Pure Hearts

by Jeannine Allison

  Iris, you idiot, she’ll never be okay again…

  This I knew from experience. Because even if you survived a tragedy, it would always be a part of your narrative. The only way to handle a hardship was to make it a part of who you were, with purpose and pride. Taking initiative made sure you were the one weaving it into your story. Not the tragedy. Not the faceless noise coming from all the people trying to help. You. It gave you a power you would’ve otherwise lost.

  The only thing we could really control in life was our reactions; everything else was up for grabs.

  As for me, I didn’t “let go” of my tragedies, I held on as tight as I could. I forced them into my psyche the way I wanted. And I didn’t “move on,” leaving it all behind. I brought it with me everywhere.

  I wondered if this woman would be able to do that…

  I stuck my head out and watched her pull the door open before disappearing inside. Snapping out of my daze, I came out of hiding and looked up. It was a chapel.

  My family wasn’t overly religious, but we did believe in God and I liked to think we all tried to live in a way that would make a higher deity proud.

  I hovered outside for a moment before removing the balloons from my wrist and tying them around one of the bear’s arms. Then I set him down just outside the door and stepped inside. My eyes immediately found her in the empty room. She was sitting in the front row as she crossed herself and began softly praying.

  My bravado from seconds earlier faded, and I suddenly felt like I was betraying a deeply private moment. I quickly turned to leave when I ran into a pew, clipping my shin and biting back a wince. Glancing behind me, I cringed. The woman was staring right at me.

  Now that I could see more than her profile, I couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. Despite her disheveled appearance, the bluish marks under her eyes, and the devastating way her lips turned down, I could tell she was beautiful. The dark circles didn’t detract from the slight hope shining in her eyes. Nor did her frown take away the prominent laugh lines around her mouth. She was most likely going through the worst moment of her life, but I could tell she would bounce back, that she was one of the good ones who lived life for the happy moments and didn’t dwell on the sad ones.

  My brother often told me I overreached, went too far past what was “normal” and made people uncomfortable. I never agreed. But right now, I thought, he might have a point.

  “I’m so sorry,” I rushed out before turning to fully face her. I refrained from grabbing my sore leg as I stood tall and walked forward a couple steps.

  “It’s all right, dear.” She cleared her throat. “Who are you here for?”

  “Pardon?” I choked out.

  “What’s the name of the person you’re here for? I’ll include him or her in my prayers.” She tried to smile. And despite her lips never making it up her cheeks, I could see the warmth in her eyes and how genuine she was being.

  I knew she was a good one.

  “Oh. Umm… n-no one.” My throat suddenly felt dry, guilty for… well, I wasn’t sure. “My sister just had a baby.” This time her smile inched a little higher.

  “Congratulations. Children are”—she covered a sob with her hand. When she removed it, she was shaking her head—“a precious gift from God.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Her brows puckered in confusion before rising in question. “I heard you talking to the doctor,” I explained, hitching a finger to the door behind me.

  She lowered her head. “I’m sorry for the scene I caused.”

  “No, no.” I rushed forward, wincing at the ache in my knee, only to stop a pew behind her. “I didn’t mean… I just… actually, I’m not sure what I meant.”

  Her lips pulled even higher as she scooted down and patted the spot next to her. I gingerly sat down to her left and she immediately took my hand with her right one. “Will you pray with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” She squeezed my hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Iris.”

  “I’m Catherine.” She wrapped her left arm around me. “And what’s your sister and the baby’s name?”

  “Calla is my sister, and her daughter is Mirielle.”

  “Beautiful names,” she whispered. I smiled and we bowed our heads.

  Catherine cleared her throat. “Dear Heavenly Father, Iris and I humbly come to you today, and ask that you watch over our loved ones. Please bless Calla with a speedy and complication-free recovery. May her child, little Mirielle, be graced with health and joy. And…” When she paused I squeezed her hand harder, trying to ground her here and not let the pain take her mind to a dark place. My encouragement seemed to work as she took a deep breath and continued.

  “Gracious Father, please send a kidney for my Nicholas. He… he’s all I have, and even if the hospital can keep his body alive, I’m afraid his spirit will be crushed. I do not know your plans; maybe someone else needs one more, maybe Nick needs to experience this, but if he doesn’t, I ask for your mercy. And lastly, bless sweet Iris for checking on a complete stranger. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Amen,” I echoed, feeling more at peace than I was expecting. She disentangled herself from me and crossed herself again. I looked at her and some of the heaviness in her eyes was gone, and her breaths seemed to be coming to her more naturally. Like the act of praying made her life a little bit easier to live in that moment.

  “Thank you. That was beautiful.” Tears brimmed in my eyes; she had no idea the effect her words had on me. I’d been trying to stay strong and positive, but truthfully I was a bit shaken.

  Calla had been struggling to get pregnant for nearly three years, and when she was diagnosed with preeclampsia a few weeks ago, the entire family had rallied around her. Especially her husband of eight years, Kent.

  The doctors were concerned, but she wasn’t far enough along at that point to induce labor. Her husband took her home and made sure she was on strict bedrest, and even though no one doubted she was doing everything in her power to keep herself and the baby safe—her pride wasn’t a factor—we all still worried.

