A Heart in a Body in the World

by Deb Caletti

  “Happy graduation, baby,” Luke says, and Olivia says, and Dawn Celeste says.

  And wait . . . They’re all here together and they seem fine. Stuff worked itself out without her being around to make sure it did. It seems like a miracle, but it’s just what happens a lot of times when you let go.

  “Oh, you all are hilarious. You all are a big bunch of jokers,” Gina says.

  “Happy graduation, baby,” Grandpa Ed says to Gina, and hugs her.

  • • •

  Annabelle takes the fastest shower of her life in her and Malcolm’s room in the Best Western. She forgoes all of the usual motel thrills, like unwrapping the soaps and hunting for the Bible. Everyone is waiting in the lobby and she can hardly wait to get there. When she rides the elevator down and heads across the floor, she can hear them laughing and talking loudly. Her past and her present have collided to make something new. How has this happened? Annabelle thinks of the mysterious universe, how atoms of light can undergo fusion if they’re squeezed under enough pressure. There is a transformation, a balance of forces. A star is born.

  They’re a large group, so they pair up as they walk down Taylor Street, heading toward Festa d’Italia, the three-day street fair happening right now in Little Italy. They pair up and then change partners, like a variation on the tarantella, the Italian dance of celebration. Annabelle can hear the music just ahead, and there are red and green banners looped across the street. She is walking with Zach.

  “Smell,” she says. Garlic, olive oil. She is suddenly starving.

  “Give me whatever that is.”

  “A truckful.”

  “Dump truck, tilted into my mouth.” Zach is so skinny that this makes Annabelle smile.

  “I can’t believe any of this, can you? Look where we are.”

  “It’s always weird to fly on a plane. Seven hours ago, I was in my bed and my mom was hunting in my bag to make sure I had my toothbrush.”

  Annabelle looks over at Zach, at the profile she’s seen sitting next to her at elementary school assemblies and high school basketball games and the floor of his living room, playing Minecraft. But he looks older. She suddenly sees him in his middle school PE uniform, and then in his orchestra suit at the funerals, and now, looking like a man. Her heart rises, falls, and rises again. “I’m so happy you guys are here.”

  Zach’s heart must be rising and falling and rising, too. “I wish—” He swallows. His voice is a little squeaky. He clears his throat. She’s afraid of what he’s going to say. But someone should say it.

  “I wish—” He tries again. “You know. That Kat was here.”

  Annabelle squinches her eyes up tight. She feels the gut-sock in the hollow spot where her ribs meet.

  “I know.” Her voice is barely audible over the music.

  “She would have—”

  Loved it. Been so proud. Celebrated harder than anyone. “I know.”

  Zach Oh puts his arm around Annabelle’s shoulder and squeezes.

  • • •

  Grandpa Ed is devouring a meatball sandwich as he stands at the curb outside of Salvatore’s. Across the street at Patio’s, a man in a white apron grills sausages. On a nearby stage, a woman sings “Funiculi Funicula” to a background of mandolins and guitars. On another, a guy group called Grande Amore belts “O Sole Mio” as Zach and Luke and Olivia watch, Olivia licking the cream from the end of a cannoli. The street is packed. A baby cries; there is cheerful crooning.

  “Pancia mia fatti capanna!” Grandpa shouts to his famiglia across the street.

  “ ‘My tummy, make yourself a hut,’ ” Gina translates. “Basically: Get ready to eat a lot.”

  “I love a man who enjoys his food. I love a man who takes life in,” Dawn Celeste says to Gina.

  Annabelle sees it—Dawn Celeste’s adoring gaze on goofy Grandpa Ed, who wears his socks with his sandals and has a thumbprint of tomato sauce on his chin. Annabelle also sees Gina, witnessing the same thing. Hearing the same thing. The word love. Gina narrows her eyebrows, and then they soften. One corner of her mouth edges up into a smile. She catches Annabelle’s eyes. Annabelle shrugs.

  “You want a meatball sandwich like that, Malc?” Gina asks him.

  “I want four of them.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you as many as you can stuff inside of yourself,” Gina says.

  “Tummy, make yourself a hut,” Malc says.

