“What?” I flashed a blank look at the woman standing behind the counter. I’d been watching a little kid running in circles around his mom’s legs, until he became so dizzy he fell into her arms. She reached down for him at the exact moment he started to fall, as if she had some telepathic link to her child. Is that what all mothers had? Why didn’t mine?
The woman behind the counter let out an exasperated sigh, but I didn’t flinch. I’d been in line all this time, plus I’d had to stare at the white mustache growing above her upper lip while she ruffled through papers and answered the phone. So what if I got caught not paying attention?
“You didn’t check the box for organ donor,” she said in a flat voice, as though this was a line she repeated a hundred times a day. She had white hair with crinkly tight curls that looked like they were made of metal. “Do you want to donate your organs if you die?”
“Do they, like, take stuff out of you while you’re still alive?” I didn’t want them yanking out parts while I still needed them.
She shook her head. Her hair stayed firmly in place. “Definitely not. Here.” She handed me a pamphlet about organ donation. “Read this and come back when you decide.”
Come back? The motor vehicle office was full. No way was I going to stand in line again.
“No, wait,” I protested, pushing back the pamphlet. “I’ve thought it over already. I want to be a donor.”
Her eyebrows shot up over her glasses. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’d want to know that through death, I’d saved or enhanced up to sixty lives through organ and tissue donation,” I said, reading from the front of the pamphlet.
“Fine. Check the box here,” she said, pointing. “You need parental consent if you’re under eighteen.”
“My dad is outside talking on his cell phone. Can I mark the box and then have him okay it?”
The woman clicked her tongue and looked at the long line behind me. “I suppose, but make sure you bring him back here before you leave so he can give his consent. Otherwise, your license will be held up.”
I drew a large check mark, satisfied with myself, even if I didn’t like the idea of being a human recycling plant. At least all my parts were in good working order. The man behind me with the cane and droopy eyelids probably didn’t have any parts worth donating.
She handed the pamphlet back to me. “In case you want to read it later.”
I doubted I would, but I took it anyway. The woman had me sit on a stool to get my picture taken.
The old man behind me winked. “Smile pretty.”
He reminded me of Grandpa with his wink, and I felt a small ache in my heart. A month ago, Grandpa could have driven me here. Amazing how much had changed in so little time. I smiled at the man before I sat on the metal stool in front of the camera.
Afterward, I searched for Dad. I found him out front on a bench still talking on his phone. He was using his work voice, so I sat down and waited. I took out the pamphlet the lady had given me. “The Gift of Life.” A picture of a little girl riding her bike, her father at her side, highlighted the fact that seventeen people die each day waiting for a transplant. It also stressed the importance of discussing your decision with your family to make sure that they were aware of your commitment.
Discuss your decision with your family? The picture showed people sitting in a living room, the expression on their faces serious but caring. So unreal. If I told Mom I was donating my organs, she’d probably flip.
Our fight yesterday showed me that we could never have a discussion without yelling, and we weren’t like the family in that stupid picture anyway. But I felt good about marking the box. I’d decided this myself, a real grown-up decision about my own body and my own wishes. Grandpa would be proud of me.
“Dad,” I said, when he’d finished his call, “I want to sign up to be an organ donor on my license. But I need you to sign the consent form.”
“Organ donation. That’s very mature of you,” Dad said as he closed his phone. It was the first time I’d noticed that he had the same receding hairline as Grandpa and the same pale blue eyes. “What made you decide to do that?”
I showed him the pamphlet. “Organ donation is a gift, Dad. And it’s free. It won’t cost us anything.”
26
Amelia
Home! Our white house with black shutters snuggled between two maple trees. The front porch was windswept with gold and brown leaves. The white garage door had dirty basketball marks and a small dent where Mom had accidentally hit it while backing out. Everything looked the same. But nothing really was.
The girl who’d left here ten days ago? She was gone, along with her worn-out heart and purple fingertips.
