Designing Hearts

by Robin Strachan

  “Denny must seem like a sure sign that there’s life after David.”

  Jill paused for a second, amazed at how easily her mother could size up any situation and express how Jill was feeling. “That’s it, exactly, Mom. How do I know the best course of action now? I’m upset with David for making my life even more difficult by asking me to save a marriage that feels like it’s over—apparently has been over, without my knowledge, for quite a while. If all my efforts in the past weren’t enough, why would they work this time? Wouldn’t we eventually break up, anyway? Then I’d have to go through this all over again.”

  “That’s a legitimate concern, and of course you’d feel that way,” Nancy said. “Dad’s sitting here with me, by the way. He sends his love. He’s thought all along that David would ask you to stop the divorce, didn’t you, Hal?” She paused. “Dad says yes. After what David did, I think you’re justified in taking whatever steps you think are best for your life.”

  “I’m not planning to stop the divorce. I can’t help feeling guilty, though, as if I’m letting everyone down.”

  “Jill, it might be a good idea to ask yourself one question and let that be your guide.”

  “What’s that?” Jill flopped on her back across the bed.

  “What reasons would you have for wanting David back as your husband? I think if you seriously consider that question, you’ll know what to do. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. It’s not their lives we’re talking about.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” At that moment, Jill felt much as she had as a teenager when her mother patiently guided her through problems regarding boys, college, or career decisions. “I’ll talk with you later. Give Dad a kiss for me.”

  Tuesday’s feng shui class focused on the creativity and children area of the bagua. This square was located in the right-hand side of the bagua in the center square, vertically between love and relationships and benefactors and travel. Jill came to class loaded down with books and handouts for her students, including photos of rooms she had designed for clients. This area of the bagua was one she enjoyed designing most because there was so much scope for the imagination.

  “Tonight we’re going to learn about one of my favorite areas—the square dealing with creativity, fertility, parenthood, and youthful thinking.” Jill passed out notes for discussion. “If you want to feel like a kid again in this game called life, this is the square to land on.”

  Shelly’s pen was poised over her notebook, a mixture of hope and despair in her eyes. Jill’s heart went out to her. She was aware that Shelly had recently asked her husband to go for couples counseling in an effort to convince him to agree to fertility testing. He had flatly told her no—that the problem was with her body, not his.

  “The creative elements for this area of the home are metal and earth,” Jill began. “We want to use white for metal and an earthy color, such as yellow or brown, whenever possible. In my house, the kitchen is my area of creativity and children, so I chose a buttery color for the walls, high-quality metal pots and pans that help me create delicious meals, and white cabinets with brushed stainless steel knobs. There are photos of my kids on the refrigerator, and I’ve got a bouquet of Tootsie Pops on the counter. On the second floor, the creativity and children square happens to be the guest bedroom, which is where I intend to put the crib when my grandchild comes to visit.”

  Shelly fidgeted constantly, crossing and uncrossing her legs, fingering her cross, and playing with her hair. As Jill illustrated a point on the chalkboard, Shelly made an effort to sit still, yet one knee continued moving involuntarily. Jill saw her blink back tears as she took deep breaths.

  She smiled kindly in Shelly’s direction before saying, “Children and creativity go hand in hand, which is why they are included in one area of the bagua. It’s no accident that conception of a child, the most amazing act of creation of all, can be affected by enhancing this square. But it’s important to consider in the case of infertility that opening up one’s heart by adopting or fostering a child in need can also be encouraged by enhancing this area.”

  Shelley looked away. On break, she confided to the other women, “My husband, Joe, thinks it’s my fault, my lack of faith in God. I’ve been through testing, and there’s no reason for me not to be able to get pregnant. Joe won’t get tested. I think he’s afraid he’ll be the one with the problem.” Her mouth was set in a white line. “It doesn’t help that his family, especially his dad, makes comments that hurt his pride.”

  “That’s just mean spirited and stupid,” Pam said. “It might be a simple matter of changing from briefs to boxers … or trying new positions.”

  Shelly got a blank look on her face for a moment before blushing beet red. The other women laughed. Jill rolled her eyes at Pam and shook her head in an effort to get across the message that Shelly might not be open to Pam’s sexual coaching.

  “Perhaps Joe can’t deal with the thought of being sterile or having a low sperm count because he knows it means so much to you to have a baby,” Jill suggested and watched Shelly’s face fall. “His feelings are probably very complicated. Even if he did agree to adoption, would you be happy not having a biological child?”

  “At this point, I want to try in vitro fertilization, but Joe says we can’t afford that, that we just need to have faith and keep trying. I’m not ruling out adoption, but I can’t give up trying to get pregnant yet.”

  “It took me almost a year to conceive my first son,” Meredith said. “The next two were big surprises—no work at all. Maybe if you just relaxed and enjoyed the process ….”

  Shelly flushed. “My husband believes sex is for procreation, not recreation. He comes from a very strict religious background.”

  “Oh.” The other women exchanged astonished yet sympathetic looks.