  They wait in line at Salvatore’s outdoor booth. Dawn Celeste wanders back to join Grandpa. It’s the three of them now, Annabelle, Gina, and Malcolm. The three of them have been through a lot together. “So, he’s in love,” Gina says.

  “I know nothing.”

  “More has been going on than just running across the country.”

  “What happens in some small town in Montana stays in some small town in Montana.”

  “Time marches on,” Gina says wistfully.

  • • •

  They move from the street fair to an early-evening boat ride around the city. It’s an architectural tour, but no one is listening to the guide. Zach and Olivia hold hands and gaze up at the buildings. Grandpa Ed holds Dawn Celeste’s hand and kisses her cheek.

  “Smoochey-smoochey,” Malcolm says.

  “Come here, dude. I’ll hold your hand if you’re feeling left out,” Luke says. A giant green building slides past in the yellow light of the late hour.

  “Road trips are cool,” Malc says.

  “Forget it,” Gina says.

  “The light looks pretty on your hair, Ma,” Annabelle says. It does. The glow has turned everything golden.

  “Every light looks pretty on your hair, my Bella,” her mom says.

  • • •

  “I’m seeing why the Mim-Ed thing works.” Luke pushes his chair back from the long table at Toscana’s. “Food, glorious food. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I wish I could unbutton my pants.”

  “There’s a reason for this sundress.” It’s a beautiful sundress with sunflowers on it—a graduation present from Gina.

  “Oh jeez. Don’t look,” he warns.

  Three men appear with a sheet cake. It is her third cake on this trip, and each one feels different. Each marks a time, a place, and an occasion that is miles out from the one before.

  “I am going to bust, but I have to try that,” Luke says.

  One of the men has an accordion, another a tambourine. After the cake is set in front of her, they begin to sing “Bella Ciao.” It is a fast and festive song, with a repeated line that’s almost shouted: O, bella, ciao! Bella, ciao! Bella, ciao, ciao, ciao! Each ciao is punctuated with a hearty tambourine hit.

  The crowd, her crowd, knows what to do. They sing along. They clap at every ciao. Zach Oh is shouting the words, and so are Olivia and Luke and Dawn Celeste, and they’ve all caught on and are clapping, and Malcolm adds a little fist in the air at each punctuation. His fist is appropriate. The song is about Italy’s freedom from invading Nazi fascists.

  “Happy graduation, Bella,” her mom says.

  • • •

  Annabelle is exhausted. The lights are off and Malcolm is already asleep in the bed next to her when she hears the voices in the Best Western hallway. The voices are intense but not heated, not yet. She knows who’s out there, of course. Oh, God, she hopes this magical day doesn’t end with a fight.

  She creeps out of bed.

  With her ear against the door, she can’t hear all that well, but well enough.

  Do you see, Carina? Something, something—Annabelle can’t make it out. But she hears her name. Annabelle.

  No, it is more like: Annabelle? With a question. He is asking if Gina understands something now because of her.

  “What’s happening?” Malcolm says.

  “Shh.”

  “I want to hear.” He’s beside her. She can smell his warm toothpaste breath.

  I tried, Carina. God knows.

  She’s as willful as Mom was.

  Oh boy. Let me tell you
.

  You can’t stop a person. You can’t force your will.

  That’s it, Carina. That’s right. The will comes right down the line with those two.

  Malcolm pokes her. She hits him.

  Come here. Give me a hug.

  Love you, Pops.

  Love you, Carina.

  Get some sleep.

  There’s the sound of key cards in slots, the kashunk of doors opening and shutting.

  “We’ve just eavesdropped on a miracle,” she says.

  “They’ll be fighting again by tomorrow.”

  “Have some faith, butthead.”

  He smiles. Raises one eyebrow. Stupid genius Malcolm. He realizes before she does: She just told him to have some faith.

  Two miracles in one night.

  • • •

  Annabelle takes the next day off, and the group goes first to the Field Museum of Natural History and then to the Museum of Science and Industry. Dinosaurs to rocket ships: the oldest things, and the ones still in the future. Dinner is hot dogs on Navy Pier. She loves this city so much. She has maybe had the best time she’s ever had in her life.

