In a Heartbeat

by Loretta Ellsworth

  Ari opened the car door for me while my parents watched from the window. I felt their eyes on us as I put on my seat belt, as Ari got in and put on his seat belt, and as he started the car, checked the rearview mirror, and slowly pulled away from the curb.

  He turned right at the corner as though he was heading toward the movie theater at the mall. But instead he turned left at the next corner toward the interstate.

  As he pulled up to a stop sign, his car made a loud sound like a lawn mower. “I need a new muffler,” he said sheepishly. He reached over and opened the glove compartment, taking out the directions he’d printed. He handed the paper to me. “You can navigate. Make sure I don’t take any wrong turns.”

  “Okay.” I had a feeling he already knew the way, but it was something to keep me preoccupied.

  I noticed that the rearview mirror on my side was held on with duct tape. Ari had said his car was a beater. He wasn’t kidding.

  The inside of his Honda Civic was clean, even if there was a small rip in my armrest. I leaned back and looked out the window at the bare trees waiting for a blast of December snow to give them color. This was the first time I’d ever been out without an adult watching over me. The first time I’d been in a car with a boy. We had a five-hour drive, each way. What do you talk to a boy about for five hours?

  But even nervousness couldn’t stop the feeling of freedom from sinking in. I had ten unchaperoned hours with no one checking on me or poking me.

  The Honda moved away from the stop sign, but Ari suddenly slammed on the brakes.

  “Your medications,” he said, as though he’d just thought of it.

  I patted my bulky purse. “I brought the ones I need. I already took eleven pills this morning. My dose of prednisone, the blood pressure meds, infection meds, statin drugs, magnesium supplements, and aspirin are once-a-day pills. I won’t need to take them again until tomorrow morning, and we’ll be back before then.”

  Ari stepped on the gas again. “What are your parents going to say when you’re not home by five?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. I guess they’ll be mad.”

  “I have my cell phone if you want to call them.”

  “I don’t think I can handle that until I’ve talked to Eagan’s family. I left a note on my bed, because Mom will notice the pills are missing.” She kept them lined up on the kitchen counter. They stretched across the entire length of the counter like a row of Kyle’s army men, ready for action.

  “I didn’t tell them in the note where I was going, just that I planned to meet my donor’s family and would be home late.”

  Would Mom check my room and find the note? Maybe I should have left it in a more conspicuous place.

  I’d calculated a five-hour trip to Milwaukee, a couple of hours to meet Eagan’s family, an hour for restroom and food stops, and another five hours back to Minnesota. That would put us home at one o’clock in the morning. I’d never stayed out that late before in my life.

  Ari frowned. “I don’t want your parents to hate me, Amelia.”

  “I’ll tell them I made you do it.”

  “Just the same, they’ll probably never let me see you again.”

  “That won’t happen. I won’t let it,” I reassured him, although I didn’t know how I’d pull it off. I liked the sound of Ari’s voice when he said it, though. At least he did want to see me again.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Will you get in trouble with your parents?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve spent whole nights in the garage working on my car, and no one came out to check on me. Tomas has taken so much of their attention the last couple of years that I’ve gotten used to taking care of myself.”

  I thought of Kyle, of how he must have felt when Mom missed his baseball games because of me.

  Ari looked over at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I know that Tomas didn’t ask for his problems.”

  “But you need to be noticed too.”

  He shrugged. “I do okay.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

  Ari smirked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You probably wouldn’t be hanging around hospitals if it weren’t for Tomas.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded.

  “Thanks again for taking me,” I said. I’d already thanked him more times than I could count, but it never seemed enough. “I didn’t have anyone else to ask.”

  We were going down a side street when Ari looked over at me and slowed down. “Hey, could you take the wheel for a minute?”

  “Me? I’ve never …”

  “Here.” He put my left hand on the wheel. It moved and the car wriggled back and forth. I grasped the leather grooves tightly, trying to keep the car in a straight line while Ari searched his pants pockets. I was steering. It was scary. And exciting.

