The Heavenly Heart

by Jackie Lee Miles

  “The drugs will trick her immune system into believing that the new organ is not foreign. Academic,” Pete says.

  “Does it always work?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Will it work this time?”

  “Would you like to see if you could visit with her?” Pete has conveniently avoided answering my questions, but the idea of getting to meet Mona has my undivided attention.

  “Could I?” I say with great anticipation.

  “I don’t see why not. The most they can do is turn us down.”

  “Who will we tell them we are?”

  “People that love her.” Pete says.

  It works. The nurse’s station is very busy. Visiting hours are from noon to 8 p.m. We’ve arrived in plenty of time. Only those under twelve must stop at the desk. A sign instructs others to proceed to the paper gown stations, where another sign cautions to thoroughly wash hands and apply sanitizer. I scrub like I am a surgeon preparing to operate. Pete does the same. I can’t imagine that he would pass any germs on, but I find his gesture very touching just the same.

  I’m ready. We are at Mona’s room A-323. My heart is pounding. I’m not sure what to say. I turn to Pete.

  “What should I say? I mean, what should I tell her about why I’m here?”

  “Tell her the truth.”

  “Whaaat?”

  “That you plan to donate your organs.”

  “Oh, right!” I say, wondering why I didn’t think of that. “But—I’m not going to mention I plan on giving one to her.”

  “That’s a relief,” Pete says, and opens the door.

  “Hello,” I call out. “Are you Mona Scott?”

  “Yes,” she says pleasantly, “And who are you?”

  “I’m Loreleie. Lorelei Goodroe. And this is Pete. We’ve come a long distance to see you. I’m an organ donor.”

  Peter interrupts and says, “A very long distance.”

  I give him my best bad look. “I gave my kidney’s, my liver, and a bunch of other stuff, when I didn’t’ need them any longer.”

  Her eyes grow large.

  “I mean, I plan to.”

  “Oh,” she chuckles, “For a minute you had me going there.”

  “I just wanted to see you and tell you that I imagine it must be a wonderful to, ah, to get another chance at, at—”

  “At life,” Mona says. She holds out her hand and motions for me to come closer.

  Pete places the chair next to her bed gently against the back of my legs. I quickly sit down.

  “It’s like being kissed by an angel,” she says, and takes my hand in hers.

  “Well, it’s the least I can—I mean a body can do—I mean you have children who need you right?” I say.

  “I do. I have three.”

  I nod.

  “So, ah, well—” I’m not sure what else to say, so I blurt out that I absolutely want to baby-sit her children whenever she likes—let’s face it, I’m available forever—and that I’ve completed the CABS program put on by the Red Cross, which is a community program that covers child safety and basic care, as well as having completed an on-line training program known as BLAST. I rattle off what that training included, which was handling the basics of infant and child care, reacting responsibly to emergencies, first aid for injuries, and entertainment activities, like playing games or reading books. Without letting her get a word in I go on to explain I am also certified in CPR. All of which is true, but I have no idea why I had suddenly developed diarrhea of the mouth. Pete is ready to croak, I’m telling you.

  Mona says, “My goodness. That’s very impressive. But I live in Texas.”

  “Oh that’s no problem. I’m not that far. I mean I’ll be in Atlanta. My parents are there right now. Well, that is my mother is; I lost my father.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mona says.

  “He was waiting for a heart transplant when his gave out and they didn’t have one available.”

  Since I’m visiting Mona through the Silver Lining, all of that’s true.

  “That’s why it’s so important to me, that I can baby-sit, you know, do something to be of help. And getting to Texas is no problem for me, I promise.”

  “That’s wonderful. I accept. How will I reach you?”

  “I’ll just give you a call when I’m free, how about that?”

  “All right then. And thank you!” Mona says.

  A nurse comes in and says visiting hours are over.

  Mona nods her head, then, turns to me.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she says.

  “Me too,” I answer

  “And thank you very much for what you plan to do with your organs some day. Hopefully, that won’t be for a very, very long time,” she adds, and smiles.

  If she only knew.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Golden Window

  We’re back. I’m dancing in circles, crazy happy, knowing Mona would have survived no matter what had happened to me.

  “I’m going down again,” I exclaim. “I want to see Mona get out of the hospital. I want to see her children’s reactions when she gets home,” I prattle on and on.

  “I want to babysit—”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Pete admonishes. “Why not just be happy she has your kidney for real? Why bother with what could have been?”

  Now he has my attention. What difference does it make, what could have been, versus what is, unless the what could have been isn’t so hot?

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” I search his face. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Ah, the problem, Lorelei,” he says softly, “is things can change. Yes, Mona would have received another kidney had you lived, but, but—”

  “But what?”

  “It’s complicated,” Pete says. “We’ll talk later.” With that he’s gone like the wind. Mostly he stays very busy, so I’m not sure when later will be. But I certainly intend to find out and get to the bottom of what he’s so concerned about. What did he mean? Things can change? Of course they can change. So what? Mona’s got her kidney. She’s doing fine, so no matter what happens in the Silver Lining, it won’t make a bit of difference. But, since it’s driving me batty, I’ll put it on hold and get back to it later.

