This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  Dad glances back at Mom. “She’s going to hear about it.”

  “Hear about what?” I move in.

  “There’s a story about you,” Dad says.

  “Me? About finding the bullet?”

  No one answers.

  And bam, I remember the article the press did on me when I got my artificial heart. I hated doing it. But Mom told me I should because it would encourage people to become donors and Old Leah didn’t argue. Still, I had imagined everyone from school reading it, knowing I was dying.

  “About the heart transplant?” I ask.

  Mom nods, but clearly she’s still hiding something. “What else?”

  Dad looks up. “Were you aware that Matt’s brother died the same day you got your heart?”

  I catch my breath. “What … are they saying?”

  Dad looks concerned. “They pointed out that Eric was a donor. They interviewed one of his friends. And they say you got a heart and … and … that you helped get him justice.”

  “It’s a good article,” Mom pipes up, “about people signing their donor cards. They don’t say that you got the transplant the same day. We just…”

  I stand there shaking my head. Mom moves in. “Honey, don’t even go there. It’s impossible. Eric would have to have had AB blood. And you know how rare—”

  “No one is supposed to know!” My chest tightens, squeezes. Tighter.

  I imagine everyone reading the article. Everyone knowing I have Eric’s heart. I think of Matt’s friends. How will they feel about me? Will they think Matt’s with me because of this? And I was starting to feel almost normal at school! Now I’m back to being the freak. A freak who benefited from them losing the most popular guy in school, their quarterback, their friend.

  I suddenly can’t breathe.

  I grab hold of the back of a chair.

  “Leah, you okay?” Mom grabs me.

  I lock my knees to keep from falling, nod, and pull away. I manage to move around and sit down. On my own.

  “You okay?” Dad repeats Mom’s question.

  Tears fill my eyes. I nod and keep trying to pull oxygen into my lungs, inconspicuously, which is almost impossible.

  “Honey,” Dad says. “It would have to be … a perfect storm that you actually got his heart.”

  I look at him. I’m shaking inside. I’m barely getting air.

  Dad stares at me. He always has been able to read me. “Shit.”

  Mom says, “What?”

  “What type of blood does Matt have?” Dad asks.

  “Why?” Mom asks.

  “They’re identical twins.” Dad’s gaze finds me again. He knows. He knows it’s true.

  My lungs loosen. I feed them oxygen. Air pumps blood to my brain. To my limbs. I’m able to move. I take the newspaper. Ignoring my parents, I open it up. There’s a photograph of me. It’s from when I got the artificial heart. I’m wearing my backpack.

  I’ve got dark circles under my eyes. It was taken the day I left the hospital. I looked like I was dying. I was dying.

  The title reads HEART TRANSPLANT RECIPIENT HELPS HEART TRANSPLANT DONOR GET JUSTICE.

  I start producing fresh tears. They’ll know. People aren’t stupid. They’ll do the math. They’ll know. And they won’t be like Matt. They won’t understand. They’ll blame me.

  I get up, take the paper with me, and go to my room. Mom calls me back. I ignore her.

  I get dressed, grab the paper and my purse, and walk out. Mom tries to stop me.

  I look at her. “I just need to be alone. Please.”

  Mom says no. Dad takes her hand and nods at me.

  I leave.

  * * *

  I don’t have a clue where I’m going. But I end up at the park where Matt and I walk Lady. I get to our bench and read the article. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. It’s more about becoming a donor than about me or Eric, but I know it’s enough. Enough for some people to start putting it together.

  I sit there for almost fifteen minutes before I grab my phone and dial Matt. I wonder what he will say about it. Probably the right thing. He always says the right thing. I need to hear him say it won’t matter. That I’m overreacting.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he answers the phone. “Did your parents say it was okay for you to come out tonight?”

  “Uh, I didn’t ask. Matt—”

  “Hang on, I’m coming up to an intersection.”

  I pause. When he comes back I ask, “Where are you?”

  “We’re out of dog food. I’m running to the vet.”