  “There’s a curve up ahead,” I shouted.

  “Got it,” Ari said, taking the wheel from me.

  I let out a nervous laugh. It was kind of fun, after all.

  Ari handed me a slip of paper. A phone number was scribbled on it.

  “Eagan’s parents’ number. In case you chicken out,” he said.

  “I won’t.” But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure.

  We reached the interstate and I felt both regret and excitement mixing with the essential meds that kept Eagan’s heart beating in my chest. This journey had started out as a dream, and now it was really happening. Flashes of sunlight hit my eyes until we turned east toward Milwaukee.

  Traffic was busy, and Ari had his hands full keeping up with the white minivan ahead of us. He motioned toward the backseat. “I brought along some sandwiches and sodas in case you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starved.” I reached into the back and opened a plastic bag. The smell of peanut butter wafted up. “You remembered!”

  “Not just peanut butter,” Ari said. “Extra crunchy peanut butter.”

  I took out a sandwich and a soda. “This is great.”

  Ari smiled. “You’re the only girl I could impress with a peanut butter sandwich.”

  “It’s not just the sandwich. It’s the thought behind the sandwich.”

  “No big deal,” Ari said.

  “It is a big deal. I’ve seen how you are with Tomas. You’re like his best friend instead of his brother. And you volunteer at the hospital with him when you could be off doing your own thing.”

  Ari pushed his hair behind his right ear. “Okay, now I feel like a jerk.”

  “Why?”

  “I only volunteered that one time, when I met you.”

  “But you came back three more times, and you helped me find my donor.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Ari shifted in his seat. “I figured that if I helped you, I could spend more time with you.”

  He looked over at me. “You do think I’m a jerk. Don’t you?”

  “No. Not at all,” I said, feeling shy.

  Then Ari reached over and held my hand, the one without the sandwich in it. We crossed the Mississippi River into Wisconsin and passed contoured cornfields that had been cleared for the winter, as though a giant comb had been pulled across the land. It was there, next to an open field, that I saw a black-and-white horse standing by a wooden fence, facing away from the cold wind. I knew it was just a horse, but today it held meaning. It was a sign, I decided, showing me the way. Today that horse was waiting there for me.

  33

  EAGAN

  There weren’t a lot of defining moments in my life. Lots of little moments, like when I saw a sunrise or a stunning view of the mountains, or when my dad carried me to bed, tucked me in, and read me a book. Or when Scott put his arm around me during a movie and I barely watched the show because I was more excited by him.

  No doubt about it. The most important event of my life was my death. That day, that moment, seems to stand out above all the rest. Everything intensifies, slows down. I watch it in s
low motion. I see the audience, the horror on their faces when I don’t get up.

  I feel bad for them. I mean, they’re all left with that same image. Everyone there will remember that moment for the rest of their lives. For some, it will become one of the most important events of their own lives. It will change everything.

  I’ve avoided thinking about how it is for everyone on Earth. I haven’t had any desire to see my funeral. And I don’t want to see any skating competitions without me in them. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to accept my own death.

  I have a sudden ache to see Mom now, not just as a memory. I want to make sure she’s okay, that she knows that I loved her even though we fought all the time. I want her to know that I’m sorry I left.

  I wonder what she’s doing now, whether she’s still selling houses. Or has she become a recluse who stays in bed and never leaves her own house? I wonder if seeing my old pond skates on the back porch brings her pain or comfort.

  I imagine her in my head. I see her dark, curly hair, cut just below her ears because she thought her ears stuck out otherwise. I see her manicured nails painted a rusty red color, the black-rimmed reading glasses she wore on her head. I see the way she puckered up her mouth when she drank lemonade, and the intense gaze of her watching me skate, as though she was on the ice with me.