  She tells everyone this the next morning as they all hug good-bye. She’s suited up and ready to go. Her family and friends will head out to the airport at various intervals.

  “I’ve had the best time,” she says to Zach, and Olivia, and to her mom and Malcolm.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she says to Luke.

  “I’m going to miss you. Mim has already been asking about meeting you guys in Pittsburgh for your talk at Carnegie Mellon.”

  “Oh my God, I am so scared for that. I still have no idea what I’m going to say. I would love to have you guys there.”

  “You’re going to be great, no matter what you tell them.”

  “Is your grandma serious about coming? It’s so crazy, going to these random places because of me.”

  “We like your random places. But I don’t want to keep crashing your party unless you want that, too.” He takes her hands.

  “Is this going to bother Sammy? You guys spending so much time with us?”

  “Sammy?”

  It seems cruel of Luke, to forget his girlfriend like this.

  “Sammy Jackson? Your, um, girlfriend?”

  “Sammy? Sammy isn’t my girlfriend. I know I’ve maybe mentioned her a few times, but she’s my . . . my Zach equivalent.”

  “She is?”

  “You thought I had a girlfriend all this time?” He starts laughing. “Oh man! You must have thought I was such an asshole.”

  “I didn’t think you were an asshole, I thought you were—” Safe. She doesn’t say it. “Friendly. Being friendly.”

  He stops laughing. “Oh, shit. Oh, wow. I like you, Annabelle. Maybe I haven’t been clear about that. I just thought . . . I mean, after what you’ve been through, Jesus, I’d be a dick if I didn’t understand we need to go slow as hell here, right? Does this change things?”

  She’s not sure. Does it? It should. But standing there, he’s just the same Luke Messenger from yesterday, the one who sat beside her on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier and wouldn’t open his eyes the entire time.

  “I don’t think so,” she says. “No, I don’t think it does.” This is a surprise. She checks in with herself, as Dr. Mann has suggested. It feels calm in there. It feels calm and even accepting. Her palms are a little sweaty, and her heart is beating a bit fast, but it’s just her and Luke here, and everything’s okay. Slow as hell means time to breathe and think and say what she needs to say. Slow as hell is a capsule of respect for her boundaries. Respect for her boundaries equals safety. She wipes her palms on her shorts.

  “Well, that’s a relief. Because I really like you. I like this.” He ticks his finger in the space between her and him. “Apparently it’s a generational Agnelli-Messenger thing.”

  “Apparently it is.”

  “Give me a hug,” he says. She does. She hugs him hard. She lets the hug say all the things she can’t. He kisses her cheek. It’s a kiss that’s as sweet and relaxed as the one Grandpa Ed gave Dawn Celeste on the boat ride. “See you in Pittsburgh?”

  “See you in Pittsburgh.”

  “I’m just going for the nearby Buchanan State Forest, home of old-growth hemlocks.”

  She smiles.

  And on her run that day, and for many days after, when thoughts of Luke kick up nerve-dust and angst-gravel, she tries to think of those hemlocks. The way they grow slow as hell. The way they last.

  30

  1. In 1651, a freak accident leaves the son of an English aristocrat with a gaping hole in his chest. This allows people actually to look inside his chest to observe the heart, and to even reach in and touch it.

  2. In 1818, physicians attempt to operate on the heart. Napoleon’s surgeon, the baron Dominique Jean Larrey, performed the first operation. The patient dies within a month.

  3. In 1896, English surgeon Stephen Paget says that heart surgery is impossible. “No method, no new discovery, can overcome the natural difficulties that attend a wound of the heart.”

  4. In 1925, Dr. Henry Souttar performs a successful heart operation on a young girl and saves her life. However, the medical community ridicules him for the effort, and he’s never able to repeat his success.

  5. Today, hearts can be repaired and even transplanted. Still, there’s not much that can be done if a bullet rips right through the center of one.

  He is waiting for her, of course.

  The Taker.

  Did she really think he’d go away for good?

