This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  Eric finishes off the slice of pizza and then licks his fingers. Matt feels the slice he’d eaten, a lump in his stomach. The silence stretches out for too many long seconds.

  “Where’ve you been?” Matt asks, before the silence gives away just how hard this is for him.

  “Nowhere, really.”

  The vague nonanswer smells like a lie. Matt raises an eyebrow.

  Eric shrugs.

  Just like that, Matt knows where Eric’s been. “You’re seeing Cassie again?”

  “Get out of my head.” His brother drops the chair down on four legs with a clunk.

  “Like you don’t stay in mine!” Matt picked up his soda then slams it down. “What did you just tell me? That we need to heal. Cassie isn’t what I call healing.”

  His brother squeezes his can. The crunch of aluminum sounds tense. “First, this thing with Cassie isn’t what you think. Second, getting involved with someone who’s dying isn’t in the same category as Cassie.”

  Dying. Matt flinches. “Maybe not, and nothing against Cassie, but she dumped you twice, and you went into a funk both times.”

  “I told you, I’m not dating Cassie. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?” Matt hears his mom’s tone in his voice.

  “She’s dealing with something.” Eric exhales as if he’s been carrying around old air, or old pain. Matt feels it too.

  “What kind of something?”

  “Will you stop it!” Eric belts out, then closes his eyes in regret. “She won’t tell me. She won’t tell anyone.” His jaw clenches. “Everyone’s saying she’s been acting weird, so I talked to her, and something’s definitely going on.”

  “Can’t she turn to one of her friends for help?”

  Eric’s posture hardens. “I’m not going back to Cassie.”

  Yeah, you are. Matt can see it, even if Eric can’t.

  The whoosh of a toilet flushing from his mom’s bathroom brings their eyes up and the tension takes an emotional U-turn. Not that it lessens, it just changes lanes.

  Matt hates this lane.

  His dad’s death still hurts, but the way they’re losing their mom is almost as bad. Instead of moving past the hole in her heart that their dad’s death had brought on, she’s curled up inside it. Lives and breathes the grief.

  Matt exhales. “Did you call Aunt Karen?”

  “Yeah.” Eric shakes his head. “She going to call, but she can’t come down. She’s working some big case.” He pauses. “She came down twice last month. We can’t expect her to do more.”

  Matt stares at his hands cupping the cold soda. “Then we have to do more.”

  Eric nods.

  “Maybe we could get Mom out of the house tomorrow,” Matt says. “Go see a movie and eat dinner out. I’ll see if I can get her to go jogging with me. She used to all the time.”

  Eric runs a hand down his face. “We could take her to the plant store. She used to love working in the yard.”

  “Yeah.” Matt closes the pizza box. “You want another piece?”

  “Nah. I’m out of M&Ms. Besides, I went by Desai Diner and ate the food of the gods.”

  “That’s what I smell.” Matt’s brother’s love for anything curry, and chocolate and pizza, are probably the only two differences in their tastes. Well, that and girls.

  Standing, Matt sticks the leftover pizza back in the fridge, then snags his soda and phone. His gaze falls to the scrap of paper with Leah’s number that he’d hidden under his cell. He picks it up, wads it up, feeling the same crumpled sensation in his chest, and tosses it in the garbage.

  Eric is right. When one person in this family hurts, they all hurt. He can’t do that to them.

  3

  MAY 15TH

  Matt wakes up gasping for air. He blinks, trying to make out the images flashing in his head—images of running in the woods. Of fear. From what, he doesn’t know. Just a dream.

  Swiping a hand over his eyes, he sits up. Sharp stabbing pains explode in his head. He pushes his palm over his temple. Agony pulses in his head with each irate thump of his heart.

  Though he’s not certain why he’s angry. He goes to get up, feels dizzy. Feels himself falling. But he’s not falling. He still grabs for the dresser.

  When able to walk, he heads to the bathroom in search of some painkillers. Swallowing two bitter pills without water, he stares at himself in the mirror. For one second he swears he sees Eric standing behind him; then he’s gone.

