An Open Heart

by Harry Kraus

  “I drink,” she gushed. “Seriously? I exercise. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to stay in this kind of shape.” She straightened her posture and placed her hands against her petite waistline.

  “Something I need to do more of myself.” He took a deep breath. He should leave. “I’ve got surgeries in the morning.”

  “You should leave through the service entrance.”

  He stood and set his glass on the table.

  She walked him to the door, glancing behind to see that they were alone. She turned, allowing her chest to contact his.

  “Good night, Anita.” He opened the door, greeted by Richmond air, damp from spring rain.

  As he walked to the car, he wiped his mouth, still smelling her perfume.

  He didn’t notice a car following him until he’d traveled three blocks. Then, at a red light, a BMW with tinted windows moved within inches of his back bumper. The driver seemed to want Jace to know he or she was there, following him away from the governor’s mansion.

  Down Broad Street toward the interstate, the car kept itself pasted to his bumper.

  Jace looked around, wishing for police. Nothing. He took a quick left and accelerated, then suddenly braked and made a U-turn at the next red light.

  The car followed.

  Jace lifted his cell phone to his ear. As he did so, the car dropped back.

  A coincidence?

  Had someone followed him from the governor’s mansion?

  Jace made two more detours before getting onto the interstate. The other car faded.

  He checked his watch. It was past time to be home.

  John Okombo loved his job, relishing the attention, the power, and the beautiful people who orbited around politicians. What he didn’t like was the critical attention that Luo politicians suffered under a Kikuyu president. Today was an example of the kind of attention the MP didn’t like: an interview with the president’s anticorruption czar. He tried to smile, but was sure his perspiration was giving him away.

  Across the table, Mr. Kithingi sat smugly shuffling papers, reading snippets to Minister Okombo and questioning the large man in front of him. “I think it would be helpful if you didn’t speak to the media about Anthony Kimathi.”

  Okombo folded his arms. “I think we can all agree that Kenya is a better place without him.”

  Kithingi was a short man, clean cut and wearing a blue business suit. He raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. “Perhaps. Will you go on record to explain just how your vehicle ended up at a police check where apparently an ambush was to take place on the American doctor?”

  “I’ve already done so. I know nothing other than the fact that my driver was bringing the Americans to dine at my house. The police stop, as far as I know, was a random event.”

  “I’ve spoken to the heart surgeons at Nairobi Hospital and at Aga Khan. They have contributed heavily to your party, have they not? Perhaps you were trying to keep them happy by having the American surgeon taken out of the way?”

  “Ridiculous!”

  Kithingi smiled. He enjoyed needling the older man.

  Okombo opened his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to call my attorney. I won’t answer any more questions without him. This is an outrage!”

  Kithingi gathered his papers and placed them in a mahogany-colored leather briefcase. “I think you should be happy I haven’t leaked this to the media. The Standard would love this stuff.”

  Okombo stayed quiet, stewing.

  Kithingi smiled again. “I’ll let myself out. President Kibaki will be briefed. And I think I’ll need to talk to this American surgeon.”

  The minister of health waited until after Kithingi was out of his office before calling Simeon Okayo.

  Simeon answered after three rings.

  “Simeon.” John Okombo kept his voice low. “What is happening? Kibaki’s man was just here.”

  “Kithingi?”

  “Yes. He’s digging.”

  “Of course he digs. You are Luo. He’s Kikuyu. A chance to make a Luo politician look bad makes men like Kithingi happy.”

  “He wants to talk to Dr. Rawlings.”

  “So? All Rawlings has is suspicion.”

  “I’m afraid he will talk to the media. I thought you were taking care of him. You had a deal with the Americans. Now more than ever, I need you to follow through. Finish this.”

  “Look, I underestimated the power of a place like Kijabe. It’s as if the Christians there have laid down a blanket of prayer that rendered my curse ineffective.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “He needs to be taken out of Kijabe.” Simeon sighed. “I’ll have him brought to Kisii town. The American surgeon will disappear.”

  Back in Kijabe, Jace knew he needed sleep but feared a return of the terror. Finally, after midnight, he collapsed in exhaustion, only to rise a few moments later as the troubling mental puzzle piece finally clicked into place.

  The mysterious medicine given him by Dr. Okayo. Seeing Okayo’s face in his nightmare brought it back to him, but just what was troubling him stayed out of reach until he lay down to sleep. Then John Otieno’s questions came to him. The chaplain had asked him about contact with a witch doctor. “Certain activities can open you up to the Devil’s handholds. Have you been involved in any dark activities?”

  Jace rose and flipped on the light to his bathroom. In the cupboard below the sink, he found what he was looking for. A small bottle and a crumpled white cloth that contained a purple circle.

  He wasn’t sure what connection he had to Okayo, or even if he was indeed a witch doctor, but in light of his dreams, he wasn’t taking any chances. He threw the small glass bottle into the trash and carried the cloth to the fireplace. There, with the assistance of some fresh kindling, Jace prepared a small fire.