  He’s been waiting it out, and so has Seth Greggory. She’s had her fun, her little party, all those distractions in the Windy City, but there are a lot of miles of farmland in between Illinois and Pittsburgh. In the 154 miles from Chicago to Fort Wayne, Indiana, there are only three large towns, and the 240 miles across Ohio are primarily pasture, hay, and row crops of corn. This is twenty-four days of heat, exhaustion, and monotony. Grandpa Ed must meet her every five miles with water. She tries to approach every day as if the run is her job. She puts her head down, concentrates. But The Taker stalks her, like a cheetah stalks a gazelle in the open savanna.

  He will make her look. He will force her to see the misery she’s caused. She hasn’t looked, not really, not since that night. She’s only allowed little pieces in. Brief images, flashes, no story lines. No from here to there.

  But out here, there is only from here to there. She is way, way too alone. She is way, way too close to the end. When you’re trying to go forward, you can’t escape going back.

  She tries to keep him away. She listens to Luke Messenger’s tape, and to the other music Zach gave her as a graduation present. She counts—silos and hay barrels and barns. It doesn’t matter if she loses track; the only thing that matters is that she keeps counting. She keeps him away by chattering with Grandpa about meaningless facts of various small towns, keeps him away by answering the encouraging texts from Luke, keeps him away with calls to Dr. Mann. Keeps him away by talking with Olivia about the growing, growing numbers of their GoFundMe, about the invitations that are piling up for her to visit schools and community centers. She can’t make any plans past September, though.

  Silly. He can’t be kept away! He will never, ever be away.

  There he is. He is sitting on the porch of a farmhouse on Liberty Union Road in Scott, Ohio.

  She shuts her eyes. It’s heat exhaustion. She drinks water. She tries to flush him out. It is August. He shimmers in the sunrays on the Crawford-Huron County Line Road in Ohio. He sways in the alfalfa of Seneca Township.

  She sees him in the cornfield several miles past, in Sullivan Township. Township to township to township, she counts and taps her fingers together. The Taker is getting like this, stalking her, pacing, because she’s getting nearer and nearer to the point where she will stand on a stage and tell his story.

  The dead heat of summer in farmland almost kills her. Outrunning The Taker is the only way she
stays sane and goes on. But The Taker just waits. He wins, remember? A gun always makes you the winner. Violence does. That’s the point of it.

  She is in Chippewa Township, Pennsylvania. The farmland has briefly changed to a forested trail surrounded by low mountains, and this is likely what does it. The forest looks more like home. It looks like the trail that she and Will hike after the night he comes over. Will packs a lunch of his favorite peanut butter and honey sandwiches and chips and Gatorade. They go on that trail, and they are happy. They barely make it to the end, because there’s so much kissing and so much happiness.

  They’re together again. Within days, they’re in their usual routine of calling every night before bed and texting in the morning, except it’s better. It’s all new but not new, sweeter from the longing and the reunion. She doesn’t know what Robert and Tracie think about this. She doesn’t care. No, wait—what’s better is that Will doesn’t care. Will is going against their wishes, and this says something to her, something large.

  “Are you sure?” Kat asks. “He put you through so much.”

  “Very sure.”

  Something old but new again, and it feels completely right. His hands do. And so does his laugh, and the passenger seat of his car, and his favorite hoodie, with the string lost in the laundry long ago.

  “You seem happy,” The Taker says at lunch. She hears the question in it.

  “I do?”

  “Very.”

  Clearly, some part of her knows it’s dangerous to tell him about Will, because she doesn’t tell him.

  “What’s there to be unhappy about?”

  “Umm . . . ,” he says, meaning, I can give you plenty of reasons.

  And then, a few weeks after he appears at her house, Will comes to school to pick her up. It’s Friday, and school is almost out, and she is taking the day off from both work and volunteering. It’s sunny and warm and they’re going to go swimming at Green Lake, and then out to dinner at Serafina, a real restaurant. A date.

  Will’s out front, waiting. He’s talking to Geoff Graham. Lots of Annabelle’s friends had become friends with Will, too, and they’re happy to see him.

  Happy to see him . . . Oh, God, running on that wooded trail in Chippewa Township, Pennsylvania, it fills her. The joy of seeing Will standing there in his shorts and T-shirt.