An Open Heart (35 page)

Jace writhed with the sensation that he was being burned. His heart quickened and he awoke gasping for breath. He rushed to the bathroom sink, washed his face, and stood looking at himself in the mirror.

On his chest, where the drips of plastic had fallen, a pink blister had formed.

He went back to bed and fell into a fitful sleep again, with the dream recurring several times. He tossed until the desire to escape the night terrors drove him to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Standing at the sink, he paused, sensing that he needed to do something in response to the vivid dreams. But what? He felt as if there were something just beyond his remembrance, something he needed to act on, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with it. It was almost like the sensation he’d had in the past after awakening from a dream, knowing he’d been dreaming, but not knowing what had prompted his heart to race.

He shrugged. The sensation that he needed to do something wouldn’t pass. But he came no closer to recalling what.

“Coffee,” he muttered. Maybe the caffeine would wake up his brain and nudge him in the right direction.

Back in Richmond, Heather knelt by the king-size bed she used to share with Jace. “Father,” she prayed, “I want to learn to trust you with my husband.”

She waited, unsure how to continue. After a few moments, she spoke again.
Is Jace in danger?
“Protect him. Reveal Yourself to him. Give him a new love, not for me, but for You.”

She rose and walked to the kitchen, thinking some warm milk might help her sleep. Her sleep had been fitful lately because of her intense focus on Jace. It seemed that everywhere she turned, painful memories surfaced. Even ordinary events seemed to bring up haunting conversations, ones she wished she could forget. As she reached for the refrigerator door, she remembered confronting Jace after he’d come in late from work one night not long before.

She’d entered the kitchen silently, having risen when she heard the garage door. Jace’s head was in the refrigerator, his back to her. When he emerged, he held up the milk jug, about to take a swig. When he saw Heather, he smiled sheepishly and opted for a glass. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Jace, it’s one thirty! I’ve been worried.”

“I told you I was going to see the governor.”

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

He extracted it from his coat pocket and frowned. “Dead battery.”

“It doesn’t take two hours to see the governor.”

He sighed and moved toward her. She knew she wouldn’t stay mad if he swept her into his arms. Instead, he stopped with his hands on her shoulders. After kissing her forehead, he spoke, “You worry too much, baby.”

She pulled back, sampling the air around him. “You’ve been drinking. Where else did you go?”

He shook his head. “Nowhere.” He took a step back. “I had a drink at the governor’s mansion.”

She glared at him.

He shrugged. “Maybe two.” He swirled the milk in his glass. “The governor has quite a collection of single-malt scotches.”

“You let the governor drink? I thought he was on blood thinners.”

“He is. I had a drink with Anita.”

Heather forced a smile, a plastic one. “How nice. How is Anita? I’m glad that her concern over her husband hasn’t gotten in the way of her being the perfect hostess.”

“Heather, jealousy isn’t attractive on you.”

“Wait until the morning paper.” She swept her hand in an arc to display the imaginary headline. “Famous cardiothoracic surgeon leaves governor’s mansion at one a.m. Governor’s health isn’t his primary concern.”

Jace slapped the milk jug onto the kitchen island. “It isn’t like that. For one thing, they have an unmarked side exit that the media can’t see.”

“Convenient.”

“It was just a drink.”

“I don’t like it, Jace. You aren’t supposed to be having midnight cocktails with her.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but knew it was on the verge of cracking. “What has happened to you? The Jace I fell in love with was happy not knowing a thing about single-malt scotches.”

“She was just being kind. She appreciates the close care I’ve given her husband.”

“I’ll bet she does.” Heather shook her head and reached for her husband’s hand. “Jace, what is going on?”

“I told you not to pay attention to the tabloids. They just want to sell papers.”

“I’m not reading the tabloids. I’m just watching you from the sidelines. You seem to have forgotten that I’m in the game too.”

“You don’t understand.” He pulled away. “It was just a drink.”

“Just a drink. A powerful one. With a beautiful ex-model with augmented anatomy. After midnight.” She raised a finger. “And I’ll bet you were alone.”

“There were staff everywhere.”

Heather put on a southern drawl and said, “Nothing good ever happens after midnight.” The phrase had become a joke for Jace and Heather during their courtship. Heather’s mom, Trevor Anne, was the originator of the phrase, and Heather had imitated her whenever the hour was late and Jace wanted more than a good-night kiss. But now, Heather spoke it in all seriousness.

Jace rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Trevor Anne.”

“She’s right this time, Jace. And if you ever need to make a late-night trip to the governor’s mansion again, I’m coming with you.”

Jace looked incredulous. “You? My little guardian.” He shook his head. “I’m a big boy.” He put the milk in the refrigerator. “Don’t push me away, Heather.”

“I’m not pushing,” she said. “I’m holding on to what is mine.”

He turned to face her. “It feels like pushing,” he said.

With that, he plodded off to the bedroom.

Heather didn’t follow. She slumped onto a kitchen barstool and began to cry.

Now, Heather realized the truth behind her husband’s statements. She hadn’t meant to push him away, but to Jace it had certainly felt that way.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “How can I learn to trust?”

