In a Heartbeat (17 page)

34

Amelia

Eagan lived in this town. Two months ago she’d walked up these steps. She’d slept in this house. And a couple of weeks ago she should have had Thanksgiving dinner with her family.

I looked up at the tidy, pale blue two-story house, older and smaller than ours. An autumn wreath hung on their door, with ribbons of brown and yellow trailing down. The neighbors had a giant Santa and Rudolph set up on the front lawn.

Ari looked at the decorations next door and the limp wreath on Eagan’s house. “You sure you’re up for this?”

I suddenly wished Mom was standing next to me. She’d always been with me whenever I faced something hard.

“Yes,” I said with more confidence than I felt. I had to believe that if I’d come this far, there was a reason I was supposed to be here.

But my hands trembled. What could I possibly say to Eagan’s family that would be any comfort at all?

I reached out and knocked on the door, which opened only seconds later. They must have seen us drive up.

A short, balding man opened the door. “Hi. Please come in.” His voice was friendly.

He held the door for us and put out his hand to Ari. “I’m Mr. Lindeman, Eagan’s dad,” he said.

“I’m Ari,” Ari said as he shook Mr. Lindeman’s hand. “This is my friend Amelia.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, Amelia,” he said, holding my hand for a long moment. “We very much appreciated your letter.”

Even through his sadness, I could see a kind face. My heart ached for him.

We faced the living room, which didn’t look anything like I’d imagined from the outside of the house. The walls were the color of fresh melon. They had a white carpet and a white sofa. A plaid chair and ottoman matched the valance that covered pleated shades. It reminded me of a picture in one of those magazines that Mom liked to read.

Then my eyes settled on a guy standing just to the side of the entryway. He wore a red and white letter jacket with lots of patches on it.

“Hi,” I said.

He looked hard at me. He was searching for a resemblance, but other than brown hair—and hers was much darker than mine—there was none.

Eagan’s dad motioned him over.

“Scott, this is Amelia.”

“Hi, Amelia.” Scott shook my hand. I could tell by the way his hand held mine that he wasn’t a relative of Eagan’s. He was her boyfriend. My heart beat faster, as if taking all this in.

I was entranced by everything around me. I could sense Eagan’s aura here, and it felt strangely familiar. My eyes settled on a wall of pictures—Eagan’s life in chronological order: as a toddler in a snowsuit, with Santa, her first day of school. I walked over and stood in front of a picture of her at age eight in a sparkly skating outfit holding a trophy. She had wild, curly hair and brown, fiery eyes to match.

“Do you like to skate?” Scott asked behind me.

“I don’t know how to skate.”

“Oh.” It sounded like I’d disappointed him.

“Would you like to see a video of Eagan?” Mr. Lindeman asked me.

“I’d love to.”

“It’s just excerpts from some of her competitions that we pulled together.” He didn’t say for what. For the funeral?

He put in a DVD and there she was, this beautiful girl, so full of life. I saw her strength, her skill, her poise, how easily she moved across the ice. She was so talented, so young. I heard her laugh on the tape. It was the kind of laugh that you knew was hard-kept, one that didn’t happen too often. She spoke, and I swear I recognized her voice.

My eyes went wide when her friends called her Dynamo, the name I’d heard in my dream. I covered my mouth to keep in a shriek.

Mr. Lindeman stood up. “I’m just going to check on my wife, Cheryl. See what’s keeping her.”

“How are you feeling?” Ari asked when he left. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” I confessed, not wanting to tear my eyes away from her image on the TV. “But I’m glad we came.”

Scott’s eyes were glued to the video as well. But during a close-up of Eagan, he had to look away. I thought he might cry.

Muffled voices leaked down the stairway. One of the voices sounded angry. Ari shifted uncomfortably in his chair as if he was ready to bolt. Finally, Mr. Lindeman came back down. His face was flushed and he was wringing his hands.

He looked at me when he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. Cheryl has changed her mind. She feels it’s just too soon.”

He nodded at the TV, where Eagan was doing a sit spin. “Eagan was, well, she was the glue that held us together as a family. Cheryl has had such a hard time, and . . .” His voice broke and he looked down at his shoes.

“Maybe we should leave,” Ari said.

Scott stood up. “Is it okay if I show her Eagan’s room?”

Mr. Lindeman looked at the stairs. I thought he was going to say no. But then he nodded. “Of course.”

I looked at Ari. “I’ll wait here,” he said.

I followed Scott up the stairs while Ari talked to Eagan’s dad.

It was just like I knew it would be. The purple paint on her walls, the purple and white bedspread. Trophies and medals decorating her wall. Pictures of her with her friends on a bulletin board filled with skating programs and other memorabilia. One picture stood out. It was of Eagan and Scott. She looked stunning in a blue dress, and she had a white corsage on her wrist. Scott wore a black suit. His arm was around her waist. They were both smiling.