  When he tossed in the cloth, the circle of purple ignited, hissing vigorously and spewing a wavering tail of black smoke. Jace jumped back. It reminded him of the infamous smoke monster from the television series Lost. The middle of the cloth seemed to evaporate, leaving the white edge that melted and finally burned.

  “There,” Jace whispered. “Stop haunting me.”

  He plodded back to bed, shaking his head, wondering just how far off center this trip to Africa had taken him. A month ago, he would have scoffed at such talk.

  Now, he just wanted to survive a night without terror.

  And after that, do his work undisturbed by crazed Mungiki, angry politicians, or mothers crying for their dead children.

  He sighed. He knew better.

  This was Africa.

  40

  Heather stared at the screen waiting for her email to load. Still no word from Jace. Not that she blamed him. They hadn’t really parted on the best of terms.

  She picked up a leash and clipped it to Bo’s collar. The English mastiff easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but she didn’t worry about him trying to pull away. He was fiercely loyal.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

  Bo tilted his head.

  “Okay, you win.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small doggy treat. Then, balancing it on the top of his nose, she commanded, “Wait.”

  The dog’s breath came fast.

  “Now,” she said.

  Bo flipped back his head and snapped the treat out of the air as it slid from his nose.

  “Good dog,” she said, scratching behind his ears. She swiped at a string of saliva on the door, evidence of Bo’s quick action to obtain his snack. “Ugh. Do you think you could drool a little more?”

  Heather was glad for the diversion. But even a walk with her favorite dog couldn’t keep her from mulling over regrets.

  Such as her regret over how she’d handled the week just before
Jace’s accident, when she’d come upon him in his study. He’d snapped his phone closed just as she entered.

  He seemed flustered. He made his way to the window and peered out, standing in the shadow of the curtain.

  “Who was that?”

  He acted nonplussed. “The governor’s wife. She was calling for advice about his Coumadin dose.”

  “She calls you at home on your day off?”

  He shrugged. “He is the governor.”

  “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t be making special allowances for her.”

  Jace ignored her. “Have you ever seen that black BMW before?”

  Heather lifted apart the blinds to get a better look, but Jace pulled her aside.

  “Stand back,” he said. “I don’t want him to know we are watching.”

  “Who?” Heather couldn’t hide her irritation. “Jace, what’s this about? Why would someone be following you? Why all this talk about being tailed late at night?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you have a pair of binoculars? I want to get the license plate number.”

  “I’ll just go out to get a better look.”

  He clamped down on her arm. “No!”

  “Jace! Let go!”

  “Don’t go out there.”

  “He’s not exactly hiding.”

  “Maybe he wants me to see him.”

  “You are acting paranoid.” She stepped back and looked at her husband. This was so unlike him. Normally confident, the typical surgeon, now he was slinking around in the shadows talking quietly on his phone and telling her he was being followed. “You know what I think? I think you have a guilty conscience.” She moved to his side and placed her hand on his. “Tell me what’s going on. If you are being tempted by this woman, I need to know it. I’m your wife. You can talk to me.”

  He pulled away. “Don’t be silly. Anita Franks is the governor’s wife.”

  “And he is a powerful man who happens to be very sick. She’s a young, vibrant woman. Has she been too forward with you?”

  Jace stayed quiet. Heather sensed she was pushing the right buttons.

  “I’ve seen the way she gushes over you.”

  “Gushes? When?”

  “After the news conference on the day of the governor’s discharge. You were the knight in shining armor, Jace. She held your hand and posed for pictures.” She shook her head. “She looked like the prom queen smiling with her date.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “No, it’s not. And you can talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “And what about all this fear of being followed?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe an angry family member. Perhaps family of an old patient who died.”

  “Your patients think you walk on water.”

  He squinted at her. “And I guess you know better, huh?”

  “I took your shirts to the cleaners, Jace. You had lipstick on your collar. Not my shade.”

  “So, a patient is grateful. I get hugs.”

  “Old women, I can take. I don’t want you hugging Ms. Ex-Lingerie Model.”

  “You need to stop. I’ll let you know if she crosses the line.”

  “No, Jace, you need to open your eyes. That woman is bad business. I can feel it.”

  “Intuition, I suppose.”

  “Call it what you want.”

  “I’d call it nagging.”

  “You can sleep on the couch!”

  “Fine,” he said, stepping back from the window. “At least I can monitor how long the car stays here.”

  Bo nuzzled Heather’s hand, nudging her out of her memory, but not out of the gnawing sense of guilt over her behavior. She scratched the dog behind the ears. “What was I to do, Bo? I hated what that woman did to him.” She paused. “What do you think? Did I nag Jace too much?”

  The dog growled.

  No, she told herself, I was just looking out for what was mine.

  I still need to fight for Jace.

  “Come on, Bo,” she coaxed, tugging at his leash. “I can pray as we walk.”