I couldn’t wait to sleep in my own bed, underneath the down comforter instead of those scratchy hospital blankets. I longed to smell the hint of mango that lingered on my bedroom carpet after I’d spilled a whole bottle of body splash on it two months ago. And to be alone in the bathroom—real privacy again! No procedures. No one poking me with needles. A shower with only me in the room, not some nurse being obvious about not looking at my naked body.
As Dad pulled the car into the garage, Mom glanced back. She had a crooked smile on her lips, as though she wanted to smile and cry at the same time.
“You’re going to be surprised,” Kyle said. He gave me a sideways grin.
“What’s the big secret?”
“You’ll see.” He covered his mouth so he wouldn’t say any more. Secrets were always hard for him to keep.
Kyle and Mom and I had our arms full of plants and stuffed animals. I carried the heart pillow that I was supposed to hold against my chest when I coughed. Dad brought in my suitcase and hospital bags filled with discharge instructions and bottles of pills.
“There’s a surprise for you in the kitchen,” Mom said when we walked inside.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“What do you mean? You love surprises.” Mom sounded like she was trying to convince me of this.
I’d had enough surprises at the hospital. But I followed her into the kitchen. I almost dropped my pillow. A large banner covered the wall, with “welcome home, amelia!” in bright red letters. Huge pink and red hearts surrounded the writing. On the table was a heart-shaped cake. “WE YOU, AMELIA” was written across the top. Aunt Sophie and Rachel were there, both smiling a bit nervously, as though they weren’t sure how to treat me.
Was it my imagination or did they look at me differently now?
Rachel gave me a fragile hug and handed me a bag decorated with pink ribbons. “It’s your favorite movie,” she said as I opened it.
“Pretty Woman?” I pulled the DVD from the bag. “Thanks.”
Aunt Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Your favorite movie is a Cinderella hooker story?”
“It’s her feel-good movie,” Mom explained. “The hooker part is just an add-on.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you have to rationalize it? I can like a hooker movie if I want, Mom.”
Mom looked embarrassed. She wasn’t used to this new Amelia. But that other girl whose mom would lie next to her on the bed when she couldn’t sleep and rub her back seemed so distant. That life was long ago and far away.
Even Aunt Sophie and Rachel looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t like me to talk back to Mom.
Aunt Sophie’s homemade chicken noodle soup bubbled on the stove and warmed the kitchen. Everything felt familiar but new. Was it just two weeks ago that I was on a low-salt, special diet?
Mom frowned at me. “Are you tired, Amelia? You look a little peaked.”
“Kind of,” I said, feeling guilty.
Mom nodded. She seemed happier now that I had an excuse for snapping at her.
“You go lie down and we’ll bring you some lunch and cake,” Aunt Sophie said, taking control of the kitchen.
“Thanks, but I’m not very hungry yet.”
“Is it chocolate?”
“No, it’s carrot cake,
your favorite,” Aunt Sophia said.
“I want a piece of cake,” Kyle said in a teasing voice.
“Go ahead, Kyle. I don’t like carrot cake.”
He looked at me funny. “Since when don’t you like carrot cake?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Since now, I guess.”
“It’s the medication. Side effects,” Mom said.
I felt Mom’s presence behind me as I headed to the stairs. I turned around. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“I just wanted …” Her voice trailed off. She wanted to make sure I got to my room okay. She wanted to make sure I made it up the stairs. Normally, I’d want her behind me. But today I needed to face the stairs by myself, without an audience.
Mom went back to the kitchen, a hurt look on her face.
The stairs. There were marks in the maple finish on the left railing where the chair had been attached, a reminder of my old self. Before Dad bought the electric chair, I’d stare up at the vastness of the stairs and sigh at the effort it would take to climb them. They were beautiful stairs, so spacious and majestic, but like Mount Everest to a kid with a bad heart.
I’d walked up steps at the hospital two days ago as part of my therapy. I’d been surprised at how easy it felt. If I hadn’t had a nurse behind me carrying the IV stand that was attached to my arm, I’d have run up them.