  Then last night she started experiencing abdominal pain and blurry vision. Given her condition and the possible complications, it was important that Kent got her to hospital as fast as he did.

  They were forced to perform an emergency C-section after Mirielle’s breathing had become too weak. Thankfully they got her out quick enough. The doctors said if Kent had gotten her here even a few minutes later, it might have been too late for Mirielle.

  My sister and niece were both stable right now, so I wasn’t immediately concerned, but it would be premature to think we were out of the woods. And this prayer helped more than I thought it would.

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  I gazed into two of the most sincere eyes I’d ever seen, still struggling with her own grief while trying to celebrate my joy, and I knew there was only one thing I could do.

  “Excuse me,” I said softly to the nurse behind the counter. Catherine was still in the chapel and my sister’s bear and balloons were still sitting outside it.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to speak to Dr. Moore.” I was incredibly grateful I’d had the sense to remember his name.

  She nodded and began shuffling pages. “For who?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What patient of his are you concerned with?”

  “Oh, I actually don’t know. I met this woman, Catherine, and her son needs a kidney. She’s not a match, and well… it’s a long shot…”

  “You want to see if you’re a match? That’s highly irregular and I’m not sure it’s appropriate—”

  “I want to see if I can save someone’s life, what’s inappropriate about that?” I asked. She paused and gave me a suspicious look. I sighed. “Could you please tell me where to find Dr. Moore?”

  “What can I help you with, miss?” I whipped my head around
to the new, deeper voice. It was Dr. Moore. I stepped away from the nurse and noted how his eyes flared in recognition.

  “Dr. Moore,” the nurse started. “This isn’t—”

  “I’ll handle it from here, Jessica. Thank you.” He tilted his head down the hall and I trailed behind him.

  “I’m Dr. Moore.” He held his hand out. “I’m a trauma surgeon in the ER.”

  Nodding, I shook his hand. “Iris.”

  “How can I help you, Iris?”

  “I have an odd request…” I hesitated, even as his eyebrows rose in interest.

  Was this too crazy? Was this taking my desire to help people one step too far?

  I immediately dismissed those thoughts. Surely there was no limit to kindness. I berated myself for even questioning it.

  My mother always said the second you let other people’s perceptions dictate how you lived your life, you lost. And I had no interest in losing who I was. I wanted to be nice and kind. I wanted to go out of my way to help an elderly lady with her groceries, or a middle-aged man who, while rounding up his kids in his minivan, had dropped a soccer ball and groaned in frustration when it rolled away from him.

  And I wanted to give Catherine’s son one of my kidneys.

  It didn’t have to make sense to anyone else. Well… maybe the doctor, I at least had to convince him.

  “I overheard your conversation with Catherine.” I pointed toward the end of the hallway where he had consoled her earlier.

  “Yes?” He looked wary now, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  “I have two kidneys, and you know, you can live with just one.” I slammed my mouth shut; God, I was an idiot when I was nervous.

  The doctor’s lips quirked. “Yes, we did go over that once or twice in my training.”

  “Right.” I swallowed before closing my eyes, psyching myself up. My eyes flew open as I said, “I want to help him. I want to…”

  My lips snapped together as his expression flattened. Even though I hadn’t said the words, he knew what I was going to say. But he gave me absolutely no sign of what he was thinking.

  Did he think I was crazy? Was he devising a plan to get me to the psych ward without a scene? Or maybe he thought I was pulling a cruel prank? Maybe he thought I was idealistic and acting on a whim. He could have even been impressed. But I didn’t know; he was frozen and mute. It felt like an eternity before his body relaxed and he spoke again.

  “You want to give Mr. Blake one of your kidneys? Is that what you’re saying, Ms.…?”

  “Chamberlain,” I filled in. “And yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  I’d passed out listening to the horrifying screams of a scared woman. I woke up to the soft whimpering of a scared woman.

  I forced my eyes open and they immediately met the top of my mother’s head. She was bent over my hand; I could feel the rosary beads pressing into my skin, a glorious reminder that whatever prayers she sent upward had been answered.

  My fingers twitched under hers and with that action her head snapped up. Her warm brown eyes were rimmed red and she looked haunted.

  “Ma,” I croaked out.

  “Oh, Nicky.” She quickly glanced heavenward and crossed herself, murmuring her thanks, before bringing her full attention back to me. One of her hands came up and cupped my cheek.

  I tried to smile, but my dry lips cracked, protesting the movement. “It must be bad if you’re not going to give me grief for not shaving.”

  My ma chuckled. “Hush. I was getting to it.” She clucked her tongue, but didn’t say anything else.

  Flipping my hand over, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. “What happened? It’s pretty foggy.”

  “You were in a car accident.”

  “Bad?”

  Ma nodded. “Almost.” She smiled as she brought her rosary beads up to her mouth and kissed the cross. “The Lord saved you. He sent us an angel.”

