The Lost Hearts

by Maya Wood

  Alexis bowed her head, a wave of hot guilt sweeping over her. She couldn’t bear to think of her father at a time like this, or rather, the fact that she had turned her back on him.

  “There’s no need to feel ashamed, Alexis. Your father understands you like no other person does. He only wants you to be happy.”

  Alexis bit her lip. She let her teeth press hard against her flesh, hoping the pain would distract her from the mind-numbing heartache of the gulf she now felt between Lawrence and herself. “I don’t know what to do,” she said shakily. “I tried to think it over after he asked me to go for him. And every time I think of what life has become I feel like I’ve been gutted. I don’t know who I am. What will happen to father? And Philip? I’ve lost him for good. The one person who seemed to get me. At least I thought he did.” Alexis’ face sunk into her palms. “And then New Guinea. God, I feel so weak and stupid. I’ve been given a chance to do what I’ve always said I wanted to do, what I could do, and I’m falling so short.”

  Marion cocked her head. “Well, I suppose that’s a normal reaction to any situation that challenges us to be who we are,” she said matter-of-factly. “Life has suddenly turned up an opportunity wrapped up in the worst of circumstances. It wouldn’t be an easy decision for anyone. Nonetheless, you have a decision to make. Not for your father, or for Philip, or for anybody else. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult. This has to be for you.” Marion smoothed the fabric of her gray wool dress and smiled.

  “I’m too old to sit like this for long. Why don’t you wash up and I’ll make you something that’ll help settle your stomach and clear that head.” It was as though Marion had announced there was no longer anything to lament or fear again. And once they unfolded themselves and rose, Marion patted Alexis’ teary cheek and pulled her in a warm embrace. It was like melting against her mother. The edge of panic had faded for the first time and she stood humbled with gratitude for the old woman who had unburdened the brutal weight of her humiliating weakness.

  ***

  The sidewalk on Spencer Street cracked and gnarled under the bicycle tires and Alexis jerked as she steered her way through the gauntlet of potholes and erupting tree roots. It hadn’t been repaired since it was first laid, and the street and houses, matching its dismal state, split and bleached under the sun. Phillip had always warned her against traveling through this particular neighborhood, but she never paid much attention. She had always liked to stroll past the street games of baseball and watch the children with their sweat-soaked t-shirts shriek and cheer, caressing their leathery worn mitts with adoration.

  Alexis squeezed the brakes under an elm tree and climbed down from her bike. She pushed it past a handsome blue-eyed man who tipped his hat. The whole week prior, Alexis’ mind had been a dense storm of thoughts snarled into an incomprehensible knot. She had felt mad, unable to focus on any given topic, her father, Philip, New Guinea, all viciously competing for a spot at the forefront of her consciousness.

  Marion had nourished her with the comfort and wisdom of a mother, and she walked intrepidly now with the strength of a mind made up. Yet there remained one glaring uncertainty. Philip. Alexis knew she’d seen and heard enough by now to snub out any serious regard for their relationship. Like a snake he had cleverly maneuvered his way into her heart, coiling himself around her, waiting to squeeze the life out of her. And yet despite the humiliation of his hopes for her, despite the apparent theatrics of love and respect, she realized she had taken him for granted, too. Without him, she felt homeless, an orphaned spirit with no sanctuary. For better or worse, he had been her closest confidant. Bitterly she felt the true grasp he held on her heart.

  What use was it now, though? He had revealed himself, and there was nothing to be done. He’d employed the words of his family and friends to say what he really thought of her. “A troublesome woman with silly ideas,” she quoted grumpily under her breath. She rolled her eyes and snorted with indignation. But those words, now impressed forever in her mind’s eye, had been spoken in the span of a few seconds. They didn’t coincide with the many demonstrations of Philip’s support, his tenderness. Surely it couldn’t have all been an act. She remembered when they had started to become really serious. Alexis was buried in books and research for her doctorate. Philip had beamed whenever she talked about her work.

