by M. G Scott
“Why the heart?”
“Because it has the largest effect on saving lives.” And my wallet, he thought.
Gregory started pacing back and forth. “I have to admit, I’m floored,” he finally said. “I mean, I know zero about science, but to be able to do what you’re doing … is brilliant.”
Vua nodded a few times. He never tired of people telling him how brilliant he was. “I’m glad you understand the value of what we’re doing.” He eyed his watch. “If you’re comfortable with our operation, then let’s step in my office and see what we can do to help your sister.”
“I’d like that very much,” Gregory replied without hesitation.
With Gregory ahead of him, Vua gave a nod to the team in the lab, and then closed the door. They continued down the hall and pushed open a stainless-steel door with a nameplate bearing Vua’s full name. As the door widened, they were bathed in sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows lining the large, semicircular room.
Gregory stepped inside and looked out the windows. “Is that Acapulco Bay?”
“It is—it’s the inner bay off of Playa del Secreto.”
He turned toward Vua. “Unbelievable.”
“To me, the unbelievable part is the hundreds of donors and patients who have had their lives profoundly impacted by what we do.”
“One that I hope continues with my sister.”
“I’m confident it will.” He pointed to the round table near the windows. “Please, have a seat while I get the paperwork ready.”
Vua picked up one of ten folders neatly stacked on a corner of his desk. He sat down and spread three pages in front of Gregory.
“This is a very simple document—another positive about being in Acapulco.”
“You mean the legal language?”
“Yes, we aren’t required to have you sign the many consent documents U.S. law requires. I do suggest, however, you look over the third page—it lists the terms and conditions along with the payment schedule.” He looked down at the page. “To lock in the procedure, I need a twenty percent down payment today, fifty percent will be due when you arrive at the Center with your sister, and the remaining thirty when she’s released. So that will be twenty-six thousand, sixty-five thousand, and thirty-nine thousand dollars.”
Gregory’s eyes bulged as he swallowed hard. “If my math’s right, that’s a hundred thirty grand. From what we discussed on the phone, the procedure would be a hundred thousand.”
Vua’s face turned dead serious as he stared at Gregory. After a few seconds of silence, he started gathering up his papers. “I’m sorry. I thought you were serious about saving your sister’s life. Maybe I was mistaken.”
“I absolutely am,” Gregory replied quickly. “I also don’t like to be overcharged because of the position I’m in. That’s all.”
“The bottom line is costs vary based on availability of donors and the incubation period of the hearts. And right now, the demand is high and the supply low.” Vua looked at Gregory, before adding, “Besides, I don’t know how you put a price tag on your sister’s life. I know I certainly couldn’t.”
Gregory crossed his arms and stared, angered by being misled because of his predicament.
“So you’re ready to continue?” Vua asked sternly.
Gregory continued staring, then abruptly said, “Not so fast.” He jumped to his feet and walked out.
“I’ll give you thirty minutes to reconsider,” Vua bellowed. “And then the deal is off the table.”
Chapter 17
Gregory burst through the Heart Center’s revolving door and into the blazing sun. He reached into his jacket and grabbed the vodka bottle he always carried with him. After unscrewing the cap, he swigged until the alcohol dripped on his shirt.
Now what?
He glanced at his watch. Three hours before his flight back to San Diego. He eyed a pier that extended into the bay and headed that way. He collapsed onto a bench and finished off the bottle. When he was done, he let the bottle slip between his fingers and clank against the wooden pier. As the buzz of the alcohol hit him, he put his head between his legs and started weeping. The truth was as plain as it was simple: He didn’t have the hundred thirty grand Vua wanted. Besides, where was he going to get it?
His thoughts turned to Gina. He had really blown it with her, pushing her over the edge.
Why was I such a prick? he wondered.
He needed to change. Otherwise, he would never amount to anything if he kept doing the same thing over and over: Self-pity. Drink. Hangover. Self-pity. Drink. Hangover.
Seagulls squawked nearby. Gregory picked up his head and watched them prance and frolic along the pier, pecking at their feathers, enjoying the simple life they had. He eyed the empty vodka bottle lying next to his feet and stared at the white label that seemed to spin round and round. Something dawned on him.
It was at that moment he decided to embark on a journey that would forever change his life. He grabbed the bottle and flung it as far as he could into the ocean. He watched it splash into the afternoon water and then sink below the surface.
He then walked back toward the Heart Center.
Chapter 18
The massive glass sculpture, spiraling fifty feet upward, owned the attention of every visitor to the Donor Center. For a moment, Gina couldn’t take her eyes off it. She then gazed at Helen who didn’t seem to be at all impressed by the art as she chatted with two other donors near the entrance.
Wondering if it was really made of glass, Gina inched forward and gazed more closely at the sculpture. The snake’s glass twisted and distorted the sunlight coming through the skylights, creating bursts of color that made it seem more vivid than it already was. Shaped as some sort of snake, maybe a python, it was obvious the sculptor had paid painstaking attention to the smallest detail—from the ripples in the glass skin to the multilayered eyes near the statue’s top. He had used the atrium’s architecture to produce a piece that seemed to be in perfect harmony with its surroundings.
