The Heart Between Us

by Lindsay Harrel

  But given a little love and attention, it would shine. She just knew it.

  “I want this project, sir.” She tried not to let the giddiness in her bubble to the surface. But it was the first time in forever that she’d felt excited about a project. No way could she let anyone else work on it.

  “Glad to hear it. Because it’s going to be an important one.”

  “In what way?”

  “It could be your ticket to a promotion.”

  Crystal sobered. These were the words she’d longed to hear.

  “As you know, being a smaller boutique firm, we take a long view of things and tend to groom our senior architects for partnership. They also take on some management responsibilities, so it’s not just about being creative. It’s about communication, dedication, hard work—all of which I believe you have in spades.”

  Tony raised an eyebrow in her direction. “It’s no secret I’ve been singing your praises for years now, but the others aren’t convinced. Yes, you’ve done fabulous work in the past, but lately . . . Well, they want to know you can really handle the senior architect position.”

  “I can, Tony. You know I can.”

  “As I said, I have faith in you, but a few others believe Meredith would be a better fit. Given its size, the Lerner project is a good opportunity to test your merit. I’m going to ask both of you to prepare proposals separately, and we’ll present them to Mr. Lerner and his team. If he chooses one over the other, the selection will be clear.”

  Okay, so not exactly what she wanted to hear.

  But even though her work had been subpar lately, the fact she had a chance to work on the James Lawrence building in order to secure this promotion had to mean something. If she believed in divine signs, she’d take this as one. That job was as good as hers. “Understood, sir. When is the proposal due?”

  “That’s the good news. We have some time. About two months, in fact.”

  “Why so long?”

  “The CEO himself wants to sit in on the presentations, and he’s out of the country until August.”

  Good. Not only did that give her time to perfect the proposal, but she should be able to honor her promise to Brian of more quality time. Mostly. There would be some late nights, but he had to understand that. After all, the promotion was directly tied to this project’s success.

  Achieving her goal would be a testament to who she was as a person—someone who had something to offer the world, who took life and made it what she wanted it to be.

  Crystal stood to leave. “I’ll get started on it right away.”

  Everything was finally going according to her plans. All of her hard work was about to pay off. She’d blow Jeff Lerner away with her proposal for the James Lawrence building, get to work on the project of her heart, make senior architect, and someday partner—and finally establish herself as someone worthy of remembrance.

  Now all she had to do was convince her husband that any time spent working on this new proposal would be worth it in the end.

  Chapter 4

  Megan walked through the large oak door of her parents’ home and kicked off her brown sandals in the entryway. The hour-long drive from the Abbotts’ to Little Lakes had given her lots of time to think—and cry—as day became dusk.

  The house was quiet, despite the presence of her parents’ cars in the drive. Maybe they were next door, enjoying the first part of the evening on the Johnsons’ back porch. Good. She loved her parents, but Mom would want to know everything about her visit. And right now, Megan didn’t have the energy to share all she was feeling, partly because she wasn’t totally sure herself.

  Megan headed to the kitchen, which always brightened her mood with its yellow walls and smooth white granite countertops. The shabby chic curtains floated in the breeze coming through the open window. The evidence of an early dinner still hung in the air, which smelled like lasagna. Since Megan hadn’t known when she’d be home, she’d told her parents to eat with-out her.

  Megan rummaged in the fridge and pulled out some veggies and a head of lettuce. She chopped the vegetables, threw them over the lettuce, and poured vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil on top. Then she headed down to the basement where the comfiest couch in the world sat before a fifty-five-inch television. She plopped down, set her salad on the couch next to her, and used the remote to scan channels.

  She settled back and watched a few minutes of a Gilmore Girls rerun. She crunched bell peppers and carrots, barely tasting anything. With the flick of her wrist, she flipped through channels again. When she found herself pulled in by a documentary on the Travel Channel, the old familiar pang nearly rent her heart in two and she hit the Off button. The room grew dark.

  After getting a new heart three and a half years ago, she’d often wondered if she’d ever be “well enough” to travel. But after her conversation with Caleb on Friday, she was seeing things a lot more clearly. It all boiled down to fear . . . and what she was going to do about it.

  Maybe her sickness had nothing to do with her physical heart—and everything to do with her emotional one. She placed a hand over Amanda’s heart and sat still for a moment. It beat steadily inside of her. Today it had almost felt like it was trying to tell her something. But that was ridiculous.

  Still, it had once beat inside a girl who, like Megan, had dreamed of adventure. “Would you . . . would you like to keep the journal for a bit?” Charlene’s question reverberated in her mind.

  Megan snatched her bowl and took it back to the kitchen where she’d left her purse. She grabbed it, headed for her bedroom, and sat on the foot of her canopy bed. The room still featured the soft lavender comforter she’d had for the last fifteen years. In fact, the entire room was a monument to teenage Megan. The Backstreet Boys still grinned at her from a poster above her desk, and her boom box sat on her white fairytale dresser with a stack of outdated CDs beside it. A Minnesota Vikings hat hung from the side of her dresser, a gift from her football-loving father trying to get at least one of his daughters to cherish the sport as much as he did.