  “You’re undoubtedly the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” he’d whispered to her in the library, his eyes flashing with enchantment beneath those sooty lashes.

  “Oh, please,” she had giggled, totally engulfed by the compliment.

  “What can I do, Alexis,” he’d asked her with a lover’s subservience, “to get you out of here quick and somewhere I can kiss those ridiculously beautiful lips?”

  Alexis remembered how hot her cheeks had flushed. “Well, I suppose you can get these books for me while I finish taking notes. Then we can go,” she said, slipping him a folded note with case studies and their authors.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Alexis stopped and rubbed her eyes, the image of happiness rippling into black. What could have made it worth it, she wondered.

  The sun, softened by the deep of autumn, climbed lazily in the white blue sky. Alexis cupped her hands above her brow as she pushed the bike through the throng of crosswalk traffic. Scanning the dusky-colored stone building growing taller with each step, she read its austere sign, Good Samaritan Hospital. She hesitated at its foundation, pensive.

  Her own story loomed large as the universe, an all-consuming tidal wave in which she could barely imagine its resolution. Yet gazing up at the many windows of the hospital, so deceptively impersonal, she realized all around her were countless stories of human suffering, joy, and the infinite gray areas in between. As she slowly weaved her way through shuffling patients and their attentive family members, she imagined the nameless faces of heartbreaking loss, and those charged with the wonder, excitement, and trepidation of new life. Her mind bowed under the weight of this peculiarly cruel and hopeful place.

  At the front desk, Alexis gave her name to a wiry, old nurse with stern black eyes and thin lips. The sharp lines of her angular face dissolved into a surprising smile, and she waved Alexis past, her bony hands embossed with thick blue veins. Alexis remembered the last time she had walked down the long hall to the last door on the left. Now her heart lashed frantically, teeming with guilt. She had all but abandoned her father in that room. He had faced his mortality, and she hadn’t been strong enough to stay by his side. How will he even be able to look at me, she thought.

  The door was cracked, and she stood before it paralyzed with the image of disappointment in his sad eyes. Pressing her fingertips to the door, she pushed with imperceptible force until she managed to duck her head in the door. The walls had been taped neatly with photos and journal articles, and the tiled floors stacked with pillars of familiar books. On the bedside table, Alexis noticed a pretty bouquet of fresh hydrangeas from their English garden. And beside the open window with its white sheer curtains billowing delicately in the breeze, sat Lawrence with his head bent.

  Alexis cleared her throat and her father lifted his gaze from the newspaper unfolded messily in his lap. He craned his neck and his blue eyes lit up. Alexis was already crying as she flung herself at him, her arms clinging to his shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his white hospital pajamas. Lawrence held her silently, tucking loose auburn ringlets behind her ears.

  Pulling away, she wiped at her cheeks, which seemed perpetually wet with tears. She observed with relief that her father had improved remarkably since she saw him last. Color had returned to his cheeks and nose, life twinkling in his eyes. His body, which had wilted against the hospital bed just a week ago, now sat upright and alert. Sighing, he smiled at her and she knew then that she was forgiven.

  “I understand you haven’t had an easy week, either,” he said, his voice laced with ironic humor.

  Alexis sat at the foot of his bed, bound tightl
y by a coarse wool blanket. She groaned, as though the sound itself could communicate the entirety of her woes. “I don’t even know where to begin. Well,” she laughed wryly, “I suppose it began with you.”

  Lawrence raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Don’t worry about me, dear,” he said confidently. “The doctor says I’m recovering beyond his expectations. I’m a tad stir crazy in this room, but that pretty nurse takes me for little walks every afternoon, and I shouldn’t be here for more than another week.” He motioned toward the wall with a loving smirk. “Marion has injected a little life into this barren cage as you can see. So, it hasn’t been too terrible.” Lawrence chuckled weakly, but his face quickly sobered.

