost a year for a match.”

  “Lots of people aren’t as lucky,” said Dominic. “I thought having a bone marrow match meant you’re good, you’re saved. You get
to grow up and live happily ever after.” He was quiet for a minute, and when he spoke again, it was much quieter. “Turns out it’s not as easy as that.”

  “We’ll still have the party,” I told him. “We’ve got all the stuff.”

  “Right, the party,” he said, like he’d forgotten about it even though it was pretty much all he’d been talking about since his first day at Hartley House. “Lillian’s going to turn another year older no matter what. Might as well make it a good one for her. The distraction will be good, too.”

  I sensed something else was going on, but I didn’t know him well enough to pry. I went back to my desk to get to work.

  12

  Ethan’s fever came and went over the next few days. I saw Amy Wachowski a few times over the next few days before the party, and every time she looked stressed and exhausted, so I tried to keep things light and got my updates on Ethan from Claudia. On Sunday morning, the day of Lillian’s party, I dressed up in a ruffly pink blouse I’d borrowed from my roommate Maya, who had to work. Pink and ruffles weren’t really my style, but Lillian wanted everyone at her party to wear pink or purple, so I did.

  I didn’t usually spend a whole lot of time on my hair, but today I borrowed Libby’s curling iron and did my best to make beachy waves. For Instagram, I told myself. I had to promote the cake and the pizza and the princess face painting all over social media, so of course I had to look decent.

  Half an hour before the party was supposed to start, I headed over to Hartley House. I dragged Libby with me, since she was interested in any event that provided free cake. She’d be able to help out and take some pictures, too.

  “Is Lillian’s brother going to be there?” she asked me, as we approached the house.

  “No. He can’t leave the hospital.” I thought about launching in to an explanation of the bone marrow transplant, and the medications he was taking to prepare his body for the transplant, and the reaction he’d had, but then I thought better of it. Libby lived in a different world than I did, filled with sick and dying children and their struggling families. Libby worked in a dentist’s office and taught yoga and interacted with the regular, healthy people of the world, who had enough time and energy to schedule dentist appointments and attend drop-in yoga classes. Maya, who was a nurse, would have understood better, but she wasn’t there. So all I said was, “He’s got a fever.”