  I gave her a genuine smile, not daring to mock her like I normally might. We were both devout Catholics, but her faith ran deeper than mine. She felt it in every single atom of her being. It ran through her, like the blood pumping in her veins, involuntary and necessary to her survival. Her belief and trust in our God was unwavering; she believed he sent miracles and that everything happened for a reason.

  My faith was a little shakier. Where hers was analogous to blood, mine was more like skin. It provided me with a tremendous amount of protection, but there were layers to it, and it was constantly changing and regenerating. And in some places, there were scars. Permanent, damaged, ugly reminders that while God was great and protective, he couldn’t solve everything.

  I believed in God as much as my ma, but I also believed in humans, and the horrible lengths they could go to destroy the heavenly things God gave them. Ma said I needed to trust God’s grace above everything else, but it was always a struggle for me. I tried to keep my cynicism at bay in front of her. It never worked; she was a smart woman and not much got by her.

  “An angel, huh?” I asked. “Was it some killer surgeon who saved me?”

  She shook her head. “No, dear.” She was practically vibrating in her seat as she relayed everything.

  No-contact car accident.

  Other driver fled the scene.

  Left to die.

  Critical condition.

  Damaged both kidneys.

  Dialysis.

  Ma crying in a chapel.

  A miracle.

  A savior.

  “Wait, wait,” I rushed out as I tried to sit up, seemingly more aware of the pain in my midsection now that I knew everything. “You can’t let some random woman give me her kidney…”

  “What choice do we have? You need a kidney, Nick.” Her bottom lip trembled before she looked down at her lap where she had folded her fidgeting hands. I immediately knew my ma wouldn’t be able to donate since we had different blood types. No tests were needed. But to ask a stranger? To trust a stranger?

  I looked away from her tears, feeling like an asshole. “I know, Ma. But like the doctor said, we have time. It’s not life or death right now. If I take this woman’s kidney she’s gonna be linked to us forever. What if she expects something? What if she—”

  “She won’t,” my mother said resolutely. The tight grip she had on her cross was probably making an indent on her palm. “You haven’t met her. She’s a good one. A kind soul, Nicholas.”

  My mother thought that about everyone. That was the flaw in thinking God touched everything; she thought everyone had a bit of good in them.

  She grabbed my hand with both of hers and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

  Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back against the pillow and thought about what she was asking of me: to trust a complete stranger. The idea was so terrifying it brought forth a question about a person I’d never wanted to think about again.

  “Have you thought about asking Dad?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I hated that I called him Dad—I hadn’t in years. Ma and I had only talked about him a handful of times, but he was always Tyson. Never Dad.

  Regardless, there was something about lying in a hospital bed, discussing my need for one of his vital organs, that made calling him anything else impossible. He was forever linked to me whether I wanted him to be or not.

  My ma hesitated; the grip she had on my hand loosened as she slowly started rubbing my fingers. “I have,” she finally whispered. “It’s been a few years, but I think I still have his number. I just don’t know…”

  She didn’t have to say it. The fact that I let it slip past my lips and give tangible proof to his absence when I spent so long pretending he never even existed was painful enough. I didn’t need her to confirm what I knew before I asked: he wouldn’t give me one of his kidneys.

  It was ridiculous to think a man who couldn’t spare an afternoon for one of my cooking competitions would part with a kidney. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since he left twenty years ago. Ma kept in contact so he could pay c
hild support, but other than that he wasn’t a part of our lives.

  Lifting my head, I opened my eyes and met hers. “Never mind. It was a stupid thought.” I shook my head to highlight my foolishness.

  I hadn’t actively brought up my father in years and I knew my mother always struggled with how to broach the subject. She wanted to protect me from him, but she also wished for me to know him if he was ever interested. How could you let someone spread their wings and soar, and protect them at the same time?

  You couldn’t. Living meant hurting.

  “Maybe he’s changed,” she said, a bit of hope in her eyes. “He’s older, he could have—”

  “No, Ma. Your initial reaction was right. He probably wouldn’t donate one, and even if he was interested, I wouldn’t want it. It’d probably be out of guilt.”

  I came to peace with his absence a long time ago. At least as much as I could.

  My mother shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. “You can’t let your pain—or your pride—rule your life.”

  “It’s not.” But even as I said it, I felt a weight on my chest from all the painful memories and how I let them change who I once was. With a sigh, I leaned back again. “I’m kinda tired, Ma. Can we talk about this later?”

  “Of course,” was her immediate response. “Please think about this. The doctors still need to test her compatibility. She’s having the tests done this week, but if she is a match…” She shook her head, tears welling again. “Our lives have already changed, and dialysis is an uncertain future. It’s like a hold, a pause, while we wait and hope for a kidney. If you take this one being offered to you, you’ll be able to start living again now. You can get used to your new life, make plans and start getting better. Please, Nicky. Do this for me,” she begged.

  When I was a kid I got called a mama’s boy, and it was always said with disdain. I didn’t get it then or now.

  Was it because I respected her?

  Loved her?

  Wanted to talk to her every day?

  Maybe. But I never felt any shame in it. My ma did more than give birth to me. She was the only family I had. She was a mother and a father, and she made sure I never felt like I was missing out on anything.