  The next morning in Kijabe, Jace rose, stoked himself with Kenyan AA coffee and set off for the hospital. He was pleased to find Mohamed Omar in the pre-op holding area and his promise to find blood fulfilled. Twenty-two units had been donated, and eight were suitable for transfusion.

  Jace smiled. Mohamed’s Somali clan had come through just as he’d promised.

  As the team readied the room and supplies, Jace touched Gabby’s shoulder. “Thanks for staying.”

  She nodded.

  “Gabby,” he said, “have you been communicating with Heather?”

  Gabby nodded. “She asks about you.” She paused. “Why don’t you write?”

  Jace sighed. “I’m still searching for answers, I guess. I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Tell her you love her.”

  Jace mumbled, “I’ve got a funny way of showing it, huh?”

  He assisted Gabby in rolling the bypass pump into position. “I’ve been thinking about something Heather mentioned. She said Anita Franks’s autopsy report was requested by my office. That’s just routine. Any time one of our patients has died, the front office requests the report. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” He shuffled his feet. “You can tell Heather that much.”

  “Anita was a patient of your practice?”

  He nodded. “She had an episode of atrial tachycardia. I ran an EKG one night, so we had a small file. Turns out she was just anxious.”

  Jace walked to the window and stared out at a poinsettia tree, remembering the evening months before when he had left his office late after finishing up his charts. He was exiting the back door when Anita came running across the parking lot toward him. Had she been waiting for me?

  Her face was twisted in worry. “Jace, I didn’t know who to call.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My heart is pounding. It won’t quit.”

  He took her wrist. The rate was 140. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Are we alone?”

  “My staff is long gone. I was catching up on paperwork. Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

  “I couldn’t. I just knew the media would be all over it, so I snuck out the service entrance and came here.”

  “I need to do an EKG,” he said, leading her to an exam room. He flipped on the light. “Could you lie down up there? I’m going to get my EKG machine.”

  When he came back, she was wearing a hospital gown. “I thought you’d need me this way.”

  He tried not to stare. “Of course.” He hesitated. “When did this start?”

  “Right after supper. Stuart began having chest pain and took some nitroglycerin.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “It went away, but I worry about him so. I tried to calm down, but it feels like my heart is running away.”

  He prepared the electrodes. “I need to place these to obtain a cardiac tracing.”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded.

  He placed leads on her shoulders and legs first and lastly applied a series of leads across her chest. She seemed eager to provide him adequate exposure. He swallowed, turned, and fumbled with the machine until the paper emerged to reveal the heart’s electrical tracing.

  When he turned around, she grabbed his hand, guiding it to her chest, just over the sternum. “Here,” she said, “you can feel it.”

  “Yes,” he replied, withdrawing his hand. “We call that the PMI, the point of maximal impulse.” He paused. His palm was sweating. “Have you ever had this before?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “None.”

  “I need to set you up for a few tests. Is it possible that you’ve just b
ecome worked up over all the stress?”

  “Can you help me?”

  “I think I can find some samples that will help.” He turned toward the door. “You can dress again. I’ll see what I can find.”

  She pulled down the neck of her gown. “Shouldn’t you take off these sticky things?”

  “Uh—you can do it.”

  He left her alone for a few minutes, hoping she would be entirely clothed when he returned. He wasn’t sure he was up to resisting what he thought was being offered. As he walked down the hall, he looked at his palm, still warm and alive after touching Anita’s bare skin. In the pharmacy cabinet, he found a few diazepam samples.

  “Here,” he said, returning to the doorway of the exam room. “I have some Valium. It will help you rest.”

  She immediately popped two of the tablets from the foil-backed packaging and threw them to the back of her throat.

  “You shouldn’t take those and drive,” he said.

  She smiled. “Too late.” She touched his arm. “Can you give me a lift?”

  He looked at his watch. “I’ll drop you on the way.”

  She giggled. “My hero.”

  Jace’s memory of the event vanished at the sound of Evan’s voice. “Jace!” He turned from the window. “Jace, I’ve been asking you a question.”

  “Hmm? Sorry.”

  “Can we bring in the patient? Are you set?”

  He looked at Gabby and Evan. They didn’t look happy. “Uh, sure. I’m ready. Let’s rock and roll.”

  Monitors were fixed, intravenous and arterial lines placed. The patient was anesthetized, prepped, and draped. Jace and his intern, Paul Mwaka, scrubbed, gowned, and gloved.

  Jace looked over the drape separating the operative field from the anesthesiologist. “I need you to reproduce everything exactly, Evan. If someone is trying to send me a message, I want to hear it. Loud and clear.”

  Evan nodded. “Game on.”

  41

  Heather pulled back on Bo’s collar as she saw the old pickup truck slow. Two teenaged boys leaned from the window, tangled blond hair trailing. One just yelled. The other made a squeezing gesture with his hands.

  A little early to start drinking.