  Confused, he splashes cold water on his face. The pain fades but leaves a numb sensation.

  He heads back to his room, stopping when he notices Eric’s bedroom door is open. His brother sleeps with it shut. Matt peers in the room. The bed’s unmade, empty. The clock on the bedside table flashes the time. Three A.M.

  He walks to the kitchen thinking his brother is probably eating a bowl of cereal. The kitchen’s as empty as the bed. The ice maker spews out a few chunks of ice. The air conditioner hums cool air through the house. Matt feels cold.

  Frowning, he goes to peer out the living room window. His brother’s car isn’t here. Where the hell is he at three in the morning?

  Damn him, he knows better than to stay out past midnight. Sure, his mom’s no longer enforcing curfews, but they’d agreed to stick by the rules.

  He shoots back to his room to call his brother. Eric’s probably hanging with Cassie again. The ‘not going back with her’ promise hadn’t lasted two weeks. This last month he’s spent more time with Cassie than at home. And Matt sees the effect it’s having on his brother. That girl isn’t good for Eric.

  He snatches up his phone already practicing the hell he’ll give his brother, but then he notices he has a new text. From Eric.

  When did that come in? Two fifty-three. Right before Matt woke up.

  He reads the text. I need … Nothing more. Almost as if Eric had been interrupted and accidentally hit SEND.

  What did Eric need?

  Matt hits the call button. One ring. Two. Three. It goes to voicemail.

  Hey, leave a message.

  “Shit!” Matt mutters. At the beep he says, “Where are you, Eric? Call me. Now.”

  Right then he feels his brother behind him. Relief washes over him.

  “Why are you late?” He swings around. Eric’s not here.

  Not here.

  Not. Here.

  The pain in Matt’s temple starts throbbing again. His stomach churns. He recalls the nightmare of running in the woods and, just like that, he knows. It hadn’t been him in the dream. Eric.

  Chills crawl up Matt’s spine, his neck, all the way up his head. He can’t breathe. His brother’s in trouble. He knows it like his lungs know how to take air. Like his eyes know how to blink. Like his heart knows how to beat.

  His grip on his phone tightens, and he considers dialing 911. But to say what? My brother’s not home? Eric’s only three hours late.

  How can Matt explain this feeling? This emptiness, the not-here feeling that is spreading through him like a virus. His stomach lurches. He rushes to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he pukes. The retching sound echoes in the dark house.

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Tears fill his eyes. No!

  How can he explain to the police the god-awful feeling that’s telling him Eric isn’t just missing? He’s gone.

  “Are you okay?”

  Matt keeps his head over the toilet but glances at his mom. Perched at the door, she’s wearing the sweats she wore yesterday. Her blond hair is a mess—she’s a mess. “Are you sick, hon?”

  He tries to find his voice, but can’t. His throat isn’t working. Not for talking. He pukes again.

  Hands on his knees, his heart thumping in his head, he sees her move to the cabinet. She pulls out a washcloth, runs water over it, then steps closer.

  She brushes the cold wet cloth over his forehead, then lovingly swipes his wet bangs from his brow. Her green eyes meet his. For the first time
in forever, he sees a hint of his old mom. And yet he knows he’ll be losing her again.

  “What’s wrong, Matt?”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Bernard says. To her credit she looks sincerely remorseful.

  Thirty-six hours. That’s how long it had been since Matt woke up knowing. That’s how long it took for the doctors to tell Matt and his mom what he already knew.

  “All of the tests confirmed my fears. There’s no brain activity.”

  His brother’s dead. Brain death they called it.

  He and his mom had called the police. They didn’t seem to take it seriously. That changed at six this morning. The cops showed up on their doorstep with news that Eric had been found at a roadside park. A gunshot to the head. They life-flighted him to a hospital in Houston, where the best doctors work. But not even the best could save him. He was gone.

  The police had found the gun next to his body. The Glock had belonged to their father. Gunpowder residue had been found on Eric’s right hand. One of the cops used the words “possible attempted suicide.”

