This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  He chuckles. “There was nine and half. And they were very memorable pages.”

  “Well, you would hope so.” I blurt out.

  He starts laughing again and rolls on top of me, keeping most of his weight on his elbows. “When I finished reading it, all I could think was … I want that. The teasing, the flirting, the … sex. I want it with you.” He kisses me.

  I feel his weight, his body on mine in all the right places. I want the same things he does. But when I think about getting naked, I’m not ready.

  He ends the kiss then and rolls off of me. “I think we should … uh, get off the bed.”

  We both get up. I watch him move to the closet to find a shirt. I watch as he slips it on. It’s not quite as sexy as it was watching him take one off, but I’m still mesmerized.

  * * *

  Saturday morning, the alarm is the most unwelcome sound. I slap it off. Take my temperature, take my blood pressure. All’s normal. I lay there, let the lazy feeling pull me back in. I think of Matt’s kisses. I think of making love. I think about us going to college together. Of making career paths.

  I doze off. So lazy. Gotta take my pills. I try to get up, but my body won’t let me. I’m tired. No. More than tired. I’m debilitated.

  Bam! I remember. I remember feeling this way 24/7 before I got the artificial heart. When my heart was … dying. When I was dying.

  I force myself to sit up. Am I okay? Am I dreaming this?

  I sit there, breathe in, breathe out. I do a mental medical check. The fogginess of sleep leaves me. Maybe I was just half asleep? I stand up. I sit back down. I lift my hands up in the air. Hold them up. To show myself I can. Because there was a time when I could only hold them up for five seconds.

  I start counting.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I get to ten. There’s no effort needed. Tears are falling from my cheeks. I’m fine. Then again, I’m not fine. I’m afraid.

  I’m afraid of dying. I put a hand over my mouth to keep the cry from escaping.

  I don’t want to go back. Haven’t I already been there? Forced myself into accepting death. Now is it too much to ask that I can accept living? That I can count on it? Plan for it.

  Then it hits me. I know what brought this on.

  I’m afraid to believe I can think as far ahead as years. I suppose living with an expiration date on your ass can screw you up a bit.

  But living in fear isn’t living. I have to stop.

  I sit back down. Give myself a pep talk. I’m alive.

  I finally stand up. I’m tired, but not debilitating tired. It’s my first week back to school, and I was out until midnight; then I stayed awake thinking about how good it felt to kiss Matt. How it felt to touch him and how his hands felt touching me.

  Then I recall the dream that woke me up again. I frown when I realize I didn’t write anything down. I close my eyes and see a flash. I see a gun falling, and right after I hear the explosion. I don’t know how much the cops could tell if the bullet came from below, or if Eric would still have gunpowder on his hands.

  Then it hits. Shit. Am I now having the same dream as Matt?

  I drop back down, pick up my notebook, trying to remember, but I realize it’s five past nine and Mom’s probably drumming her fingers on the table impatiently.

  I pop back up and head to the kitchen. Mom and Dad are at the table. Mom looks worried.

  I see the words on her lips. You’re late.

  They remain unspoken but they’re still loud. She needs to stop worrying. So do I.

  I pull a glass from the cabinet, go to the fridge, and pour a glass of milk. Grabbing my pills, I drop into a chair beside them and take my pills.

  I remember leaving Matt to run to the restroom at the theater and to take my pills, so he wouldn’t see. I need to explain things to him.

  Mom and Dad are staring. Something else is going on.

  “What?” I say.

  “Did you have a good time?” Mom asks.

  Then I feel it. I feel the elephant in the room. Oh, shit.

  This isn’t just any elephant, it’s a pink polka-dot one and it’s wearing a purple tutu.

  “I did not have sex!” I say.

  “We didn’t ask.” Dad blushes. He bypasses pink and goes all the way to red.

  Mom grins.

  “Yeah, but you’re thinking it. I see it on both of your faces.” Neither of them denies it.

  “I don’t think you’re ready,” Dad mouths off. “You’re only in high school, young lady.”

