Let It Be Me

by Becky Wade

  Then he’d graduated and begun his internship, followed by his residency, followed by his fellowships. Working on children’s hearts had a way of maturing a person. The job had taught him that no human or technological advance of the last century had the ability to improve on God’s ingenious design of the human heart.

  Sebastian was not the architect of the heart. He was simply a very well-trained plumber. His goal today, and every day, was to restore defective hearts as close as possible to God’s blueprint. The more effectively he could do that, the better and faster his patient would recover.

  The phone rang. Dave, the anesthesiologist, answered, then murmured to the caller.

  Sebastian continued without pause, his attention fixed on closing the hole between the left and right ventricles. The heart-lung bypass machine hummed, doing the work of both the heart and the lungs during surgery by pumping the infant’s blood through his body. The less time Mateo was on bypass, the better, so Sebastian had to make the right decisions, and he had to make them fast.

  He also had to think two, six, eight steps ahead. The best surgeons possessed more than knowledge and skillful hands. They possessed feel. In this line of work, disaster was usually the result of several minor mistakes instead of a major one. He was learning to recognize subtle patterns and anticipate every way in which things could go wrong.

  “A baby with transposition of the great arteries has been delivered in Macon,” Dave said to him, holding the phone against his chest. “His name’s Josiah Douglas. Fourteen hours old, eight pounds. They’re transporting him here by ambulance.”

  Sebastian paused his stitching and looked up over his surgeon’s loupes. “Have they started him on prostaglandins?”

  “Yes.”

  “When will he arrive?”

  “About an hour.”

  He bent his head back to his task. His current repair was progressing like poetry.

  Josiah would need a septostomy procedure today. Then, after giving him a week or so to recover and grow, an arterial switch operation.

  The Clinic for Pediatric and Congenital Heart Diseases here at Beckett Memorial was one of the most prestigious in the country, alongside Boston Children’s, the Cleveland Clinic, Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, and the University of California San Francisco.

  The surgical team and the pediatric intensive care team here ran an extremely successful defense against death. They’d do whatever they could to ensure that they did not lose Mateo. Or Josiah.

  Not today, God.

  Not on my watch.

  When Sebastian entered Josiah’s room that evening, a distinctive, now-familiar energy closed around him. None of the energy originated with the boy, who lay unconscious on his warming bed. All of it came from the bright, hard-working machines sustaining his life.

  Josiah’s light brown hair lay against his round head at strange angles. He had big cheeks and a small mouth.

  As Sebastian stood at his bedside, feeling his tiredness, an image of Leah slipped into his mind. He saw again exactly how she’d looked at the farmers market, surrounded by flowers. He replayed the moment when her eyes met his—

  Stop it.

  Weeks had passed since that day, and he wanted her out of his head.

  He was no longer a child who took toys from other people and felt nothing when they cried. But that didn’t mean that it was in his nature to sit on the sidelines while other people pursued the things he wanted.

  It wasn’t.

  It was in his nature to go after the things he wanted single-mindedly. Which is exactly what he would have done had the obstacle between himself and Leah been anything and anyone other than Ben. As it was, he could do nothing, which sent frustration scratching down his limbs.

  She’s off limits, he kept telling himself.

  She’s off limits.

  Three days later, Ben stopped in the open doorway of Leah’s classroom. “Want anything from the break room?” he asked.

  She paused the motion of the sponge she was using to clean her whiteboard. Ben’s easygoing, open personality never failed to brighten her day. “Watermelon-flavored sparkling water?”

  “You bet.”

  He vanished. The space he’d vacated framed a view of the hallway, lockers, and passing students.

  Ben occupied the classroom across the hall and four doors down from hers. They shared a free period, so at the same time almost every day, he stopped by to ask if she wanted anything from the teacher break room.

  She finished cleaning her board and turned to observe her happy, tidy classroom. Semicircles of chairs radiated away from where she was standing toward the opposing wall, which contained a bank of windows. She’d stocked her bookshelves with textbooks, binders, and notebooks from her years at Clemmons, her large personal collection of books about math, and a few potted succulents and inspirational quotes.

  Primary-colored portraits of the world’s most renowned math minds filled every remaining patch of wall space. Thus Hypatia, Euler, Gauss, Cantor, and more looked down on her daily.

  “Here’s hoping I’m doing the lot of you proud,” she said. “Please do intervene and speak up if I’m not.”

  She scooped a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil stub off the floor, depositing them in the trash before taking a seat at her desk. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees draping the hills.

  Since receiving her second round of test results from YourHeritage, she’d been working to metabolize her genetic truth. It had shifted the earth she walked on. It was confusing and painful. But the best course forward was to accept what could not be changed. And so, gradually, she was learning to coexist with the revelations about her DNA the way she might coexist with a mutt who appeared one day and insisted on following her everywhere.

  She had no plans to reach out to her mom. Mom had been apprised of the situation and could call her for additional information whenever she chose. Nor did Leah have plans, at this point, anyway, to tell Dylan what she’d discovered. It would upset him, and what purpose would that serve?