“You were her boyfriend,” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

We stood there looking at each other. Scott was tall, clean-cut, muscular, with short, dark hair. He was the kind of guy I suspect would date cheerleaders like Rachel.

“I don’t know how to say this. I feel like Eagan’s part of me. But I’m not
her
, you know?”

He nodded again. “I know.”

“How long were you together?”

“Not long. A couple of months. But I loved her.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I should have been there. I was at my football banquet. Maybe my being there would have changed something. Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen. Maybe she wouldn’t have died.”

He spun around when he realized what he’d just said. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. I stared at the picture of them, of how happy they were. My heart fluttered in my chest, as if she was responding.

He put a finger on the picture. His eyes were watery. He sniffed twice. “I love you, babe,” he whispered.

I felt like an intruder, so I looked at the opposite wall. There was something wrong with her room. Something not quite right. How could I know that when I’d never been here before?

Scott wiped a hand across his eyes. “It kinda helps to know that her heart is still beating.”

“I’m glad you showed me her room.” I turned to go then stopped. “Is this the way it always was? Did they move anything?”

“I was only here once. It looks the same as I remember it, though.”

I wrapped my arms together as a shiver settled in my elbows. “I just thought there’d be something else here.” I studied the room: a bed, two dressers, a desk and chair. “A chair,” I said. “It’s missing a chair.”

Scott’s face clouded. “What chair?”

I thought of the chair in my hospital room, the one that seemed so familiar. “A rocking chair.”

Scott gasped. “Holy shit. Who told you about that?”

I put my hand over my heart. “No one. I just knew.”

Scott closed the door to her room. “I never told them about it. The chair. Eagan was so mad, she said she didn’t want her mom to have it. They never got along well. I thought it was what Eagan wanted, and then after a while, I couldn’t tell them about it because they’d want to know why I hadn’t said anything before.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The rocking chair that Eagan and her grandpa made for her mom. It’s hidden behind a panel in her closet.”

“Why didn’t her grandpa say anything?”

“He didn’t know it was there.”

We were interrupted then by shouting in the hallway. “You let her into Eagan’s room? You had no right to do that.”

“I think we better go,” Scott said.

But I barely heard him. I couldn’t move. Something was wrong. I sat down on Eagan’s bed and leaned forward, doubled over by a sharp pain. It seared through me like razor blades cutting into my lower back. I felt dizzy, like I was going to black out.

“You okay? Amelia?”

Scott was yelling down the stairs, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The light-headedness made his voice sound distant.

Ari was by my side. “It hurts, Ari.”

“What’s wrong?”

I thought I might vomit and pass out at the same time. I grabbed Ari’s hand. I gasped. “It hurts,” was all I could get out.

“I’ve called 911,” a voice said.

I started to cry. “Am I going to die?”

Ari’s voice was close. “Don’t think about the pain. Concentrate on something else, Amelia.”

Something else. All I could think about was that I was going to die after all I’d gone through, all the pain and stupid beeping machines. I was going to die on her bed. I’d failed her. Eagan was upset, so she was taking her heart back. God, don’t let me die now.

I wanted to get away from the pain and dizziness, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t even hear. I was caught in the spiral that was swirling around me, trapping me, killing me.

I wanted Mom and Dad more than ever. I wanted to tell them I loved them before I died.

Huge arms carried me. I was aware of people around me. A mask on my face. I felt something go through me, through my veins, seep up my arms. Then everything went black.

35

EAGAN

In one of my flashbacks, the tiniest thing happened during math class. Instead of closing my math book and picking it up like I was supposed to do, I pushed it off my desk onto the floor. It landed with a loud clunk. I stared at the book, at what I’d done, because in my memory that hadn’t happened.

“I did it,” I tell Miki. “I think I can change the past.”

She stares at me with wide eyes. “You can’t change things.”

“But I already did. Okay, so it was something little, but if I could do that, then maybe I could go back to the accident and . . .”

“They’re memories. They already happened. The world has already changed.”

“What if I can change what happened?”

“You can’t. You just thought you did.”

“I can try.”

“It’s time for you to face the truth. I want you to see something,” she says. The fog opens up and we’re in a hospital room.

A nurse works on a patient, inserting a needle, adjusting a tube, taking blood pressure.

Who is the patient? I hope it’s not Grandpa.

Then I see a girl’s form on the bed. For a brief instant I think it’s me. Could it be? Maybe I’m not dead—maybe this has all been a dream, or I’m having one of those near-death experiences. Or am I like Scrooge? Was Miki sent to me to straighten me out before I turned into a real loser?

Whoever this girl is, she’s hooked to a lot of machines. The room faces a nurse’s station, and monitors beep out numbers above her head. That’s it. I’m in a coma. I just thought I was dead.

Then I see her face. It isn’t me. She looks so young—her face is pale. Is she dying too?

As I move to the side, I notice Miki standing next to me.

“Who is she?” I ask.

“She’s a girl who had a heart transplant. But she’s having some problems.”