  My mouth opens and words spill out. Words that I didn’t plan. “Well it’s not like you two are virgins. If you were, I wouldn’t be here. And don’t think I haven’t heard your creaky bed springs.” I grimace and shiver at the thought. “When I do, I can’t get to my iPod and headphones quick enough.”

  Holy mother of pearl! Did I just say that? Now I’m blushing.

  Mom laughs. Dad looks horrified. I jump up, grab a breakfast bar, and shoot off to my room.

  I’m barely out of the kitchen when I realize I’m smiling. Maybe it’s seeing Dad embarrassed. Maybe it’s just me being embarrassed. Or maybe it’s because I’m honestly thinking about having sex. No, not just sex. Sex with Matt.

  As awkward as that conversation was, it makes it feel … real. And it makes me feel normal. A normal girl doing normal things. Like fighting about having sex with your parents. I like being normal.

  And normal means having a future. I need to start planning for one.

  * * *

  Four hours after the sex talk with my parents, the doorbell rings. I run to open it. Mom and Dad are in the breakfast room, which offers a full view of the living room and front entrance. Matt nods a quick hello to my parents. They nod back. Mom smiles. Dad gives Matt the stink eye. I’m almost worried Dad’s gonna blurt out something embarrassing.

  I’ll die if he does.

  “Where’s Lady?” I ask Matt, hoping to dissolve some of the tension.

  “I … left her at home … didn’t want to chance her having another accident in your house.” Subtly, he shifts from foot to foot. He’s nervous but trying to hide it. I’m as nervous as he is.

  I shoot Mom a pleading look to reign in Dad. She elbows him.

  “Uh, let me grab my coat and we’ll go walk,” I blurt out.

  Matt appears surprised. Originally we’d decided to study first, but his quick nod tells me he’s as eager to get the hell out of here as I am.

  In less than one minute we’re out of the house. As we move to his car, Matt doesn’t even touch me. Doesn’t speak.

  We crawl into his car. I’m trying to figure out what to say.

  He drives off, and we get a block from my house when he pulls the car to the side of the road and puts it in park. Then he leans over the console and kisses me. It’s not a short kiss.

  When it ends, he keeps his forehead on mine and opens his eyes. “I missed you. I barely slept last night. Every time I rolled over, I could smell you on my pillow.”

  I grin. “I’m not sorry for keeping you up, but I’m sorry about … my dad.”

  “He doesn’t like me, does he?”

  “Actually he does. He’s just being overprotective. Don’t let him … scare you off.” The moment I say the words, I realize how much I mean them. I can’t lose Matt. I’m not sure how he’s become such an essential part of me, or of the New Leah, but he has.

  “Never.” The one word holds a promise. He drives off.

  I’m feeling so light, so gushy warm from being with him, that I forget where we’re going. When we get to the roadside park, the glow inside me fades to black.

  There’s a white cross at the edge of the property that someone put there in memory of Eric. It’s fallen. It looks forgotten.

  So are my lungs. I draw in a needed breath. We get out of the car, and I wonder exactly where they found Eric.

  Matt doesn’t speak—not one word. I know he’s feeling this. This overwhelmi
ng spooky sadness.

  We walk past the picnic table toward the path. I’m the one who suggested we come here. Is it too late to unsuggest it?

  It’s so weird. Like walking into a bubble of déjà vu. Or entering into an alternate world.

  I know these woods. The smells. The sounds. I’ve listened and memorized the way the wind blows through the trees. Even as I stand, completely still, I can feel the bottom of my feet pelting the ground. I’ve run these paths. The fear swelling inside me isn’t new. It’s not just inside me. It’s here. It lives and lingers here like invisible footprints.

  My footprints. But only in my dreams. When I wasn’t me—when the heart thumping in my chest wasn’t mine. But Eric’s.

  A shiver tiptoes up my spine. My lungs cling to my last breath, as if fearing it will be the last. Right then I know that’s how Eric felt. He knew he was dying.

  Matt starts walking, and I grab his hand.

  He stops, faces me. “You okay? If you don’t want to do this, we can leave.”