  And suddenly I’m back in my room. My own room with my comfy bed and pillows and the purple and white bedspread. Is this another memory? I didn’t see this one flashing before me. So how did I get back? Was my death just a dream? Or did I wish this so hard that I made it happen?

  Mom is here. She’s going through my drawers. My green cashmere sweater is in her hands, the one I begged for when school started, even though it cost more than two pairs of jeans.

  “Mom!” She doesn’t answer. Can she hear me?

  I’m an arm’s length away. I step forward. The floor creaks, and I wonder if I made that noise. But our old house makes all kinds of noises.

  Then Mom looks up, straight at me. But her eyes look right through me. She has dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Her hair is longer than I remembered and it’s uncombed. So unlike her. She looks as though she hasn’t slept in a long time.

  “Mom,” I say again. But she doesn’t hear me. She looks back at the sweater, brings it to her face, and inhales the scent. Tears stream down her face.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I’m crying too. “I never meant to leave you.”

  Then I notice her swollen belly under the blouse. Is she pregnant? At her age? What a shock! But I feel a sudden rush of joy. I’m going to have a baby brother or sister!

  “Is that what you were going to tell me?”

  Mom moves the sweater from her face and places it back in the drawer. Then she opens my desk drawer. A crumpled piece of paper sticks out. The letter she wrote me. She presses it open with her palm and reads it. Fresh tears flood her eyes and drip down onto the writing, smearing the ink.

  Dear Eagan,

  How did we get to this point? You’re my whole life and I only want the best for you. That’s why I’m hard on you. But please know that I love you more than anything else in the whole world. If I could take back that slap or anything else I ever did in my life that upset you, I would.

  I can’t, of course, so I don’t expect you to just forgive and forget. I look forward to the day when we’re not always at odds with each other. I had a difficult relationship with my own mother, and I was sure I would be different when I had children of my own. Sadly, it seems I have become all that I didn’t want to be: my own mother. But my mother and I reconciled when you were born, and I hope you will one day be able to forgive me as well. I only hope I don’t have to wait until I have grandchildren for that reconciliation to happen.

  Love,

  Mom

  Thank God I saved that. I’d have hated for her to find the letter in the trash. That explains why we rarely visited Mom’s parents, who lived eight hours away from us. Mom didn’t get along with her own mother.

  “Why?” she says, and her voice sounds like a wounded animal. “Why, why, why, why?”

  I reach out to hold her, but my hands go right through her. How can I comfort her? How can I tell her I’m okay?

  Am I really dead? If so, why do I feel so torn up inside? Why am I sobbing? Why do I feel so helpless?

  “Mom,” I shout through my tears. “I’m here!”

  And as suddenly as I was thrown into the world, I’m torn out of it again. The gray mist swells around me and I hold my head, feeling dizzy. It’s almost a relief to be back. Mom’s grief was too much to bear.

  “Where were you? Did you go back?” Miki asks me.

  “In a way. I wanted to go back so much. But I didn’t expect it to be so complicated.”

  Miki shakes her head. “That’s just the beginning.”

  34

  Amelia

  Eagan lived in this town. Two months ago she’d walked up these steps. She’d slept in this house. And a couple of weeks ago she should have had Thanksgiving dinner with her family.

  I looked up at the tidy, pale blue two-story house, older and smaller than ours. An autumn wreath hung on their door, with ribbons of brown and yellow trailing down. The neighbors had a giant Santa and Rudolph set up on the front lawn.

  Ari looked at the decorations next door and the limp wreath on Eagan’s house. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  I suddenly wished Mom was standing next to me. She’d always been with me whenever I faced something hard.

  “Yes,” I said with more confidence than I felt. I had to believe that if I’d come this far, there was a reason I was supposed to be here.

  But my hands trembled. What could I possibly say to Eagan’s family that would be any comfort at all?

  I reached out and knocked on the door, which opened only seconds later. They must have seen us drive up.

  A short, balding man opened the door. “Hi. Please come in.” His voice was friendly.