Now I took hold of the railing and, like a fairy-tale princess in reverse, glided up one step at a time. I slid my hand along the wood, getting back in touch with the smooth finish and the spots where hands left dirty smudges.
My leg muscles ached partway up, sending little messages to my brain that they weren’t used to this yet. My body was still adjusting to this new energy source.
And then I was at the top. I glanced back down at all I’d left behind: The old Amelia who cried because she couldn’t play soccer anymore, who moved so slowly, did everything slowly, until she even had to carry a portable oxygen tank on her back when she went out. The old Amelia who died at the hospital when they took out her heart and hooked her up to a heart and lung machine.
Now she was reborn. But my old body didn’t feel settled in with the new heart. Who was the new Amelia?
I went to my room and closed the door behind me.
“Hello, room,” I said. Everything was the same as before. But why wouldn’t it be?
I couldn’t help myself. Those pictures on my walls had to go. I hadn’t realized that all the horses I drew were staring at me. I took them all down and put them in my closet, then sat down on the bed and stared at the blank walls.
A week ago I’d sat here facing my own death. What was she doing a week ago? What sort of pictures were on her walls?
Laughter floated up from downstairs. I recognized Mom’s laugh. She sounded relaxed and happy. They were celebrating my new heart with carrot cake, while another family was wondering how this could have happened, and why. What was God’s plan in all this? Was it so I could get a new heart and live?
It was so unfair. And the worst part? I was happy to be alive. I was happy I had her heart inside me.
The door opened, and an orange ball rolled into my room with a fat little hamster inside, his legs going in fast motion.
“Say hello to Patches,” Kyle said from the doorway.
The ball hit something on the floor then turned and shot right. I could barely see the hamster inside as a blur of brown and white whizzed beneath my bed.
It wasn’t the hamster that made me cry. It was the bag of old pill bottles that the hamster ran into at the foot of my bed. The ones that had kept me alive for all those years before the transplant. It was everything tumbling around inside me: gratitude, grief, guilt.
Suddenly it all felt like too much. A sob reeled from deep inside. I tried to keep it down but I couldn’t. I’d barely cried since the operation but now I was a blubbering mess.
“He won’t hurt you,” Kyle said, thinking I was scared of his hamster.
“Amelia?” Mom stood at the door.
“Mommy,” I cried.
Mom was inside, running toward me, her arms outstretched. “Sweetheart, what is it?”
I opened my arms for her, still bawling, and the old Amelia surfaced, the one whose mom made everything better.
27
EAGAN
“I died a virgin,” I blurt out. That probably isn’t something I should say in front of a kid with innocent-looking eyes. I doubt that Miki even knows what sex is. Still, she’s the only one around to talk to.
“I know that sounds like a dumb thing to think about now, but I thought Scott was the one, you know, and I wish we’d had more time together.”
Miki flutters around me as I talk, almost as if she had wings.
“How can I leave him behind? And Mom and Dad and Kelly. And what about Grandpa? This will kill him.”
“They’ll miss you,” Miki says in agreement.
“Scott will forget me,” I say dishearteningly.
Miki shakes her head, and the glitter sprinkles down on my gray arms, making my skin sparkle. “He won’t forget. Hearts are like stones on an ocean beach,” she says. “And people are like the tides that leave permanent marks on them.”
“I guess. So what am I supposed to do about him?”
Miki sighs. “I guess you have to let him go.”
I turn back to the swirl of my life. “You’re pretty smart for a kid. But you really don’t understand.”
I could barely stand to look at the rocker. Every time I did, I saw Grandpa bending over it, squinting through his bifocals as he rubbed a soft cloth over the varnish.
The chair was in Scott’s unfinished basement, underneath a fluorescent light, next to a humming dryer. I circled the chair. I argued with myself, mumbling, “I can’t give it to Mom. She stuck Grandpa in a nursing home.”