  Now they’d change it to “suicide.”

  Matt couldn’t wrap his brain around that. He didn’t have the stamina to fight it yet. Fighting didn’t come nearly as naturally to him as to Eric. But as soon as he could breathe right, he planned on correcting the police.

  Yeah, Eric got into funks, and he’d been acting off with the whole Cassie problem, but to kill himself? Not Eric.

  His brother fought and won at everything. School, girls, sports. He didn’t know how to say quit, much less do it. Eric never gave up.

  More important, he’d never leave Matt and his mom like this. He knew what it would do to them.

  His mom lets out a soulful groan that sounds like a wounded animal. Aunt Karen wraps her arm around his mom. Matt had called his aunt first thing and told her they were going to need her. He didn’t need her, but he needed someone to take care of his mom, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t console himself, how the hell was he going to console her?

  Breathing hurt. Blinking hurt. Being alive hurt.

  The doctor leaves. His mom and aunt stand in the middle of the room holding on to each other. There are still three cops hanging around. He wishes they’d go find out what happened instead of just standing here, watching their pain as if they feed on it.

  His mom makes sad noises, and his aunt says, “I know. I know. I know.”

  All that Matt knows is his brother is dead. Gone. He drops into the chair, drops his elbows on his knees, and tries to get his lungs to accept air.

  He stays like that. Eyes closed. Trying to shut everything out, but he can’t. He hears his mom crying, he hears his aunt soothing, he hears his heart breaking. And in the distance he can almost hear the beeping of the machine that forces air into Eric’s lungs.

  Matt breathes in.

  Matt breathes out.

  With the rhythm of the machine.

  That’s all he can do. Breathe. And that doesn’t feel normal.

  He closes his eyes and almost goes to sleep for the first time since it happened. Waking him up are voices. He looks up. There’s a lady in a suit telling his mom something. He doesn’t want to listen, but his mom cries harder. What could they say now that would hurt more than what’s already been said?

  His aunt’s gaze beckons him to come over. Her green eyes, eyes that look just like his mom’s, have more soul, more life. She hadn’t lost her husband and her son.

  He stands and goes to stand by his mother.

  “No,” his mom says. “No.”

  “What?” he says.

  The woman focuses on him. “I’m with the transplant center. I know this is very difficult, and your loss is so great, but you have a chance to save—”

  “Yes,” he says before the woman finishes.

  In the back of his mind, he remembers Leah and others who would get a second chance at life. But his heart hurts too much to think about her; he just knows that this is what Eric wanted.

  “But I can’t live with the thought of them taking…”

  “Stop it, Mom!” Matt says. “Eric wanted this. You can’t deny him that.”

  “I will not let them do this,” his mom snaps.

  He tries to find patience. Digs deep, but he doesn’t find much. He curls his hands up. “Eric and I registered when we signed up for our licenses. He told me he wanted to do this. I’m not going to let you stop it.”

  “He never told me.”

  He might have if you’d ever come out of your bedroom. Thank God he finds the thread of strength not to say what he feels. Deep down he knows this isn’t his mom’s fault. It’s not Eric’s fault either.

  “Well, he told me. It’s on his license.” He looks at the woman and sees she has Eric’s license on her clipboard. He takes the board from her hand and shows it to his mom. Then he looks back at the woman. “Yes. The answer’s yes.”

  The woman looks at his mom. Tears run down her cheeks. She nods, turns around, buries herself in her sister’s arms and sobs.

  * * *

  I’m reading a romance novel. The first kiss is about to happen. The phone rings. It’s not him, I tell myself.

  It rings again. I frown, now completely pulled out of the story. Not so much from the ring, but from hope that won’t die. It’s been a month.

  It’s not even my phone. He wouldn’t call my home number.

  Then I start ticking off every reason he would. He lost my cell number. He wanted to make sure that it was okay with my parents if he called me. Yup, sadly even after all this time, every time a phone rings, I hold my breath and wait for my mother to call my name and tell me it’s for me. I allow myself to wish for something that I shouldn’t.