  “I’m at the park,” I say.

  “Our park?” he asks.

  Our park. Knowing he sees it the same way I do offers me a sense of awe. “Yeah.”

  “I just passed it. I’ll turn around. Be right there.”

  “I’m at the bench,” I say right before he hangs up.

  In less than five minutes I hear him coming. He takes one look at me and says, “What’s wrong?”

  It’s only then I realize I don’t think I’ve even combed my hair. Or does he see it in my eyes?

  “You haven’t read it?”

  He drops down, leans in, and kisses me. “Read what?”

  I hold it out. “It points out that Eric was a donor.” He takes it. Scans it. Then moans. “Is this in today’s paper?”

  I nod.

  “Shit!” he says.

  I bite down on my lip. “I’m scared people will start putting it together and then they’ll hate me.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Who told them he was a donor?”

  “It says a friend,” I say.

  “I should…” He stands up. “Mom went to show a house. I should go before…” He leans down to kiss me goodbye.

  “She’ll hate me, won’t she?” I ask.

  “No … I don’t…” Then he exhales. “She resisted donating his organs. I … She’s doing so good and I don’t want…” He closes his eyes a second, then opens them. “I’ll call you.” He kisses me again. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

  But I don’t see. Not in his expression. He’s scared of his mom knowing. He’s probably scared of his friends knowing too.

  As he walks off, I remember something. I remember his mom calling me Lori. Did Matt tell her I was Lori just in case … in case she heard about a girl named Leah who got a heart transplant?

  I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them. This is so messed up.

  And even as I let my own issues consume me and feel slightly abandoned by Matt, I realize how selfish I’m being. I’m worried about how people will feel about me, but I’m alive. Eric isn’t. And now he finally has a chance at getting justice. Isn’t my privacy a small price to pay?

  * * *

  When Matt arrives home, his mom’s car is in the drive. The newspaper isn’t on the lawn. “Damn!” He walks in. She’s in the kitchen, at the table. The newspaper is open.

  He doesn’t know how much she’ll put together. She might not even recognize Leah. Leah looks really bad in the picture. He sits down beside her. He’s holding his breath.

  She glances up. Tears rim her eyes, and his chest knots.

  “When did Leah get her heart?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Does she … You don’t think she has Eric’s heart, do you?”

  He could say he doesn’t know. He could lie. But maybe it’s time. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  She swallows. It sounds painful. “How do you know?”

  “The afternoon when we signed the papers, I saw her and her parents going into the hospital. I knew her. She went to my school, and I knew she was on the transplant list. I figured it out.”

  His mom looks back down at the paper. “I’m such a terrible person.”

  This isn’t what he expected her to say. “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. I didn’t want to do it. And even now, when I look at her”—her voice shakes—“I think she’s alive and Eric’s isn’t.”

/>   He rests his hand on hers. “That doesn’t make you terrible.” He hates admitting it, but he does. “I felt like that when I first saw her at the hospital. It’s normal.”

  She brushes tears off her cheeks. “Do you feel him? When you’re with her, do you feel Eric?”

  He thinks of the dreams, the connection he feels with Leah. “There are some things. She suddenly started liking Indian food. But … I don’t feel Eric when I’m with her. At first, I thought I would. She’s her own person. But I’m proud. She’s only alive because of Eric. It was his idea to sign up to be a donor, not mine.”

  This is the first time he said that aloud. “I only did it because he did. I even asked him, ‘But don’t you think the doctors might let us die just so they can sell our parts?’ Eric laughed. Accused me of reading too many horror books.”

  She covers her mouth a second. “He wasn’t afraid of anything. Both of you are like your dad.”

  “Eric was,” Matt says. “I think I’m more like you, Mom.” Too emotional. More cautious.

  “I think you got more of your dad in you than you think. You found out what really happened to Eric. It took courage to look for the truth when nobody would believe you.”