  For now, I’m pretty busy myself. My father is off to meet the person who has my liver. It’s a boy! He’s seventeen! Isn’t that cool? I picture someone like David—you remember the dreamy guy in high school who’s going with a Reece Witherspoon look-alike?—walking around with my liver, and I get goose bumps.

  His name is Garrett Jennings. He’s got a grade point of 4.0, so he’s a real brain, and I’m not sure what sport he’s into, but he’s probably a quarterback or something. I mean I had a really good liver, so they wouldn’t just give it to anyone. I mean, I never abused it or anything. No drugs, ever. Well, I sniffed glue with Paige and Annalise, but only two times. Which reminds me, I miss them and I’m going to go see them real soon—in the Silver Lining. It’ll be just like old times.

  Right now, I can’t wait to see what Garrett looks like. Six feet, blonde hair and blue eyes would be great. It won’t be long. My father’s on his way to his house right now. I close my eyes and wait for the door to open. The excitement’s killing me. It’s like a drum’s rolling faster and faster. Then, out of the blue, my father’s voice calls out.

  “Hello, Garrett?” he says. “I’m Marcus Goodroe.”

  “Yah, what’s up?” A voice that sounds like Pee Wee Herman answers.

  Oh no! Garrett’s a geek, a perfect 4.0 geek. I’m not kidding. His face is peppered with pimples. A liver can’t be a very attractive organ, so maybe they match up quite well.

  I’ve seen enough. I’m about to head next door to the Silver Lining, but I hear the most amazing sounds coming from Garrett’s bedroom.

  “Aroo! Aroo!”

  This is followed by grunting. When Garrett opens the door there are low, throaty sounds of “ha, ha ha,” but it is not a la
ughing noise, more like the sounds a dog makes when he’s happy and dangles his tongue and pants. Only it’s not a dog. It’s a potbellied pig. Two of them! They’re adorable.

  “This here’s Toby,” Garrett says, turning to my father. “And this is Dixie. She’s the timid one.”

  They’re just too cute and they’re very sociable. They root at my father’s shoes, sniffing furiously at the shoe leather.

  “They can smell odors twenty-five feet under the ground,” Garrett explains. I’m not sure if he means to say my father’s feet stink, or what.

  My father says, “Interesting,” and pulls his foot back like maybe they’ll take a leak on his four-hundred dollar Armani loafers.

  “Don’t worry,” Garrett says, “They’re house broken.”

  “Interesting,” my father says again. He’s not much into pig talk.

  Toby, the male, is obviously the boss of the two. I’d say he weighs like eighty pounds. He’s black with bits of white splashed about his tail and snout. Dixie’s much smaller, maybe sixty pounds. She’s also black, but has less patches of white. They spend most of their time rooting. I watch, fascinated, as they snurdle about the house, their noses pressed into the carpet.

  “Stray bits of food,” Garrett says. “They’ll eat anything, if you don’t watch them.”

  These animals are highly intelligent. They stand back and appear to listen when Garrett tells them it’s time to go outside.

  “Do your business guys,” he says, and laughs.

  Toby and Dixie follow Garrett eagerly to the rear door of what is a very modest home.

  “My parents are teachers,” Garrett says, for no particular reason. My father didn’t ask.

  “These are my siblings,” Garrett adds proudly.

  Which doesn’t surprise me in the least—I’d be proud to own them, too. They’re very clean, they don’t stink and they follow along like puppy dogs when Garrett calls them. Wherever did the ridiculous sayings regarding pigs come from? “Sweat like a hog.” They’re not sweating at all. “Dirty as a pig.” Their skin’s shiny and clean. “Stink like a pig.” And I already said they don’t stink. That part does amaze me. I thought they would.

  Garrett takes them outside, but not before putting on these little leashes. Just like dogs. Daisy’s is multicolored and has some rhinestone on the collar. Toby’s is plain black. Boring.

  I could sit and watch these root-a-pigs for hours. I’m liking Garrett more each minute. He’s so cute with his pigs. They’re very affectionate and demand a lot of attention and Garrett’s more than happy to give them all the attention they want.

  But my father has had enough of pigs for one day.

  “Well,” he says, “Ready for a bite to eat?”

  The pigs oink in unison at the sound of the word “eat”. For sure, they’re very smart pigs. They have a good sense of smell and major good hearing, but I don’t think they see too well. Dixie ran into the door frame scampering after Garrett. And Toby ran into her.

  “Mention food or anything close to it and they go hog wild,” Garrett quips and howls like a hyena.

  “Get it? Hog wild? Ha ha ha,” he laughs again.

  The look on my father’s face is completely blank. I know that look. It means he thinks Garrett is a complete idiot. My father’s being too harsh, as usual.

  Garrett is a dork, yes, but certainly not an idiot. He knows all about potbellied pigs and has a 4.0 grade point. Physically he’s a bit of a disappointment, but still there’s just something about him. I really really like him. I’m not sure if it’s because he has my liver, or if I’m starting to see people from the inside out.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Silver Lining

  Paige decides we need more excitement.

  “Time to get some real road experience,” she says.