  “Alexis…I’ve wanted to apologize for the other night.” Alexis lifted her head in surprise, and he continued. “Though the offer still stands, I should have realized it was too much to process given the circumstances. I should have waited. Please understand that everything felt…er…last minute that particular day. Nonetheless, I should have waited.”

  Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. “Yes,” she admitted with a nod. “It was a lot to take in.” Suddenly feeling warm, Alexis wriggled from her coat and draped it on the bed. Neither of them rushed to speak. Finally Alexis said, “To be quite frank, it’s been an awful week for me. I can’t remember ever feeling so…insane. Like I was suddenly a stranger in my life, to myself.” She pressed the tips of her fingers together contemplatively. “I still feel a little disoriented.”

  “Ah, both the Scotts together.” A nasal shrill pierced the solemn mood of the room, and father and daughter turned to eye the short fat man entering the room as casually as a king in his castle. Alexis felt her lip curl into an involuntary sneer.

  “Bates,” she said flatly.

  Lawrence straightened himself in the chair and removed his glasses. “Harry, good to see you.” Alexis knew her father well, and it was clear to both that he did not mean it. He was an unwelcome intruder, but her father was a true diplomat.

  “Yes, well. Good to see you, too, Lawrence. You’re looking well since we last spoke.”

  “What can I do for you?” Lawrence inquired, patting Alexis’ clenched fist.

  “I wish it could wait, but you know we’ve been waiting to figure out the final details of the New Guinea trip. There’s a lot riding on it, if you know what I mean. A lot of publicity, a lot of money. A decision has to be made.” Bates removed his cap and hung it on the wall hook. “This is a difficult moment. I’m aware of that. So I’ve gone ahead and volunteered my services.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Alexis cried theatrically, as though Bates were foaming at the mouth and speaking total nonsense. He was the most incompetent human being she’d ever met. He couldn’t seriously mean that he intended to replace her father on the trip. She knew he’d been vying for a better position at the Museum, but he didn’t honestly think he was capable of managing the research, did he?

  Lawrence’s mouth pulled into a subtle frown beneath his mustache. “Are you sure, Harry? You’re a man of many accomplishments, there’s no doubt about that. But you have no formal knowledge of New Guinea, nor any field experience. Perhaps we should discuss this with the board.”

  “That’s done. I’ve suggested it myself. There aren’t any objections…er…serious objections, as long as you give your stamp of approval.” Bates puffed his chest and moved toward the window. He turned his greasy face to Alexis. “And well, since Alexis ought to be here and take care of family matters, I felt it would be the honorable thing to do.”

  Alexis gaped, her head wagging in unequivocal disbelief. She caught her father’s eye, and she knew right away. He was giving her what she wanted, what he wanted.

  Alexis lifted her gaze to Bates, looking red and bloated with conceit. “That is awfully considerate of you Harry. But you see, father and I were just discussing the matter, and it’s been decided.”

  “What’s been decided?” Bates asked, his voice considerably ruffled now.

  “I’m going on the trip in my father’s place,” Alexis said, steadying her voice. The words were a contract, a signature. There was no going back and her vision pounded with white.

  Lawrence nodded, his small mouth lifting slightly in amusement. Bates’ face oozed red now. “Is this true?” he barked at Lawrence.

  “Yes, it is. But thank you, Harry. The gesture is much appreciated.” Lawrence returned, disregarding the rising volume of his colleague’s voice.

  Bates flapped his arms, tortured by etiquette and his desire to melt into a tantrum. He bolted for the door, and grabbing his hat, slammed it low over his face. “We’ll see about that,” he laughed. “Sending her instead of me. This isn’t the last word, I assure you,” he snarled at a high pitch, locking Alexis with his black, beady eyes. And then he was gone.

  Alexis let out an intrepid sigh. “Oh brother,” she exclaimed.