“Ms. Hyde?” a woman said as she approached. “Can you direct me to Ms. Helen Mesona? I’d like to show both of you to your room.”
“Over here!” Helen said, overhearing them as she walked over.
“I just can’t get my mind off this sculpture,” Gina said. “It’s absolutely stunning.”
“I think you’ll find every detail of this research center was paid special attention. We want our guests to not be just comfortable, but mesmerized by their experience,” the guide replied. “Dr. Vua’s dream has always been about the people. If donors are willing to volunteer their time for the good of mankind then he believes the least he can do is make sure the time spent here is as special as possible.”
Gina eyed the guide. “When you see Dr. Vua you can tell him he’s already made it special.”
“I’ll be happy to do that.” The woman beckoned with a hand. “Let me show you both to your room.” She led them to a bank of elevators outfitted in stainless steel. An elevator chimed and the doors opened. “Fifth floor,” she stated.
“Confirmed,” a computerized female voice replied.
When the doors opened, the guide said excitedly, “Welcome to the SV wing. Please follow me to your room.”
“S … V?” Helen asked.
“Yes, you’re in the SV, or South View wing of the Center—with one of the best views of the harbor, I might add.”
Gina couldn’t take her eyes off the floor as backlit glass caused the corridor to glow a pale blue hue. “I’m in dreamland,” she mustered.
“Seriously.” Helen responded.
The guide walked them down the hall toward a closed door with 565 stamped on it. “Here we are. Room SV-565. To get in you’ll need to use the palm reader. And don’t worry, only you will have access.”
Helen put her hand on the reader. It clicked green and the door slid open.
Gina gasped. The room was enormous—enough to fill her apartment twice over. Along the left wall, wate
r floated down a black brick wall. On the opposite side, a bank of LED TVs stood ready to entertain them. In the main living space, a black and white diamond-shaped area rug covered the floor—accented by two loungers and a coffee table. Altogether, it was warm, and inviting.
Helen grabbed Gina’s hand. “You’re coming with me. We’ve got to check this place out.”
“It’s really a suite,” the guide explained. “This is the living area while your bedroom is there against the windows.”
“There’s a full bedroom?”
“As I said, BioHumanity didn’t spare any expense.”
Helen pulled Gina through another doorway that emptied into the shared bedroom.
“Seriously?” Gina said.
A bank of windows wrapped around the room, giving them a hundred eighty degree view of Acapulco Bay. Gina walked up and stared at the dark horizon. “I bet you can see for miles.” She then turned and eyed the rest of the bedroom: Two king-sized beds, decked in satin linens, occupied one wall while a garden of mixed flowers and vegetation covered the opposite wall. “Wow,” Gina said.
“I know you’re both probably exhausted from the long day and would love to get some rest,” the guide said. “I’ll leave you both alone until the morning. Till then …” She then left them alone in the bedroom.
Gina grabbed one of the beds and collapsed on it. Helen quickly followed. “You know what I find humorous?” Gina said as she stretched her arms and legs.
“No, what?”
“I had no idea you were going to be my roommate.”
Helen laughed. “Neither did I. The last time we saw each other was, what, a week ago?”
“I think you’re right.”
“Do you think they knew we were friends?
“You mean the people at the clinic?” Gina replied.
“Yeah.”
A shrug. “Dunno.” Gina’s eyes suddenly felt heavy. “I think I might get some sleep. I hardly ever say this but I’m exhausted.”
Helen slipped beneath the satin cover, not bothering to undress. “Me too.”
Gina rolled over. “Sweet dreams.”
No answer.
Fighting the urge to sleep, Gina opened them wider. She put a hand under her head and focused on the bay window, squinting. She couldn’t see anything save for a few bright stars but it didn’t matter. She was two thousand miles away from home and loving every minute of it: No pressure from teaching. No pressure from her friends and family. And no Gregory. She bit her lip. Why did she have to think about him? She thought about the fetus she was carrying with his sperm. While he had been nothing but an asshole to her, their fetus would help save his sister—and he would never know a thing about it. She closed her eyes knowing she was doing the right thing.
Something caused her to stir. Was it the door? “Helen?” she whispered lightly as she turned toward her roommate’s bed.
No answer.
“Helen.” Her voice had more authority.
Nothing.
Hmm, she thought. That’s weird.
Chapter 19
“What brings you to Oceanside?” the doctor asked as he immobilized her right arm and shoulder in a sling.
Sabrina stared at his gorgeous brown eyes. “Unfortunately, a funeral. I was on the way back to my house when I was hit.”
“I guess you didn’t quite make it.”
“And neither did my car,” she replied. “I loved that car. It was a gift from my dad.”
“How did he end up buying it for you?”
“I came home sobbing one night after getting yelled at in culinary school. I told him I was going to quit … I just couldn’t take it anymore. He sat me down and said he’d buy me a car if I completed school.”