  No, I will not let fear win. “I’m fine. It’s just eerie. I … feel like I’ve been here. But I haven’t.”

  “I know.” There’s pain in his voice. “We can leave.”

  “No,” I say with confidence.

  He presses a soft worried-about-you kiss on my lips.

  When he pulls back, I force a smile. “I’m okay.” It’s only a white lie.

  We walk hand in hand down the path for the next ten minutes, both of us looking from side to side. Both quiet.

  I tell myself I’m not alone. Matt’s here.

  As is Eric. I feel him. Another chill dances across my skin.

  The breeze picks up. I stop when I see a dense stand of trees. The sensation that I’ve been here, right here, is stronger.

  30

  Matt studies me as if worried I’m freaking out.

  Maybe I am, a little.

  I sink into my jacket. The temperature is down in the forties. It’s not just cold. It’s a wet cold. Bone-chilling cold. It rained earlier, and the smell of damp earth is pungent.

  As a winter wind brushes past, Matt’s palm is reassuringly warm against mine.

  I look down, brushing my foot across the dead brown leaves littering the ground. I think of the murder books where the police find bullet casings.

  “Next time we should bring metal detectors,” I say.

  “Can we rent those?” He steps away; his palm slips out of mine. I feel the loss.

  “We have some.” I’m looking at the ground. “I used to go to Galveston Beach treasure hunting.”

  “Did you ever find any treasure?”

  “A necklace.” I brush my foot back and forth, stirring the wet leaves. “A locket, real gold. I keep it in my jewelry box on my dresser.”

  “Why don’t you wear it?” He’s pushing leaves away with his foot as well.

  I glance up. “Because it’s not mine. And … it feels sad.”

  “Sad?”

  “It was empty. No pictures.”

  “Maybe she just hadn’t put a picture in it.”

  “Maybe.” Then I say what I really think. “I think she drowned. No one missed her. Her life was empty like the locket. I used to think about her a lot.” Especially when I was dying. I told myself I was lucky. At least I had parents who loved me.

  He bumps his shoulder against mine. “See, you should be a writer. You can give her a happy ending.”

  I smile and wish I hadn’t sounded so melodramatic. Back when I was dying, I had a real problem with that. I don’t think I was depressed. It was as if thinking about other people’s pain kept me from thinking about mine.

  Matt continues to look at me. “Maybe we should come back later with the metal detectors?”

  I pull my coat tighter. “Yeah.” We start back, and he holds my hand. “Next week, do you want to go to the college for a tour?” My voice is low.

  “Yeah.” He looks surprised. “Why did you think of that now?”

  “I don’t want my life to be like the one I imagined for the girl who owned the locket. I want to live.” And I want someone special in my life. Someone I’d put a picture of in a locket. I’d like it to be him.

  We get out of the woods, and I see the downed cross. My mind whispers back to Eric. Matt lets go of my hand.

  He walks over. Picking up the weather-worn cross, he pushes it back into the soft ground.

  I fight the sting in my eyes. I refuse to cry when I know it hurts him more. But, damn it, I want to help him—to stop his pain. If I had a choice, I’d give Eric’s heart back. I would.

  He starts back to the car. I follow. He hits the clicker to unlock it. Instead of getting into the car, I turn and hug him.

  “I’m sorry.” My words are muffled by his shoulder.

  We don’t kiss. We stand there for the longest time. Matt leaning against his car—me leaning against him. Our arms around each other.

  Our hair is tossed in the breeze. A few cars pass, just a reminder that the world is happening around us. But for me none of that world matters. It’s just me and Matt.

  It feels right. I could stay like this forever. It’s not so cold when I’m in his arms. I’m not someone who was recently dying. I’m someone who is living.

  His warmth is mine, and mine is his. Together we are stronger.

  He pulls back. “Thank you.”

  I don’t ask for what. I know he feels this. The connection. The way we are together. We’re better.

  “I called Detective Henderson.” Matt says.

  “And?”

  “He wasn’t in.”