  Her father leaned forward, bracing his hands upon the arms of his reading chair. Slowly he raised himself, grimacing slightly with the effort. Alexis’ heart fluttered uneasily and she moved to help him, but he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said breathily. “I’m just not as limber as I once was.” He shuffled to the window and tied the curtain aside, his movements slow but steady.

  “Don’t worry about Bates,” he said. “He’s nothing but hot air, and the board’s behind me on this one. I don’t believe a word he says about anyone supporting his idea to go. What madness.” He stroked his mustache and shook his head. “I’m happy for you, Alexis. I think it’s a good decision,” he said finally.

  The room was still, the silence neither easy nor tense. She knew the titanic changes over the last week were slow to process, making words cumbersome to find. But work was an easy subject, and so the two dove gratefully into chatter about the logistics of the expedition. She imagined they both shared the delirious excitement and dread of her departure.

  “And Philip?” Lawrence asked quietly after a lull in the discussion.

  Alexis stared hard at the floor, her head swaying softly with capitulation. “I don’t know, father,” she replied despondently. “I don’t know how that story goes anymore.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I didn’t know I had so much stuff,” Alexis exclaimed as she scratched her head. It was the eve of her departure and the inside of her room now resembled the aftermath of a disaster area, the contents of open drawers and armoires bursting chaotically onto the floor. On her bed a heap of dresses and blouses expanded heavenward, and she rifled through them, holding each one up to the light for examination. Her father sat by the window, his leg crossed and bobbing, his face a little terrified.

  “I know this trip is three months long, but I’m telling you from experience that you won’t want to lug around a bunch of suitcases. You don’t need half the stuff you’ve got there already. This is going to be a different kind of living, you know.” His voice was shaded by skepticism and Alexis looked at him sideways with light-hearted contempt.

  “Yes, father. Believe it or not I have some idea of what to expect.” She felt an inward tug of doubt pull at her confidence. It can’t be that bad, she assured herself as she continued the frenzied process of selecting the ever-growing list of essentials. Stuffing the last of her undergarments into a side compartment, she pushed forcefully against the smallest of her matching blueberry-colored suitcases until she heard the snap of the clasps lock shut.

  Humming as she whisked around the room with minimal focus, she felt exuberant, euphoric. She had learned by now that these highs were invariably followed by nauseating lows, but for now she allowed herself to ride the blind, careless gust of exhilaration. She was swept up in the romantic image of herself aboard a giant sea vessel, the salty wind blowing back her untamed locks as she boldly traversed the Pacific toward dark, mysterious lands abundant with exotic tongues.

  Lawrence sat motionless, watching his daughter apprehensively. He had not lied when he told her that he wanted her to go, or when he
told her that he was happy about her decision. But as the hands of the clock wound them closer to the hour of their farewell, he realized it cost him more and more to restrain the bittersweet sentiments collecting at his lips. He understood that his daughter was perhaps more naïve that she thought, but it was too late to reverse the course of her future. He only blamed himself for having feared this moment so deeply as to ignore the tactical education she lacked now as she forged into the unknown.

  He cleared his throat, wishing to think of something else. “Alexis, are you going to see Philip before you go?”

  Alexis stopped humming, and she felt her throat thicken. “I don’t think so.” She breathed meditatively as she placed a stack of blouses into the corner of the leather suitcase. She flung her hands upward, as though to grasp some concrete answer and examine it closely in her palm. “I just don’t know what to make of it. How could he pretend to love me, and why?”

  “That he loves you can’t be the question, Alexis. As I see it, he loves you very much.”

  Alexis watched him hopefully. Her father had never offered his insights on Philip, much less uttered a sentence pertaining to romantic love. Her spirits soared to hear the one person she respected so totally reaffirm what she wanted to believe, even after the incriminating evidence of Philip’s deception had surfaced. Lawrence perceived the burst of optimism in his daughter’s eyes and his expression drew together soberly. “What I’m saying,” he continued carefully, “is that love is there, but perhaps what he loves is an illusion, or a projection of who he wishes you to be.”