Later that morning in Kijabe, Jace stopped at the small counter that made up the nursing station on the Wairegi men’s ward. “Anyone seen my stethoscope?”

He was met with blank stares.
Maybe I left it down in theater
.

A few minutes later, Jace stood beside his patient Mohamed Omar. “We need to talk,” Jace said.

The young Somali man nodded. “I am ready.”

“I need to have blood set up in order to do your surgery. But we’re facing significant shortages. Do you have friends or family who can donate on your behalf?”

His patient smiled. “I am Somali.”

Jace didn’t understand. “I know that.”

“Just listen to my name. Mohamed Omar Abdullahi. Mohamed is my name. Omar is my father’s name. Abdullahi is my grandfather’s name.” He held up his hands to explain. “We are all connected. I can find many, many cousins willing to help.” Smiling, he added. “I can name my father’s father’s father back twenty-seven generations.” He paused. “I have friends who can name one hundred. How about you?”

“My father’s name was Lloyd. His father was Peter.” Jace scratched his head. “I think his father was James.”

Mohamed shook his head. “How can you know who you are if you don’t know where you came from?”

Jace thought for a moment before mumbling, “Americans seem too caught up in their own lives to care too much about yesterday.”

His patient scoffed. “Idiocy.”

“Perhaps.” Jace shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, I don’t need to tell you that waiting too long could be dangerous. We can only pray that the bullet fragment doesn’t move beyond our reach.”

“A stroke?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get you the blood,” he said, flipping open his phone. “How many donors are needed?”

“Ten.”

The Somali smiled. “I’ll have twenty by dark. It will be a good deed for my Muslim brothers.”

Jace understood. Muslims live in awareness of opportunities to put checks in the positive column. “We operate in the morning.”

“Insha’Allah.”

38

That evening Jace stopped by Gabby’s little duplex apartment to discuss plans for the next day’s case. Evan Martin met Jace at the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice urgent. “We need to talk.”

Jace stepped into the little kitchen. Two suitcases sat next to the table. “What’s up, Gabby?”

She shook her head. “We need to leave, Jace.”

He traded looks with Evan and raised an eyebrow, mouthing, “What’s up?”

Evan held up his hands. “Talk to him, Gabby. I know things have gotten a little weird around here lately.”

“A little weird?” Gabby started to pace around the apartment. “Strangely enough, when I thought someone might have been trying to kill you, it freaked me out a bit, but I told myself it was just a case of a thug trying to rob a rich American doctor. But all these weird encounters your patients are having, along with the messages—” She paused. “I had a dream last night, and I’m afraid.”

“A dream?” Jace stepped forward. “What kind?”

“Scary. I don’t remember it all, just that I woke up feeling terror.”

Jace looked at Evan. “You?”

Evan nodded. “I can’t shake a feeling of dread, Jace. Something about this place. I’m with Gabby, I think we’ve given it an adequate trial. It’s time to go home and regroup.”

Jace pulled up his shirt. The skin over his chest was still red and blistered. “Look at this.”

Gabby stopped pacing and frowned. “Jace, what happened?”

“A dream last night. I saw a man I met during my first day back in Kijabe. He called himself a doctor. Simeon Okayo. In my dream, he was dressed like a witch doctor with a necklace of bone. The necklace morphed into a stethoscope that burst into flame and melted, dripping hot plastic onto my chest. When I woke, my skin looked like this.”

“What do you know about this Simeon?” Gabby asked.

“Only that he said he was a consultant. I haven’t seen him around Kijabe since.”

Gabby frowned. “I don’t like this, Jace. It’s like you are the focus of some intense spiritual war.”

“War?” Jace took a deep breath. “Now you’re sounding like Chaplain Otieno.” He moved slowly to a kitchen chair and took a seat. “When I explained what was happening to my patients during surgery, he said the same kind of thing.”

Jace stood again and paced. “I need you guys to stay for one more case. Mohamed Omar is ready. He’s counting on us.”

Evan shook his head. “Why is this so important, Jace? He’s connected. He could even return to the States.”

“No. He could stroke.”

“Is that it, Jace? Is it really about him? Or is it about you? You’ve become obsessed with the messages.”

“I need to know the truth.”

“So why don’t you just pray like the rest of us?” Gabby asked.

Jace shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.” He looked down. “I can’t.”

“Jace, everyone can—”

“No!” he shouted, immediately regretting his volume. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “I really can’t pray. I can’t ask God for this.”

The sound of a siren interrupted their conversation.

Evan walked to the window. “What’s going on at the hospital?”

Gabby pointed. “Flames!”

Jace, Gabby, and Evan ran down the uneven sidewalk past the hospital to the gravel parking lot bordering the cemetery. Flames danced above a small building on the west end of the hospital complex. Partially blackened wooden coffins lined the edge of the lot. Hundreds of patients in pink hospital-issue pajamas shuffled over the gravel in orange shower shoes. Inside the chain-link fence bordering the pediatric play area, the able-bodied patients pasted their faces against the fence to
ooh
and
ahh
as the roof collapsed.