The Winner's Game (26 page)

I
HATE THE TASTE
of salt. I also hate the taste of puke. But I love the taste of air, so I'll put up with the other awful tastes for now. I feel weak, but weak is a lot better than dead. Thanks to my sister, I'm alive!

Oh man, I'm so lucky…to have a big sister.

From behind me I hear Dad calling out. When I turn around, he and Mom are running up the beach about fifty yards away. When they get there, the man who helped us onto the beach tells them what he saw.

Bree is crying.

The burn of salt in my throat makes me cough a lot, but I don't mind
.
I'm alive!

Ann is holding on to her chest kind of funny, and she can't seem to catch her breath.

Oh man, I hope she's OK.

“My daughter has a serious heart condition,” Dad says. “She needs an ambulance.”

Dad has a cell phone on him, so he calls nine-one-one. The nearest ambulance service is in Seaside; they tell him they'll be here in fifteen minutes. Dad gives the address of our beach house, and then he scoops up Ann in one motion and carries her all the way inside.

The rest of us follow, not bothering to pick up our towels on the beach.

In the house, while my parents tend to Ann on the couch, Bree puts on a T-shirt and shoes.

“What are you up to?” Mom asks her.

“I have to tell Tanner.”

“That can wait.”

“No! I have to. This is my fault and…and he would want to see her before they take her away.”

I know what she really means:
He would want to see her in case she dies.

“
Please
,” says Bree, begging.

“Well, you can't go alone.”

“I'll go!” I shout, just wanting to do anything to help.

Mom thinks about it for a moment, then agrees.

I throw on a dry shirt, grab my sneakers by the door, and then Bree and I tear off down the street toward the center of town. In a matter of minutes we're at the candy store. Tanner is behind the counter with an older man, who must be the owner.

“Ann needs you!” Bree says right away.

The man and Tanner seem startled at first. Then Tanner realizes that this isn't an ordinary visit. “What's wrong?”

“She saved me from drowning,” I blurt out, “and now her heart is hurting. They called an ambulance!”

In one giant step Tanner flies around the corner of the candy display. “Where is she?”

“At the house,” Bree says, panting.

Without waiting to find out more, Tanner is gone.

Bree and I are both out of breath, but we chase after him. Out on the sidewalk, we can hear the sound of a siren heading through the middle of town.

“Tanner! Wait!” Bree calls before he can get too far.

He slows down so we can catch up.

Bree forces out her words between gasps for air. “I need you…to do something.”

“Anything.”

“My sister needs…her first kiss,” she says. “Don't let her die…without that.”

Tanner tries to smile. “I'll see what I can do.” He takes off running again.

“Promise me!” she shouts.

“I will,” he yells back as he bolts across the busiest intersection. I can tell that the ambulance is very close, probably just around the corner, and approaching fast.

All of the cars on the cross street are pulling to the side of the road to let the ambulance through. Bree has a longer stride than me, so she's maybe ten yards ahead. When she reaches the intersection, she follows Tanner's lead and goes straight through.

No! Stop!
“Bree! Look out!”

The next few seconds are the longest of my life—even longer than nearly drowning.

When Bree rushes into the road, she doesn't see that not all of the cars got out of the way of the ambulance. But I can see perfectly, and I know immediately what is about to happen.

It's not fair that I can't stop it.

It's not fair that the driver of the red car doesn't get out of the way when he hears the sirens.

It's not fair that he speeds up to get through the intersection before the other cars, and that he doesn't see Bree until it's too late.

It's not fair that I have to see it happen.

Life is not fair.

I don't know why, but as I shout at Bree, my focus is on her feet, and my eyes somehow stay glued to her shoes. Unfortunately, her shoes don't stay glued to her feet. On impact, one shoe flips up over the back of the car, and the other is whipped at least forty feet away, in Tanner's direction, on the opposite side of the intersection.

With the horror in front of me, I freeze. I don't know what else to do. I can't move my feet. I'm the closest person to the accident, but I'm stuck at the edge of the sidewalk.

I want to puke again, like I did back on the beach.

From the sideline, I watch as Tanner turns and runs back to the scene. He is the first one to reach Bree.

The ambulance slows to a stop; its siren is still blaring as a paramedic jumps out of the passenger side. He kneels beside Bree, on the opposite side of Tanner, then signals something to the driver and the siren cuts off.