  We’ve had our learner’s permits for all of two months. Her idea is for me to take my mother’s car again and pick them up. We’ll drive around in the country, then, head to the interstate.

  “It’s your turn?” I tell her, but I know that won’t matter. Paige is the leader.

  “So what? It’s more fun in your mother’s Rover,” Paige insists.

  What’d I tell you? So, it’s settled. I’m to pick them up at eleven.

  When kids take their parent’s car and drive around in the dark without much experience, sooner or later they’re bound to have an accident, right? Well, that’s not what happened. In fact, when Paige took her mother’s car, and both time’s Annalise took her father’s Jaguar, nothing bad happened. So I’m not worried, not one bit.

  I have no problem getting my mother’s keys and backing the car out of the garage. I pull around the circular driveway and make my way down the winding road to the street. It’s real dark, and somehow I get lost and end up driving in circles. Finally, I decide I better go home, if I can find home. Of course, Paige and Annalise don’t know where I am. They’ll be scared a serial killer got me. Then, just when I think I know where I am, this dumb light starts flashing. Reserve fuel! it says and I notice the gas gauge is down to the bottom line. It’s a no brainer. I’m out of gas. I turn onto Peachtree Street next to Bones Restaurant and head to the nearest gas station. There’s a Chevron just ahead. I don’t make it.

  I wasn’t able to find one familiar landmark in the entire two hours I was driving around, but the one cop tooling down Peachtree and Piedmont has no trouble finding me.

  You won’t believe what I told him.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Golden Window

  Boy, am I glad to be back in the Golden Window. Miss Lily and I are having breakfast. She’s having a fine old time while I tell her what happened to me in the Silver Lining. She thinks it’s funny.

  “When it was happening, I tell myself, it’s not real, you know? I mean, it would only have happened had I never died, right?”

  She nods excitedly.

  “But when it’s happening, it’s sooooo real, I can’t convince myself it isn’t.”

  “What fun—take me with you!” she says like she’s five years old.

  “I don’t think so. And believe me, it wasn’t fun.”

  “Tell me what you told that nice young officer,” she says, nibbling on a croissant laced with butter.

  “Oh bother,” I say. “I told him the truth.”

  This part does make me laugh.

  “I mean what else can I tell him? I don’t have a license. It’s one o’clock in the morning and I’ve got my mother’s Rover. Pretty obvious.

  “And what did he say?” she asks.

  He said I was obviously smoking something pretty powerful or was crazy. I convinced him I’d never smoked even a cigarette in my entire life, but I’d recently lost my father and was having some very bad dreams and maybe I was sleep walking, and he took me home.”

  “And your mother, Lorelei. What did your mother say?” Miss Lily asks, and hands me a tall, frosty glass, filled with orange juice

  “She said she planned to take me to the doctor the first thing in the morning.”

  “And then?”

  “She took two aspirin and took away the car keys.”

  Pete shows up without warning and says to come with him.

  “I want to take you ladies on a guided tour of my favorite spot,” he says

  I lean over to Miss Lily. “Mum’s the word.” She nods her head, purses her lips together and gives a conspiratorial grin.

  “What’s up?” Pete says, trying to sound hip.

  “Just girl talk,” I say. “Where are we headed?”

  “It’s a surprise. Follow me.”

  We proceed, single file up a secluded staircase that drifts in and out of pink and blue puffy clouds. Pete opens a large white door with solid gold hinges. Inside are the most amazing sights and sounds you can imagine. Thousands and thousands of happy little bright-eyed babies fill a room so expansive it has no borders.

  “Oh,” I squeal, and lean down to pick up a baby girl crawling at my feet. She’s go
t a thick head of dark curls and Bambi eyes.

  Miss Lilly gently lifts a newborn from a cradle made of feathers, selects a rocking chair from an assortment nearby, and proceeds to sing the gurgling infant a lullaby.

  We spend hours in this nursery holding, rocking, and playing with the babies. You could spend eternity here and never get to all of them.

  “Is this where babies are picked from, when mothers give birth on earth?” I ask. I’m holding a dark-haired newborn boy, who’s wrinkly cute.

  Pete’s face is very solumn.

  “I’m afraid not, Lorelei,” he says.

  “But?—” I’m confused. “What are all these babies doing here?—”

  I place the little guy in my arms back into his feather cradle bed. He’s sucking on his thumb. I pick up another newborn. She has a pink ribbon in her fuzzy hair.

  That’s when it comes to me.

  “Oh, no—” I say, and plant a kiss on the top of the baby girls head. She smells of talcum powder and baby lotion. “Are these all the little ones who’ve been born and died?”

  “No,” Pete says, much to my relief.

  “These are the ones created, but never born at all,” Pete says. His eyes are sadder than I’ve ever seen them.

  “You mean these babies—”

  “These babies have all been aborted,” Pete says.

  “But, there are thousands—” my voice trails off and my eyes fill with more tears than they can hold.

  “Yes, Lorlelei,” Pete says. “And sadly, there will be many more.”

  He places one arm around my shoulder and gathers Miss Lilly with the other.

  “This is the Nursery of Lost Kisses and Hugs.”