  She pulled Amanda’s journal from her purse and cracked the cover. Just after the bucket list, there was an entry that began: Amy says in order to move forward, I have to stop clinging to the past.

  Megan read the passage—and was hooked. She moved to the next entry.

  1. See the world from the top of the London Eye.

  When I was eight, Daddy took me on my first Ferris wheel ride. It was awe-inspiring, seeing the world from such a different point of view.

  And that’s what I need now: a perspective change.

  For seven years, I’ve battled depression. So for seven years, I’ve had my fill of therapy sessions, of journaling, of processing. And I’ve come a long way. I’m seventeen now, healthier than I’ve ever been. Stronger. I sometimes look back at my old journal entries, and I can see the progress I’ve made. I can see myself becoming someone entirely different, being rebuilt one page at a time.

  But there are still times I can’t get out of my own head. I can’t see past what’s right in front of me. I can’t forgive Uncle Joe for what he did to me, the way he splintered our family forever. For the way Mom still thinks it’s her fault, because she allowed her troubled younger brother into our lives.

  See? The old me would have said it was my fault. Progress.

  But still, I fight that stupid depression monster. Sometimes I find myself walking around my bedroom and staring at my pictures, seeing a blonde girl I don’t recognize. Who is she? She looks like me, and I can imagine she talks like me, but she doesn’t smile like me. She really means it—in those moments. But when I look back and see her in those frozen frames, I can’t remember the joy.

  Will the joy ever come naturally? Will it ever be my first instinct? Will I ever be able to give myself fully to it without being sucked into a vortex of pain and guilt?

  My childhood is almost over—has been over for years, really, and I’ve walked around in a child’s body, knowing things I
shouldn’t know.

  If only the not-quite-adult-not-quite-child me could go back and rescue the ten-year-old me.

  But one thing I’ve realized in my years of therapy: if-onlys don’t exist.

  And I kind of think that’s the perspective I need to embrace if I’m ever going to really live.

  Megan couldn’t relate to the kind of awful situation Amanda alluded to—no one should have to—but she found herself nodding along with the girl’s words. Her own childhood had been sucked away too, in a different way, every spare moment spent in the hospital, watching from afar as Crystal lived the life she wanted.

  But Amanda was right. If-onlys didn’t exist.

  The only thing that did exist? Right here, right now. And Amanda didn’t have that anymore. It had been taken from her. She’d only been able to complete one item on her list, and not even in the way she’d meant. Amanda would never have the opportunity to do the other twenty-four things on her list.

  And suddenly an idea popped into Megan’s mind. An idea too crazy, too scary to really contemplate.

  It wasn’t realistic.

  It overreached her bounds.

  Surely it wasn’t even feasible.

  It would take time. Money.

  And courage. Lots of courage.

  But Amanda’s heart inside Megan picked up pace at the idea, as if urging her along.

  “Is that what you’d want, Amanda? To complete your list?”

  Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. The girl’s heart pulsed beneath Megan’s fingers in agreement.

  “Then maybe . . . maybe you can. We can.” Megan’s breath shuddered in and out at the eerie sensation. “Maybe I can do it for you.”

  Crystal headed down the dim hallway of her office building after yet another grueling twelve-hour day. Excitement over the Lerner project had pinged through her whole body all day, ever since Tony told her about it. Motion-sensor lights popped on as she passed. She stepped onto the elevator and rode down ten stories, leaning her tired body against the wall as she watched the numbers flip by on the digital screen above the doors.

  But the anticipation of her needed conversation with Brian lodged in her side like a large splinter. She felt the discomfort no matter which way she bent. And she wouldn’t even be able to talk with him till tomorrow thanks to his overnight shift at the fire station.

  A janitor mopping the floors in the lobby nodded hello as she passed. Crystal pushed the heavy front door of the building open and was met with the bustle of a busy street. Taxis honked and moved like snails through downtown Manhattan, and people of all kinds wound their way down the sidewalk—theater-goers, performing artists, girls in slinky dresses headed for the local bars and hottest clubs. The smell of Italian food from the fine restaurant down the street mingled with the scent of hot dogs rising from the vendor’s cart in front of Crystal’s building.

  How she wished Brian would be home when she got there. They could order a pizza and watch their DVR’ed episodes of Survivor. And maybe, when the timing was right, she could tell him all about the Lerner project and how much it would mean for her to work on it. She’d explain her heart, he’d explain his, and they’d work through their differences, like all married couples did.

  Suddenly a fierce ache for her husband attacked her. She missed him, and she didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see him. Maybe . . . was that dumb? No, why not? Unless the crew was out on a call, everyone should be awake.

  It had been a while since she’d visited him at work. Too long. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Surprise him. Show him their marriage still had a little mystery left. A thrill of pleasure wound through Crystal as she headed toward the subway and took the train to the right stop. She climbed the stairs and emerged in front of Brian’s station. The trucks were parked inside, which meant the guys were there.