  He held the door for us and put out his hand to Ari. “I’m Mr. Lindeman, Eagan’s dad,” he said.

  “I’m Ari,” Ari said as he shook Mr. Lindeman’s hand. “This is my friend Amelia.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Amelia,” he said, holding my hand for a long moment. “We very much appreciated your letter.”

  Even through his sadness, I could see a kind face. My heart ached for him.

  We faced the living room, which didn’t look anything like I’d imagined from the outside of the house. The walls were the color of fresh melon. They had a white carpet and a white sofa. A plaid chair and ottoman matched the valance that covered pleated shades. It reminded me of a picture in one of those magazines that Mom liked to read.

  Then my eyes settled on a guy standing just to the side of the entryway. He wore a red and white letter jacket with lots of patches on it.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He looked hard at me. He was searching for a resemblance, but other than brown hair—and hers was much darker than mine—there was none.

  Eagan’s dad motioned him over.

  “Scott, this is Amelia.”

  “Hi, Amelia.” Scott shook my hand. I could tell by the way his hand held mine that he wasn’t a relative of Eagan’s. He was her boyfriend. My heart beat faster, as if taking all this in.

  I was entranced by everything around me. I could sense Eagan’s aura here, and it felt strangely familiar. My eyes settled on a wall of pictures—Eagan’s life in chronological order: as a toddler in a snowsuit, with Santa, her first day of school. I walked over and stood in front of a picture of her at age eight in a sparkly skating outfit holding a trophy. She had wild, curly hair and brown, fiery eyes to match.

  “Do you like to skate?” Scott asked behind me.

  “I don’t know how to skate.”

  “Oh.” It sounded like I’d disappointed him.

  “Would you like to see a video of Eagan?” Mr. Lindeman asked me.

  “I’d love to.”


  “It’s just excerpts from some of her competitions that we pulled together.” He didn’t say for what. For the funeral?

  He put in a DVD and there she was, this beautiful girl, so full of life. I saw her strength, her skill, her poise, how easily she moved across the ice. She was so talented, so young. I heard her laugh on the tape. It was the kind of laugh that you knew was hard-kept, one that didn’t happen too often. She spoke, and I swear I recognized her voice.

  My eyes went wide when her friends called her Dynamo, the name I’d heard in my dream. I covered my mouth to keep in a shriek.

  Mr. Lindeman stood up. “I’m just going to check on my wife, Cheryl. See what’s keeping her.”

  “How are you feeling?” Ari asked when he left. “Are you tired?”

  “A little,” I confessed, not wanting to tear my eyes away from her image on the TV. “But I’m glad we came.”

  Scott’s eyes were glued to the video as well. But during a close-up of Eagan, he had to look away. I thought he might cry.

  Muffled voices leaked down the stairway. One of the voices sounded angry. Ari shifted uncomfortably in his chair as if he was ready to bolt. Finally, Mr. Lindeman came back down. His face was flushed and he was wringing his hands.

  He looked at me when he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. Cheryl has changed her mind. She feels it’s just too soon.”

  He nodded at the TV, where Eagan was doing a sit spin. “Eagan was, well, she was the glue that held us together as a family. Cheryl has had such a hard time, and …” His voice broke and he looked down at his shoes.

  “Maybe we should leave,” Ari said.

  Scott stood up. “Is it okay if I show her Eagan’s room?”

  Mr. Lindeman looked at the stairs. I thought he was going to say no. But then he nodded. “Of course.”

  I looked at Ari. “I’ll wait here,” he said.

  I followed Scott up the stairs while Ari talked to Eagan’s dad.

  It was just like I knew it would be. The purple paint on her walls, the purple and white bedspread. Trophies and medals decorating her wall. Pictures of her with her friends on a bulletin board filled with skating programs and other memorabilia. One picture stood out. It was of Eagan and Scott. She looked stunning in a blue dress, and she had a white corsage on her wrist. Scott wore a black suit. His arm was around her waist. They were both smiling.