  Be he had Leah’s help and Leah believed him. “You know, I don’t feel Eric when I’m with her, but in some ways I think Leah and Eric are alike. I tutored her once when she had an artificial heart. She didn’t seem afraid either. I don’t think she even realizes how brave she is. But she’s a good person, Mom. She deserves Eric’s heart.”

  “I’m sure she does, son. It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

  * * *

  Mom and Dad are waiting for me when I step in the door. I meet their eyes, which are loaded with questions.

  Mom rushes forward. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just … I didn’t want people to know. Everyone loved Eric so much.” I swallow the knot in my throat and again push back the feeling that it’s all about me.

  “But, baby,” Mom says, “how can you be sure you…?”

  As I drove home, I’d decided not to mention the dreams. It sounded too weird. “I saw his obituary before I left the hospital. I knew he died the day I got the transplant. And I also knew that Matt had AB blood, so Eric did too.”

  Dad walks over. He’s wearing his I’ll-take-on-the-world face. The expression he wore most of the time when I was sick. “Honey, if Matt said anything ugly—”

  “No! He’s known. He saw us coming into the hospital that day. We talked about it before we even got together.”

  Dad inhales. “Then obviously, he’s okay with it. If he can be—”

  “It’s not that easy, Dad. He’s worried about his mom. She didn’t want Eric to be a donor. She lost her son and she’d already lost her husband.”

  Mom gets tears in her eyes. “But it’s not your fault.”

  “No, but she’s going to hate me. So are his friends. To be honest I kind of hate me too. I benefited from something so terrible.” I start sobbing and Dad grabs me and pulls me into his chest. It’s my safe haven, but I don’t feel safe right now.

  In the end, Mom and Dad tell me the same thing Matt did. “Don’t Worry. Everything is gonna be all right.”

  * * *

  It’s going to be all right. And for the next few days I believe it. My parents take back my grounding. Mom, Dad, and Matt survive the awkwardness of the truth being out. Awkward because Mom hugs him and thanks him. I cringe. I mean, it sounds like she’s thanking him for his brother dying.

  According to Matt, his mom is working on accepting that I have her son’s heart. I don’t ask him about why she called me Lori. But it still bothers me.

  On Sunday, Matt’s hanging with his friends. I curl up with a book. A few minutes later, I get a text. From Matt. Playing ball. Ted’s girl is here. Wanna come watch? I might take my shirt off.

  I laugh. I’m tempted. But I’m … tired. I text back. Just got into a book.

  I go back to reading.

  An hour later, I’m jarred awake. “Leah? You okay?”

  I wake up. Mom’s standing over me. The book’s on my chest. “Just fell asleep. I’m all right.”

  But when I go to get up, there’s the slightest rumble of my heart. Boom, boom, boom.

  I check my breathing. It’s okay. When Mom leaves the room, I check my blood pressure. It’s okay. I’m okay, I assure myself.

  Monday comes. Teenagers obviously don’t read the paper. Or so it seems, because nothing is said. A few people stare, but mostly when Matt and I are together. I think they’re still trying to figure out why is Matt Kenner hanging with Leah McKenzie?

  Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out too.

  Otherwise, nothing is that different.

  Nothing except I’m tired.

  Maybe it’s the worrying over the article. And the lying the week before. As I head to my last class that afternoon, I have trouble making the long walk between my classes. I have trouble catching my breath when I get there. I’m okay, I assure myself. And when I do a second check, my breathing is fine.

  Matt and I skip school on Tuesday. We go to a bookstore. We each choose a book. Then we pick out a book for each other. We eat pizza with gooey cheese for lunch, go to my house, and make love in my pink bed.

  Cuddled up in each other’s arms, I’m loving life. Loving Matt. Enjoying every second of skipping school. I want to start writing things down on my bucket list and marking them off.

  Matt talks about working on the Mustang. There’s something slightly different about his voice now. It’s lost more of the grief. Listening, I fall asleep. When he kisses me awake, I’m embarrassed.