  She pushed through the front doors and took in the flurry of activity before her. A few guys shot a ball back and forth across a ping-pong table, others cheering them on. Some lounged in overstuffed chairs and read or chatted, sodas in their hand. Two men watched Top Gun on the beat-up television set that looked to be from the nineties. Several crew members stood in the kitchen, prepping a late dinner. Crystal’s eyes landed on her husband, chatting and laughing as he chopped vegetables.

  Brian looked up. “Crys.” He put down his knife, wiped his hands on a towel, and made his way around the island. Her husband was such a good-looking guy with his short blonde hair, broad shoulders, and sun-kissed skin, and she didn’t often notice the effect he had on her.

  But right now her pulse raced and her mouth felt dry.

  When he reached her, he threw his arms around her. “You’re here.” The faint scent of his vanilla-rum cologne enveloped her.

  She laughed into his neck. “I just thought I’d stop by—”

  “Crystal, long time, no see.” She pulled back to find Ben, a skinny redhead with a bulbous nose, sauntering up. He’d started on the crew the same day as Brian. “How ya been?”

  She felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her. “Good to see you, Ben. And I’m fine. Busy.”

  “Must be. You used to come around here at least twice a week.” Ben popped her in the arm playfully. “You’d bring me a bear claw, remember that?”

  “That’s right. From Gino’s down the street.” She turned to Brian. “And I’d bring you a chocolate Long John.”

  “Those were the best donuts I’ve ever tasted.” He winked at her.

  She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush. “I see there are a few people here I haven’t met. Want to introduce me?”

  “Not really.” He put his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “I kind of want you all to myself.” His whispered words were hot against her ear.

  “Get a room already.” Ben shoved Brian toward the hallway, and the other crew members laughed and whistled.

  Brian grabbed Crystal’s hand, leading her down the hall. He opened the door to one of the bunkrooms. Inside the tight quarters, there were two twin beds and two dressers. From the window, the setting sun said its good-byes as it drifted beyond the horizon and gave up the sky to the crescent moon.

  Her husband closed the door behind them and pulled her against his chest. He worked his hands into her hair, looking into her eyes with a hunger that hadn’t been there in a long time. Had it been there Monday night? If so, she’d been too consumed with her own sorrow to notice.

  Whatever had come over him, she didn’t mind one bit. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He leaned in and kissed her, moving his lips to her ears and neck.

  She was losing herself in his embrace in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be lost in forever. Going, going, gone. And it was blissful.

  Brian trailed his fingers down her arms. “I told Ben there was no way you’d forgotten. You probably left early this morning to let me sleep since you knew I had a shift.”

  Crystal shook the fog from her brain. Forgotten what? Scanning her mind for promises and commitments, she came up empty. Maybe if she just played along . . . “That’s true. I didn’t want to keep you from your beauty rest.” She winked.

  He acknowledged her playfulness with a grin. “You didn’t know that I’d planned to surprise you with breakfast. But I couldn’t expect you to read my mind.”

  Oh man, what in the world was he talking about? “Right.”

  His face fell, hands dropping to his sides. “You forgot our anniversary, didn’t you?”

  Bile rose in her throat. “Oh no.”

  It’d been five years since they’d said “I do” at a justice-of-the-peace ceremony in the middle of the day on a Thursday. When she’d suggested they elope, Brian had resisted the idea at first. But the thought of rubbing her happy relationship in Megan’s face like that, when her sister was on the brink of death and Crystal hadn’t been there for her like a good sister would have been—well, it gave her extra motivation to be persuasive.

  Last week she’d made a mental note to buy Brian an a
nniversary gift. But between then and now, that note must have been covered up by all the other sticky notes piling up in her life. “I’m so sorry, Brian.” She stepped forward, reached out a hand to comfort him—but there wasn’t any comfort to be had for that kind of screwup. Crystal’s hands became fists at her sides instead. “I guess my mind has been elsewhere.”

  He blew out a sigh and sank to the edge of his bed. “Things have to change, Crys. We can’t keep going like this.”

  Crystal leaned against one of the faux wood armoires in the room. “I’ll admit our schedules have been crazy lately.”

  “Not our schedules. Yours.”

  Were they really going to have this same old argument again? It never got them anywhere. “I know I’ve been working a lot lately. But we had some great time together on Monday, and look, here I am surprising you at the station. I’m trying.”

  “I know.” He sighed and reached out his hand to her.

  She grabbed it and sat next to him. Her husband tucked her underneath his arm. For a moment, she allowed her body to relax, rest.

  “I love you, Crys.” His baritone rumbled from his chest through hers.

  “I love you too.”

  “And I miss you.” He put his nose to her hair, inhaled. “Do I need to come to work and kidnap you like I used to?”

  She smiled at the memory. When they’d first met, she’d been in her third year of graduate school at Columbia, working an internship and keeping up with what had seemed like a massive course load. Brian would plan rooftop picnics or walks in the park and steal her away for an hour or two in between work and classes.

  At first, she’d been determined not to date anyone, not wanting the distraction. But he’d slowly worn down her defenses, and she’d liked who she was when he was around.

  He snatched a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’ve always loved the passion you have for your work and how brilliant you are at it.”