Good point. But another idea, just as strong, made its case: I’d be disappointing Grandpa if I didn’t give it to her.
Round and round.
It would be too painful to give it to her now.
Grandpa wanted her to have it.
She doesn’t deserve it.
I was getting dizzy.
Scott bounded down the steps, ducking at the end so he didn’t hit his head on the low-hanging ceiling. I felt so petite around him. Even when I wore heels.
He put his hands on his hips as he looked down at the chair. “Mom says if you don’t take that soon, she’s keeping it. She told Dad she wants one for Christmas just like it.”
I shook my head. “It’s one-of-a-kind.”
“Now she’s really gonna want to keep it.”
“Screw that. My grandpa made it.”
He reached over, grabbed my waist, and pulled me close. “Yeah? Well, it’s in my basement.”
His breath lingered on my neck. I twirled us around, then pushed Scott down into the rocking chair with me on top.
“Your breath smells good,” I said as I laid my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, strong and steady, as we rocked.
He lifted my head up to meet his. He kissed me. A soft kiss. Not too fast. Not too slow. I closed my eyes and pretended that kiss would last forever. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me like he couldn’t get enough, like he felt the same way. His blue eyes with tiny brown and green specks made my heartbeat zoom off into warp speed.
Then he kissed me again. Right in the middle of that perfect kiss, I broke away and said, “She doesn’t want me dating you.”
Scott stared at me. “Who?”
“My mom. She doesn’t want me dating anyone. I swear she haunts me. I can’t even make out with my boyfriend.”
“She’s two miles away.”
“Not to me she isn’t.”
I pursed my lips, angry that the thought of Mom’s objections to my dating could push into this special moment. But she was everywhere: in our immaculately clean house with the white Italian sofa, even in this rocking chair where I was making out with my boyfriend. God, I wished I cou
ld get her out of my head.
“Are you okay?” Scott asked softly.
“Yeah. It’s nothing.” I shook my head, willing her out.
He traced his finger across my lips. “You’re pouting.”
“I want to stay here forever.”
“Sounds good to me.” He kissed me again, then jerked away when a door opened upstairs.
“Scott. You down there? Dinner’s ready.”
His cheeks flushed at the sound of his mom’s voice. “Coming,” he yelled.
I stood up. “So much for forever.”
His eyes darted between the stairs and the chair. “What do you want to do with this?”
“I have an idea. Come to my house around eight. Bring the rocker.”
“Aren’t you worried your mom will see it?”
“Sunday night ritual. Mom and Dad go to the movies.”
At seven fifty-five, I watched through the pleated curtains for Scott’s Jeep. He would be on time. He knew Mom and Dad were gone. We had two hours alone.
Just as his red Jeep pulled into the driveway, the phone rang. I pulled the front door open, then ran to answer the phone.
“Mrs. Lindeman?”
“No, this is her daughter. Can I take a message?” Probably a customer wanting to see a house. I grabbed the pen and pad Mom kept next to the phone.
I waved Scott in.
“This is Dr. Sanders’s office. She has an appointment tomorrow morning, but Dr. Sanders has been called away on a family emergency. Could you have her call in the morning to reschedule?”
Scott was struggling to hold open the door while carrying in the chair. I watched him as I scribbled down the words, “Dr. appt. canc. Call to reschedule.”
Why did Mom have a doctor’s appointment? Was she sick? My stomach dropped. Even if we didn’t get along, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. Now I felt even more guilty for what I was about to do.
Scott put the chair down in the entryway. “Where do you want it?”
“Follow me.” I grabbed two sodas and led the way up the stairs. Our house was one of those turn-of-the-century homes that had been remodeled a million times before my parents bought it when I was a baby. Mom loved the natural wood floors and arched doorways. I loved the extra space between my closet and bathroom. It was a space about three feet wide by three feet across that had been walled in, a sort of hidden room. If I pushed on the back panel of my closet, it opened far enough to fit through.
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