  “We’re going to solve this,” I say. And I pray I’m right.

  * * *

  On Monday, Matt still hadn’t heard back from Detective Henderson, so he calls the office again. Mrs. Johnson informs him that the detective is on vacation and won’t be back until next week. Matt’s frustrated—he even wonders if she isn’t lying—but without another option, he resigns himself to wait. Thanks to Leah, focusing on her, he gets through the next few days.

  On Wednesday they go to the park with the metal detectors and find nothing, and his frustration ignites again.

  Thursday after school, feeling as if he’s losing it, he drives over to Ted’s house, where he knows his friends are shooting hoops. After all the hellos, they toss him the ball and expect him to join in.

  He stands there, looks at them, and does what he’s been meaning to do. “Did any of you see Eric that last week? Did he say anything, anything about Cassie and why they broke up?”

  Their game-on expressions drop. Most of them won’t look him in the eyes. He knows this makes them uncomfortable. But they were Eric’s friends, too, damn it. Why can’t they help? Why can’t they at least talk about Eric? It’s not like he didn’t exist!

  Matt doesn’t move. He stands there staring, the basketball clutched between his hands. They finally start talking. Only to claim they don’t know anything. Ted’s the only one who doesn’t speak up.

  And because Ted was the closest to him and Eric, it hurts the most. “Did you talk to him?” Matt asks.

  Ted still doesn’t look at him.

  “Talk to me, damn it!” Matt snaps.

  Ted lifts his gaze. “You asked us already.”

  “I thought maybe you might have remembered something.”

  Ted rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s hurts, man. It hurts thinking about him. And it’s hurting you too. Isn’t it time you…”

  “Forget about him?” Matt yells. “It’s so damn easy for all of you, isn’t it? What kind of fucking friends are you?”

  Matt knows it isn’t fair. He knows it when he leaves.

  He knows it on Friday when he finds Ted in the hall and offers a quick, “Sorry.”

  Matt starts to leave, and Ted speaks up. “I haven’t forgotten. I think we’re all just trying to move past it.”

  “I know,” Matt says, then goes to find Leah. The one thing he knows—at least for a moment—can help him mov
e past it.

  He finds her just before she steps into class.

  “Hi.” She looks at him through dark lashes, her lips pursed in a bow. He wants to kiss her now. Not just a sterile, stolen kiss—but one that ends with them both out of breath.

  He stops himself. They’re going to study at her house after school, and with her mom now working, he can kiss her all he wants then.

  “Still nothing from Detective Henderson?” she asks.

  “No, but I’m leaving after first period to talk to him.”

  “You’re skipping school?” Her oh-gawd tone tells him she’s never done that.

  “Not skipping,” he says. “I wrote a note and faked Mom’s signature that I have a dentist appointment.”

  She stops walking. “That’s brave.”

  “Not really.” He smiles at her innocence. “How about we skip school one day. Spend the whole day, just us, doing … whatever. Movies. Go to the bookstore.” Make out.

  Her eyes widen. “I’ve never skipped.” Doubt shows in her voice.

  “We’re seniors. We’re supposed to do that. It’s a rite of passage.”

  They hurry to his locker to grab his notebook. Right before they walk into the classroom, she comes to a quick stop and faces him.

  “Okay,” she says.

  He’s lost. “Okay what?”

  “Let’s skip school. Soon.”

  Biting her lip like she does when she’s nervous, he gets the idea he’s pressuring her. “We don’t have to—”

  “No.” She looks so serious and scared. “Old Leah wouldn’t do it. But New Leah … It’s like you said: it’s a rite of passage. I don’t want to find myself dying without having done it.”

  Her words rake over nerves, bringing pain to the surface. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t what?” she asks, frowning.

  “Act like you’re dying. It’s not the first time,” he says. “It scares the hell out of me.”

  She buries her teeth back into her bottom lip. They stand in the doorway staring at each other. He suddenly realizes he’s being an ass. “Sorry,” he whispers.

  The bell rings and students are waiting on them. Matt finally starts walking in, and Leah does the same.