  “I miss that—sex, I mean.” Meredith’s dark eyes spoke volumes. “I’ve been completely alone for five years.” She raked a slender hand through her long dark curls. “It’s a good thing I love what I do because work has become my entire life.”

  Jill had arranged to meet with Shelly at her home the following week. As Jill and the other women returned to the classroom, Shelly stayed behind, staring out the large window in the hallway. Jill could see a war going on inside her and wondered what the outcome would be. Shelly had asked Jill to visit her house while her husband, Joe, was at work. Jill thought it was better for Shelly to be open with Joe about wanting to feng shui their home, but Shelly was adamant.

  “He thinks anything that isn’t in the Bible is evil. Let’s face it; nowhere in the Bible did the Lord say, ‘Let us feng shui this house.’ ”

  Jill chuckled. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  During the last half of the class, Jill displayed several photos of rooms she had designed in the creativity and children areas of clients’ homes. The most important thing for people to remember about this area, she believed, was that it was just as important to find and nurture one’s inner child. She often suggested turning it into a fun activity room for all ages.

  “Many people turn the creativity and children square of their home into their child’s nursery or bedroom, for obvious reasons. But it isn’t necessary. Remember, all the areas flow together. You might consider making this an arts area, and enjoy your favorite craft or hobby there. Or turn it into the game room where you play the games you played as a kid.”

  As class ended, Jill turned her attention to Joni as they walked together to the parking lot. “Is your mother’s last name Weintraub?” she asked her.

  “Yes, that was my maiden name. Why do you ask?”

  “My son’s partner, Brian, is a pianist and songwriter on Broadway, and he says he knows your mother. I showed my kids the big box of chocolates you sent home with me. That led me to tell Brian about the gorgeous piano in your house, and I mentioned your mother’s first name and that she was a concert pianist. Of course I didn’t know her last name, but he knew the name Paget immediately.”<
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  “What’s Brian’s last name?” Joni asked.

  “Baker; he’s written scores for several shows.”

  “I’ll ask my mother about him when I talk with her this week. Actually, I’m calling her tomorrow because I’m planning a special gathering to celebrate the new family area of the house. You gave me the idea, actually. I’m thinking of a death by chocolate theme. That way, if they kill each other, at least they can have dessert first.”

  Jill laughed. “I love that idea!”

  “I really wish you could be there, too, Jill—sort of for moral support. My family behaves better when strangers are around. Now that I know my mother knows Brian, maybe I could invite him, too, and your son, of course.”

  “Actually, that sounds like a wonderful evening. Brian’s fingers will be itching to play that piano. I hope your mother won’t mind sharing.”

  “As long as he doesn’t upstage her, it should be fine,” Joni said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be sure to get the piano tuned. No one has played it in a long time.”

  Jill knocked on Tom’s office door, which was ajar. When she peeked through, she saw that his enormous leather chair faced the window. He was surveying the wooded hill behind their building, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly he whirled around, startled to see her.

  She smiled brightly. “May I come in, or am I interrupting a brainstorm?”

  “Yeah, sure, come in. What’s up?” Tom looked distracted and ill.

  “I just wanted you to know that we’re completely finished at the Colver house, and Denny MacBride just got started on the Weissmuller house over in Bridgeport. I’ve finished designs on the two other new jobs, too.”

  “That’s good. Were you able to come in on budget on that old millhouse?”

  “Give or take a few hundred. Denny’s bid was a little higher than I thought, but he’s definitely the painter for this job. The homeowners already know his work and insisted on waiting for him to be available.”

  “Well, as long as he doesn’t get too out of line with his bids.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Jill said, growing alarmed at Tom’s gray pallor and the beads of sweat forming at his temples. His lips looked slightly blue. “Tom, you don’t look well,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a little indigestion,” he said, pounding lightly with his fist on his chest. He rubbed his jaw as Jill waited for him to speak, then grabbed his left arm in pain and leaned forward against the desk, clutching his chest and breathing hard.

  “Monica, call 911!” Jill shouted. “And then get the AED kit on the wall by the kitchen! God, I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she mumbled.

  She pulled Tom back into a sitting position as several coworkers rushed to assist. “I need two aspirin!” she said. One of the architects ran to find the first aid kit.

  Tom was conscious and in a lot of pain. His breathing was labored, and sweat poured down his face. “This can’t be happening,” he panted.

  Jill was terrified, but managed to stay calm, reassuring him as she held his hand and patted his face. “The ambulance will be here soon. Just stay with me, Tom.” She put both aspirin in his mouth, her hand against his face. “Chew and swallow,” she said, giving him small sips of the water one of the architects had supplied from the cooler in the hallway. She prayed he wouldn’t lose consciousness. Then she would need to do CPR and use the AED to restore his heart rhythm.

  He winced at the taste of the aspirin and shivered, but did as he was told. Two of the men helped Tom onto the floor, and Monica held his head in her lap. It took no more than ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive, but it seemed much longer to Jill, who kept up a constant litany of prayers in her head as she looked into Tom’s frightened eyes and held his hand.

  “Just a few more minutes, big guy. Hang on.”