  So far, she’d settled on just one course of action. She wanted to find answers to the questions her DNA tests had raised.

  She’d been born at Magnolia Avenue Hospital in Atlanta. If she could examine Magnolia Avenue’s records on the babies born on the same day that she’d been born, she might be able to work out which biological parents were hers.

  But first, she’d need to convince the hospital to show her their records. She knew just enough about the privacy regulations pertaining to hospital data to know that in order to gain access to those records, she’d need an expert on her side.

  Ben sailed into her classroom and handed her the can of sparkling water. Today he’d paired a dark purple short-sleeved polo with gray pants and spotless black leather sneakers with thick white soles.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Do you realize that if we walk somewhere side-by-side today, we’ll look like a study in color wheel opposites?”

  “We will?”

  “Yes. Yellow.” She pointed to her blouse, then to him. “And purple.”

  “Ah.”

  “Sir Isaac Newton would be pleased.”

  “Because?”

  “Because he was the first to split sunlight into beams of color and invented the color wheel.”

  “You know what I said to myself when I woke up this morning?”

  “I do not.”

  “I said, ‘Dress to please Sir Isaac Newton today, Ben.’”

  She smiled. “Mission accomplished.”

  As usual, Ben settled into the student chair nearest her desk. A soft pop sounded as he opened his package of baby carrots.

  She took a swallow of the chilled sparkling water, savoring it. The first sip was always the best. “The day of the farmers market you introduced me to your friend Sebastian.”

  Ben chewed, nodded.

  “He’s a doctor in Atlanta, right?” Leah asked.

  “Yes. He lives there during the week but stays at
his house here in Misty River most weekends.”

  “Do you think he’d be willing to speak to me? I have a few medical questions I’d like to ask.”

  Lines of concern indented his forehead. “Are you sick?”

  “No. My questions have to do with old records.”

  “I’d be happy to relay your questions to Sebastian and get back to you with his answers.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but the records I’m after are a bit on the . . . personal side. I don’t mind giving him a call.” Leah opened the New Contact screen on her phone and passed it to Ben.

  Because he was a doctor, Sebastian would know how to go about obtaining records. Additionally, doctors were good at keeping information confidential. Lastly, he’d be predisposed to help her because she’d helped him when he’d crashed his car.

  Ben frowned slightly as he typed in Sebastian’s details.

  It had been unsettling in the extreme to watch Sebastian’s car lunge off the road last fall. Terrified of what she might find, she’d parked and hurried down the embankment. The front of his SUV had crumpled, wisps of steam rising from it. Since the driver’s side door was wedged against small trees, she’d jerked open the passenger door. She’d discovered a good-looking, dark-haired man slumped against his seat belt, unconcious. She’d climbed onto the seat and tried to wake him. At first there’d been no response. She’d been hugely relieved when he’d woken.

  He hadn’t been scared, just in pain and disoriented.

  The lucid, virile Sebastian of the farmers market had been very different from the Sebastian of the car crash.

  He was taller than she would have guessed. At least six foot two, with a forthright, masculine, chiseled face. His hair was inkier than she’d recalled—almost black. The day of his accident, he’d been dazed. The day of the market, his gray eyes had regarded her with extraordinary intensity. He’d spoken with assurance. There’d been no weakness in him at all.

  Ben gave her phone back.

  “Did you know Sebastian before the five of you were trapped by the earthquake?” she asked.

  “No. He was a foster kid, and the church offered him a place on the mission trip, all expenses paid. He didn’t want to go, but his foster parents insisted. That was the first time Sebastian had done anything with our youth group. He hated being there, and he was determined to hate all of us, too.”

  Leah had been young when the world’s interest had converged on the five American children who’d been trapped underground by an earthquake while in El Salvador. So when a fellow teacher informed her that Ben was one of the Miracle Five shortly after her arrival in Misty River, she’d done what she always did after pinpointing a gap in her knowledge: she’d studied up. The next time she’d seen Ben, she’d been prepared to talk intelligently on the subject of the earthquake and their subsequent miraculous rescue.

  Over time, she’d learned that the entire town harbored a great deal of respect for their five most famous sons and daughters. Ben, Sebastian, Natasha, Genevieve, and Luke had been in middle school when they’d been buried alive for eight days beneath rubble. It didn’t matter to Misty River residents that the event had occurred nineteen years ago. They still regarded the kids, now adults, with a healthy dose of awe.

  “So your first impression of Sebastian wasn’t a positive one,” she said.

  “Not at all. He was blunt and argumentative. Mean.” Fondness softened his expression. “But he grew on me.”

  “And you grew on him.”

  “It took time. After we came home, he said no the first ten or twenty times I asked him to do stuff with my family and me. But then my mom got involved. . . . You’ve met my mom.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know that it’s impossible to say no to her. Sebastian had met his match. She forced him to hang out with us. He started spending more and more time at our house, taking trips with us, coming to church with us.”

  “The way you talk, I was under the impression that your family had practically adopted him.”