  That afternoon, before he leaves, Henderson calls Matt. We learn Officer Yates cratered and admitted he shot Eric. He claims it was self-defense. Claims Eric came at him with his dad’s gun, they wrestled, and the gun went off. Matt puts his phone on speaker, and I hear Detective Henderson say, “Don’t worry. He’s going to have a very hard time making any court believe it. Especially since his bullet in the tree shows he most likely fired first. And we have testimony from Cassie’s mom that indicates Yates was the aggressor, so we have a very strong case.”

  We hug and dance around the room. Then I drop on my bed. I feel my heart pounding. Happy pounds.

  I hear that Bob Marley song that was in The Little Mermaid, about everything’s gonna be all right. It sounds like a promise. One that’s so easy to believe. But I know The Little Mermaid is a fairy tale. In fairy tales people don’t get viruses that kill their hearts. In fairy tales, there are no transplants.

  And if they did have a transplant, it would never be rejected.

  I decide to check my vitals that night, and I plan to do it again in the morning. Everything is going to be all right. Only the next morning, I almost don’t have time. I’m so tired. Mom has to come into my room and poke me awake. “You okay, lazybones?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” The song lyrics “don’t worry … every little thing gonna be all right” are stuck in my head, but on Friday I know it’s a lie when I pick up my backpack to go to my last class and I can’t catch my breath. It’s not the good kind of breathlessness that I get when Matt kisses me or when we make love. This is the kind of breathlessness that reminds me of monsters. Of pain. Not even my pain, but others. Of the people who care about me.

  I go to the nurse’s office. Check my temperature and blood pressure. It’s fine. It’s okay.

  But I know it’s not. I felt like this a month before I was diagnosed with a deadly virus. A week before my life got sucked down the toilet. Before I lost everything. My dignity. My sense of self. My belief in a future.

  I leave the nurse’s office, but instead of going to history class, I go to the bathroom and google “symptoms of heart rejection.” Feeling tired or weak is symptom number one. Number two: heart palpitations. Number three: breathlessness.

  I remember the times I thought the shit had hit the fan and then realized I was just panicki
ng. Am I doing it again?

  That thought keeps me from calling Mom. Keeps me at school.

  Matt shows up at my locker before last period talking about us going to the college after school. He says I agreed to it on Tuesday. I don’t remember. Probably when I was half asleep in bed with him. But I don’t say anything.

  I wait until after school. Hoping the Friday buzz will revive me. And I’ll feel silly. I’ll feel like New Leah again.

  39

  Leaving school, I don’t feel the Friday buzz. Just the Friday busted.

  Matt meets me at my car. He kisses me. I want to forget everything. I want to go back to the beach, listen to the waves. I crave the happy silence from that day. The way it felt to have his arms around me. To be about to make love for the first time.

  He ends the kiss. “I think you missed me today.”

  And bam, the thought hits. I’m going to miss him for the rest of my life. I swallow.

  “You want to take one car to the college?”

  “How about let’s do that next week,” I say.

  “Don’t,” he says.

  “Don’t what?” I ask.

  “Start the one-day-at-a-time crap. I told you: it scares me.”

  It does me too. But I own this. Not him.

  “I can’t handle it, remember?” he says.

  “Yeah, I remember.” It’s why he bailed the first time.

  It’s why I have to do this.

  I tilt my chin up. “You lied to your mother, didn’t you?”

  “What?” he asks.

  “You told her my name was Lori.” I use it, because in truth it kind of hurt.

  Guilt flashes in his eyes. “I was afraid she…”

  “Couldn’t handle it. Runs in the family, doesn’t it?” It’s such a low blow, but I use it, because, damn it, it hurt me too.

  You couldn’t pay me to hurt Matt, but I just don’t want him to have to see it. Of all the things I’ve experienced in this life, he’s the best.

  Let’s say I’m imagining it. Let’s say I’ve become a paranoid sick kid and I’m not rejecting the heart now. It still could happen.

  If not today, tomorrow. If not this week, the next. If not this year …

  I will never be able to live in years. I’ll always be looking over my shoulder for that monster. And Matt can’t handle it. He shouldn’t have to handle it.