“Who was the donor?”

Miki looks at me.

“Oh.” This really complicates things.

“You can come in now,” the nurse tells someone in the hall. A woman walks in. She has one of those green hospital masks over her face, but I can see a smile in her eyes, and I recognize the worry behind the smile. She takes the girl’s hand with her gloved one. I move in for a closer look.

The girl has light brown hair, straight and fine. She looks younger than me, but there’s a wisdom in her face, as though she’s older than her age.

“Mom?” Her voice is rough. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me, Amelia?”

Tears run down Amelia’s face. “I should have. I didn’t know how.”

The woman reaches out a gloved finger and wipes away a tear. “It wasn’t a rejection. You had a reaction to the buildup of cyclosporine in your system. It caused a bad urinary tract infection. They switched your med to tacrolimus. They have it under control now. You’re out of danger.”

“Promise?”

Her mom moves closer and takes Amelia’s hand. I think she’s going to put it on Amelia’s heart, my heart, but she places it on her own and puts both her hands on top of Amelia’s hand. “I promise. With all my heart.”

The girl sniffs. “Speaking of promises, don’t blame Ari. I made him do it. Now he probably hates me.”

Her mom’s mouth turns into a smirk. “Oh, I doubt that. He’s outside waiting to see you.”

“He’s here? Can I see him?”

“I’ll send him in.”

A boy enters. He looks about my age. The mask on his face squishes his dark hair against his neck. His dark brown eyes are bloodshot.

I sense Amelia’s shyness, hear the familiar beat of my heart in her chest. I’m in awe of my heart inside her, keeping her alive. I feel the heart, my heart, flutter.

“I thought I was going to die,” she says.

He moves closer and takes her hand. “But you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You got it out of the way,” he says softly. “Now you can get on with your life.”

“Are you talking about the rejection scare or meeting her family?” she asks.

“Both,” he says.

The girl’s face screws up like she’s going to cry again. “Eagan’s mom didn’t want to meet me, Ari. She hates me.”

He squeezes her hand. “Give her time. At least you made the effort.”

Figures. Mom wouldn’t even see her. I’m irritated with Mom even though a moment ago I was crying for her. “Is she going to be okay?” I ask as I watch them.

Miki shrugs. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

“What? You don’t know? Then what are we doing here?”

“You wanted to change the past. You should know what you’d change.”

I get it. I had my shot at life. Now it’s someone else’s turn.

I let out a long sigh. “I guess I can’t go back after all.”

“You never really could,” Miki says.

“Amelia,” the boy says. “You’ve got quite a crowd outside. Your dad is out there, and that guy Scott is waiting to see you. Didn’t you tell him you already have a boyfriend?”

Her pale face takes on a bit of color. “Did you just say you were my boyfriend?”

He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “If that’s okay with you. I mean, if your parents will ever let me see you again.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I’m saying it because the first time I saw you in the hospital, I wanted to come back the very next day. But I was afraid you’d think I was stalking you. I mean, I wouldn’t drive my beater to Wisconsin for just anyone.”

A blush works its way onto her cheeks. “I wonder what Scott wants.”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad he’s not competition because, to be honest, I think he could beat the crap out of me. That dude is built.”

I let out a scream. “Oh my God! Scott’s here?”

Miki twirls around in her yellow dress. “See? You thought you’d never see him again.”

The boy, Ari, leaves, and a moment later Scott walks in. I’ve been so immersed in my life, it only seems like a moment ago that I saw him. So the first thing I notice is that he’s lost weight. Instead of filling out his letter jacket, it hangs from his frame. Not that he isn’t still gorgeous. But he carries himself differently. He walks like someone who’s suffered a serious defeat. I’d love to give him a big kiss underneath that hospital mask.

He stands away from the bed and holds a bouquet of white roses in a pink vase. “How are you feeling?”

“Stupid. Scared. The doctors said I had a chemical reaction, a buildup of the cyclosporine. They switched me to another drug. I’m feeling a lot better already. I can’t believe this happened at her house. I thought Eagan was trying to tell me something. Maybe she just wanted me to go away.”

Scott sets the vase down on the nightstand. “I’m sorry you got sick, but I’m glad you came. I think she was trying to tell
me
something. I mean, you knew about the chair.”

The girl takes a deep breath. “That was unreal.”

Scott sticks his hands into his pockets. “I told her parents about the chair. I should have told them sooner. It was this secret Eagan and I shared, and I guess I didn’t want to let it go. It was something just the two of us knew, and that made it special. But I figured if you knew about the chair, then maybe Eagan wanted them to have it after all.”

The chair. I’d forgotten about it. “How sweet.” I sniff back a tear. “Scott was keeping the rocking chair safe for me. But they should have it. Besides, Mom will need it for the new baby.”

Miki nods.

Strange how I have a need to make Mom and Dad feel better. My former self might not have. Who knew that death would make me a better person?