  “Jill ….” Tom started to say, but was interrupted as the ambulance crew barreled into the office and surrounded him.

  One paramedic hooked up an EKG while another administered oxygen and inserted an intravenous line. They gently lifted Tom onto a stretcher and tucked a blanket around him. Jill stayed as close as she could and then backed away as Monica put her arms around her.

  Tom’s eyes were clear, his voice surprisingly strong now. “Jill?” He turned his head back and forth, looking for her.

  “I’m here,” she said, walking along beside him. “I’m coming with you.”

  Monica handed Jill her coat and her purse. “Do you want me to meet you there?”

  Jill looked at her gratefully. “Yes, please.”

  They accompanied the stretcher to the ambulance. Jill gave Tom’s hand a squeeze as a paramedic adjusted the intravenous line and kept his fingers on his pulse. She wanted to get in the ambulance, but was told to follow in her own car. It was at that moment she realized that Tom could die on the way to the hospital. The ambulance crew didn’t want her in their way.

  “I’ll meet you there,” she told Tom, reluctant to let go of his hand.

  It was about a fifteen minute ride to the nearest hospital, where Tom was whisked into a cubicle in the emergency room. Jill parked her car and waited for Monica. Then they entered the emergency entrance for visitors and took a seat just outside the area where Tom was being treated.

  “I need a little information about Mr. Becker,” a nurse said.

  Jill answered the nurse’s questions as best she could about Tom’s health history. Janice, his wife, had always kept detailed family health records. Jill knew where they were located in Tom’s house and offered to retrieve them, if necessary. The fact was, though, that Tom rarely took sick days and had always seemed healthy as a horse.

  “This is just so unexpected,” she found herself saying over and over again to the nurse.

  Meanwhile, Monica fetched Jill a chai latte from the lobby coffee bar. “Sustenance,” she said. “So, how’s he doing? Everyone at the office wants me to call as soon as we hear anything.”

  “He’s being stabilized now. The nurse said he’ll probably be going to the heart catheterization lab as soon as they can take him.” Jill sipped her drink, which helped her to feel less light-headed and shaky. “He probably has a blockage somewhere.”

  “With his diet? His arteries are probably clogged with fat. He’s lucky he isn’t a complete solid,” Monica said.

  As they sat together in the waiting area, Jill’s thoughts darted from anguish at what had happened, to gratitude that Tom was alive and in good hands now, to worry about his future. “He might not have made it if he’d been at home alone,” she told Monica, and burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. “Since Janice died, Tom hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s got to start eating healthier and exercising more.”

  “I’m glad you were there with him when it happened,” Monica said, patting her back. “You knew just what to do, and he trusted you. I was freaking out.”

  “Tom and I go back a lot of years,” Jill said, wiping her eyes and dabbing at her nose. “He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends. I wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to him.”

  “I know. That’s why it’s been so hard watching the two of you tiptoe around each other lately.”

  “I was hoping it wasn’t so obvious. It’s nothing, really. It was just a discussion that got out of hand. It isn’t important now.”

  A male nurse came out of the double swinging doors of the emergency room. “Which one of you is Jill?”

  “I am.” She sprang to her feet.

  “We’re taking Mr. Becker upstairs to the cath lab now. It’ll be about two hours or maybe a little longer until he gets in there and is finished with the procedure, and then he’ll go to recovery for a little while. He’s doing fine right now. He wants you to go home.”

  Jill breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. But tell him I’m staying right here.”

  “He said you’d say that. There’s a waiting area on the fourth floor as you step off the visitors’ elevator.”


  “Monica, why don’t you go back to the office and tell everyone what’s happening? I’ll be fine here,” Jill said. “I need to be here.”

  Monica gave her a hug. “Don’t worry. Tom’s a tough guy. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks for staying with me. I’ll call you as soon as there’s news.” Jill grabbed her coat and purse and followed the signs to the public elevator. As she pushed the button for the fourth floor, she was suddenly exhausted.

  She drank a cup of dishwater coffee from a vending machine while she waited, watching the second hand of the wall clock tick off the minutes. After she had paged through every magazine in the waiting area, including American Auto and Hunting World Digest, she checked her cellphone alerts and found a message from her mother. She hit the talk key.

  Nancy answered on the second ring. “I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from you since Sunday. Is everything okay?”

  “Not really. I’m here at the hospital. Tom had a heart attack this afternoon, and he’s in the heart cath lab now.”

  Jill heard the gasp on the other end of the line, followed by her mother’s comment, “But he’s so young!”

  “He’s fifty, Mom. He’s going to be fine, I’m sure of it, but it was so scary,” Jill said. “I was there when it happened.”

  “That must have been awful. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine, just anxious to hear that he’s in the recovery area and okay. I don’t know how we’re going to keep him down long enough for him to rest and heal, though.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something. He always listens to you.”

  “Mom, do you think it would be, I don’t know, weird to insist that he stay at my house after he gets out of the hospital? I don’t trust him to follow the doctor’s orders, and I could make sure he eats properly and rests. If he wants to work, we could work at my house or I could drive him to the office.”