  “Leah!” My mom’s voice rings all the way down the hall to my room. I suck in a quick breath, slap my romance novel closed, and look up as mom stops in my door. Mom with a phone in her hand. Mom with a strange look on her face. Hope flutters in my stomach like a butterfly beating its wings for the first time.

  “Is it for me?”

  She nods.

  I smile. I stand up. That smile curls up inside my chest. I hold my hand out for the phone. I’m trembling inside. I try to think of what to say. I don’t want to sound too eager, but …

  Mom doesn’t move. “Give it to me.”

  She blinks. “We … You. There’s a heart available.” Her voice sounds like she’s inhaled helium.

  It’s not Matt, or Eric. It’s … I digest what she said. Then it’s like time stops. The air from my pink polka-dot ceiling fan whispers across my bare skin, and I feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. “You sure?” I shake my head, certain she’s mistaken.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “Shit,” I say, and hear it like it’s too loud. My knees start to give, and I lock them. My plans hadn’t included … living. It’s not that it’s an unwelcome change; it’s just a huge change. One that includes … getting my chest cracked back open.

  I drop back onto the mattress. The memory foam sucks me down. I’m stunned. I’m numb. Oh, shit! I’m scared.

  My hands shake.

  Mom smiles and cries at the same time. “Come on.” She rubs her hands down the side of her pants. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  I’m getting dizzy watching them, but I can’t look away. I can’t …

  “We have to go. They want you there in an hour and a half. I’m calling your dad. Grab your bag from the closet. You’re getting a heart, baby! You’re getting a heart.”

  Standing, I feel numb and yet top heavy, as if I have too much emotion in my chest. I grab my extra battery that’s charged and ready to go. I stick it in my backpack. I slip my shoes on. They feel too tight. Like they belong to someone else.

  In less than five minutes we are out of the house. Dad works close to Houston. He’s meeting us there. Mom keeps talking. I stop listening. I stare out the side window and watch the world pass by. Cars. Trees. Houses. People.

  I wish I’d have remem
bered to bring a book. Something to help me forget this fear.

  “It’s gonna be fine,” Mama says when we’re a mile from the hospital, and I’m almost certain she’s said it around a hundred times by now.

  I want to believe her. I really try. I try not to remember the statistics of how many don’t make it through the surgery. I try not to think about the person who just died. The person whose heart is going to be put into my chest.

  I wonder how old they are? I wonder if someone is crying for them. Then my vision blurs and I realize I’m crying. Crying for them. Crying because I’m scared. Crying because if something goes wrong, I’ll die. Today. I could die. Today.

  I’m not ready. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself about accepting it. Or maybe it’s just because I haven’t completed my bucket list. I haven’t graduated yet. I haven’t read a hundred books. Haven’t figured out if it was Matt or Eric who I kissed.

  I haven’t lived enough.

  * * *

  Matt stands in the hall, leaning against the wall. He ignores the nurses, doctors, the hospital sounds, and the smells. His mom and his aunt have gone into the room to say goodbye. They come out, looking older than when they went in. He tells them to go on back to the hotel. He wants to say goodbye alone. His mom argues. Then her sad eyes meet his, and she relents.

  They start out, but his aunt swings around and hugs him. “You sure you’re okay?”

  There is nothing okay about this. But he forces the lie out. “Yeah.”

  He watches them walk down the long hall, getting smaller and smaller. Only when they turn does he walk into his brother’s room. His lungs feel like they have liquid in them. He sits in a chair next to his brother’s bed. He can’t look at him.

  The machine beeps, beeps, beeps and makes swishing sounds. Finally, he forces himself to watch his brother’s chest go up and down. “Hey,” he says. Not that he believes his brother is there. Or maybe he does.

  He looks at his brother’s face, almost completely bandaged. “A lot of damage,” they’d said earlier.

  Closing his eyes, Matt sits there, his heart beats with the machine. Thu … thump. Thu … thump. He closes his eyes. After a minute, or maybe ten, he opens them.