“Who was yelling at you?”
“'The instructor. He kept saying, ‘The meat’s too dry, the vegetables don’t have any flavor!' I had had enough and stormed out.”
“So I guess your dad’s offer worked—you ended up with the car.”
“More than that. I graduated with honors.”
“So what do you think?” He pointed to her arm.
Sabrina looked at the off-white sling covering her upper arm and shoulder. “I guess it’s as fashionable as it’s going to get.”
“You were lucky. You had an anterior dislocation. All you'll need is to immobilize the shoulder to allow the inflammation and swelling to subside. After a few weeks, you should be out of the woods. Otherwise, everything else checked out okay. Lot better than a break.”
She looked at his shaggy mop and casual dress. Beyond the seductive eyes, the warmness of his smile and the comfort of his voice seemed real—not the phony empathy she sometimes felt from people. For some reason, his gentleness and compassion seemed beyond the standard medical attention.
He flipped through her chart. “You’re from Pacific City. That right?”
“Right. I work at the Beacon and came to Oceanside to follow up on a story.”
“The Neskowin Beacon?”
A nod.
“The funeral you spoke of—were you following up on the Sanchez story?”
She sported a quick smile. “I was. Not hard to figure out, I guess. Not a lot goes on in Neskowin.”
“Wouldn’t think so.”
“Did you know him?”
“Not particularly. From what I know, he and his wife kept to themselves.” He paused. “I don’t know if it’s a coincidence, but I did treat Eric Sanchez a few days before they found him.”
“Really?” Her attention perked. “What for?”
“Can’t really divulge that. Doctor-patient privilege you know.”
Her face dropped in disappointment. “I guess I can understand.”
A nurse came in and set down a cup of ginger ale. She looked at Sabrina. “For your stomach—just in case the pain medications cause a bit of nausea. “Do you need anything else?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Sabrina took a sip as the nurse left. She turned to the doctor, kicking herself for not asking who he was. “You know, I’m not sure I ever got your name.”
The doctor straightened. “I’m not sure I ever told you. He stuck a hand out. “Scott Brieman … I’m part of the ER staff.”
She grabbed the hand with her left. “Kind of awkward.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“So what do you know about me?”
“Sabrina Katz. Age twenty-nine. Lives in Pacific City but your ID says New York City.”
“That’s right. I just got here a little more than a month ago after deciding working for a small-town newspaper might be the change I needed.” She sighed. “I just didn’t expect to end up here.”
“At least it’s a good way to meet someone new.”
“Like whom?”
“Like me.”
She studied him. Was he being more than just charming? It had been so long since another man showed interest, she wasn’t sure if her brain was believing what her ears were telling her. He was attractive—there was no mistake about that. The natural curls hovering over his forehead added to the sense of mystique she felt for him. It made her wonder if he was truly interested or just a player.
She looked at his left hand. No wedding band. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” She blushed. Did she really say that out loud? “I mean …”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. And no would be the answer.” He bent over and peered into her eyes. “Look, Oceanside isn’t exactly a hotbed for single men. Once somebody attractive comes along, even if it is by accident, I take notice.”
Her breasts started tingling. It made her red with embarrassment. Then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt that. “About Sanchez,” she quickly said, changing the subject.
He propped his hands on the gurney, his eyes still trained on hers. “Maybe if you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you out.”
“Well,” she replied. “For starters, I met his wife the day she came to Neskowin.”
&n
bsp; “To identify him?”
A nod. “One of the saddest moments I’ll ever remember.”
“That must’ve been tough.”
“It was.”
“Did you get her name?”
“Carla Sanchez.”
“How’s she faring?” There was a genuine look of concern on his face.
“Not well. It was probably one of the hardest conversations I’ve had in a long time and it wasn’t just because of Carla.”
“How so?”
“I’d been following this story since the day Eric’s body washed ashore, which also happened to be my first day with the paper. Then I got into a fight with my boss.” She stopped. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” she gushed. “I don’t even know you.”
“Hey, it’s all right. I’m just here to listen. You can tell me whatever you want.”
She smiled. For some reason, that simple response calmed her. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. So why the fight with the boss?”
“Because the paper refused to investigate Sanchez’s death. I mean, is that wrong for me to think that way?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“The coroner said it was an accidental death so they closed the case.” She sighed. “I mean, the paper could’ve cared less what the reason was. All I wanted was to write an article about him, to honor his life. You know, to be more than just a statistic in the paper.”
“I can see your point but I’m not surprised. They probably deal with more stories day to day than they can handle. They could be overworked, understaffed, and feel the facts are as they are. So they publish what they have and move on.”
She thought about that. “Maybe that’s why they resent me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the editor, James Blogg, didn’t hire me. One of their top investors felt the paper needed a softer side to bring in more women readers.”
Brieman chuckled. “Then you may be on to something. They probably don’t like anybody intruding in their boys club.” He stood straight. “How did you get to know the investor?”