  “Practically, yes. Technically, no. My parents didn’t formally adopt him, but we did pull him into our circle.”

  “The famous Coleman charm softened fearsome Sebastian Grant.”

  Ben’s good-natured grin caused his brown eyes to sparkle. “It overcomes everyone’s defenses in time.”

  “Given that, how is it possible that you’ve made it to the age of thirty-two without marrying anyone, sir?”

  His brows rose. “This topic again?”

  “You know how I am when things don’t make sense to me! And your unmarried state makes no sense to me.”

  “You’re unmarried.”

  “I’m unmarriageable—”

  “No you’re not.”

  “But I am. You, however, are astonishingly marriageable.”

  He chuckled. “You’re almost as bad as my mom.”

  “As stated, your charm can overcome anyone’s defenses. Which means that the reason for your singleness must stem from womankind’s inability to overcome your defenses.”

  He spread his hands. “That is not the reason. I’m open to a relationship!”

  “Then allow me to set you up with Hallie.” Leah could name several women who’d love to date him.

  “No.” He took his baby carrots and hightailed it toward the door.

  “Malia?”

  “No.” He darted out of sight.

  “Coward!” she called after him.

  Later that night, Sebastian paused the voice mail he’d begun playing while walking toward the hospital parking lot after work.

  He propped a shoulder against the hallway wall, restarted the voicemail, and listened carefully.

  “Sebastian, this is Leah Montgomery. We spoke briefly at Misty River High School’s farmers market. Thank you for the bouquet, by the way. I’ve enjoyed it.” A brief hesitation.

  Her voice was like moonlight. Clear, tranquil.

  “Ben gave me your number,” she continued. “I have a few questions about medical records, and I’m hoping you might be able to offer some insight. Feel free to give me a call back at your convenience. Sincere thanks.”

  Hospital staffers drifted past.

  He replayed the message again. Then again.

  Finally, he continued toward his car. Ben had given Leah his number? Ben hadn’t told him he had.

  Once inside his Mercedes C Class, he started the engine but made no move to put the car in gear. He collected his thoughts, then dialed Leah’s number.

  She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

  Longing fisted around his chest. “It’s Sebastian Grant. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. Thanks for returning my call. Can—can you hold on for one moment, please?”

  “Sure.”

  He heard a door opening and closing, followed by the sound of birds and breeze. “I reached out to you,” she said, “because I could use the advice of someone who’s knowledgeable about hospitals and the policies surrounding medical records.”

  “I’m glad you reached out.” It was an understatement.

  “What I’m about to say is sensitive,” she told him, “and I’m wondering if you’d consider keeping it confidential. I do realize that’s an outlandish thing to ask, seeing as how I’m a stranger.”

  “I don’t consider you to be a stranger, and I’ll keep whatever you tell me confidential.”

  “Thank you.”

  He waited, trying to predict the situation she’d gotten herself into.

  “I have reason to suspect that, immediately after my birth twenty-eight years ago, I went home from the hospital with the wrong set of parents.”

  Silence exploded inside Sebastian’s car. He’d in no way predicted that. “You think you were switched at birth?” He kept his voice level. His career, his life, had taught him to absorb surprise while remaining outwardly calm.

  She explained her DNA test, retest, and her mother’s insistence that she hadn’t been adopted. “I’d very
much like to study the records concerning my birth,” she said, “as well as the records of all the other baby girls who were born the same day.”

  “In order to learn the identity of your biological parents?”

  “Yes. Also to determine what became of the baby my parents were supposed to have raised and what caused this outcome.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Magnolia Avenue Hospital.”

  His brain flipped through the information she’d provided. “In the state of Georgia, hospitals are only required to retain records for ten years.”

  A few seconds of quiet followed. “You’re saying that the records of my birth have been destroyed.”

  “I’m saying that it’s possible. Some hospitals, including my own, never destroy anything.”

  “I see.” She sounded disappointed, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

  “How about I make an appointment for the two of us with the hospital administrator at Magnolia Avenue? If your records still exist, we’ll need the cooperation of those at the top of the hospital food chain in order to access them. We’ll also need a court order.”

  “A meeting with the administrator would be excellent.”

  “When will you be available to drive to Atlanta for a meeting?”

  “There are only six days of school left. Summer vacation starts June tenth, so anytime after that should work.”

  “I’ll set up an appointment as soon as possible after that date. In the meantime, I recommend you gather all the documents you have. Your birth certificate. Printouts of your DNA test results. Information on your mother’s pregnancy, and anything else you can think of.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ll call you when I have a meeting arranged.”

  She’d given him a chance to advocate for her, which pleased him more than anything had in a long time. He wanted to repay her for what she’d done for him the day of his accident.

  And so he would, while keeping things simple and platonic between them.

  While Leah had been talking to Sebastian, she’d descended her front walkway, crossed the street, and continued along the dirt trail that wound downhill.

  Now she spent a few moments admiring the view of her very own Blue Ridge Mountain valley. She adored it at this time of day, painted in the thoughtful golden tones of the coming sunset.