I stay for a minute as they begin working on her. Then my feet thaw and I take off running for home, leaving Tanner and Bree there in the middle of the road with the paramedics.

As I'm running, I want to die, because I know I'm to blame. If I had just waited to dig up Bree's treasure when the tide was out, none of this would have happened. Or if I'd listened to Bree and waited for the big wave to pass, she'd be fine right now. Instead, I got greedy, got sucked out to sea, nearly drowned. Now both of my sisters are in trouble, because of me.

What do I do if Ann is already dead when I get home?

What if Bree is dead too? How do I explain to my family what happened to her?

How do I tell them this is all my fault?

I slow for the last few steps leading up to the porch, but I know I can't turn back.

I can hear Dad yelling inside the house. “Why isn't the ambulance here yet? They should be here!”

“Calm down, Dell,” my mom says as I push open the door and rush inside. “I heard the sirens. They'll be here.”

“Yeah, Dad, chill,” whispers Ann. Her voice is weak. She looks worse than she did before. “It'll be here in a second.”

“No,” I tell them softly. “It might take a little longer…”

Fifteen minutes later I wipe a flood of tears from my eyes so I can see the ambulance pull away with
both
of my sisters in the back. There is no room for the rest of us, and nothing we can do to help anyway. All we can do is watch them go, and pray for a miracle.

As soon as we've gathered a few things, we climb into Dad's car so we can hurry off to the emergency room.

“It isn't fair,” I tell myself over and over while staring blankly out the car window on the drive to the Seaside hospital.

“Life is many wondrous things,” mumbles my dad, “but fair isn't one of them.”

I
KNOW MY LIFE
depends on me being in the ambulance right now, but every last ounce of me wants to be somewhere else. Just seeing Bree lying there—barely alive—hurts more than any physical pain I've ever endured.

Why did you have to run across the road? Please don't die, Bree! We still have a game to play…

Though it's hard talking through the oxygen mask they have over my face, the whole way to the hospital I keep telling her to hang in there, that it's going to be OK. She doesn't respond. Bree has an oxygen mask too, but even though it's covering part of her face, I can tell that she's in a bad way, because her cheeks and forehead are all swollen and bloody.

Please wake up, Bree! Please!

I keep feeling the biting sensation inside my chest as we're screaming along the highway, but it doesn't bother me much. The only thing that matters right now is Bree, and getting her safely to the hospital.

Once we arrive, we're taken immediately in different directions—her to a trauma unit, and me to a cardiologist.

By the time my parents arrive, both sets of doctors have come to separate conclusions that the tiny coastal hospital lacks the expertise to properly treat either of us.

“What exactly is wrong with Bree?” I overhear my dad ask the doctor.

“Well…everything,” comes the sobering reply. “Spleen, lung, bones, and internal bleeding. But mostly what we're worried about—and what we're just not staffed to handle—is the brain. She's taken quite a hit, and the swelling is extensive. We've treated the pressure, but she'll be better off at a hospital in Portland.”

He glances over at me. “And Ann?”

“We've already contacted her doctors at Saint Vincent's. They're expecting her. We're sending both girls there just as soon as the Life Flight crew is ready.”

It doesn't take long before Bree and I are wheeled, side by side, to a red-and-white helicopter and are on our way back to Portland. It's my first-ever helicopter ride, but I hate it. I want to enjoy it, but I can't stop crying.

Bree still isn't moving.

She won't talk to me.

Doesn't even make a sound.

The medics tell me I need to calm down, that my crying is only making things worse on my heart, but I can't stop.

That's my sister lying there!

My dad is with us in the helicopter, and he, too, keeps telling me not to worry, that everything is going to work out, but how can he know?

The butterflies in my stomach say not to trust him.

To help calm me—and my butterflies—they eventually inject something into my IV, and then the world fades…

The next day I wake up in a tiny room in a Portland hospital. My vision is fuzzy at first, but my ears work fine, which is probably why the first thing I recognize is the sound of my mom crying.

She stops when she realizes I'm awake.

When I ask her what's wrong, she says, “Nothing,” but I know it's a lie.

When I ask her how I'm doing, she says, “You've been better, but you were a lot worse yesterday afternoon. The doctors aren't quite sure how your heart kept going, but it did, and you're stable now.”

My eyes are focusing fine now. I look down to find all sorts of wires and gizmos running in and out of me. “So…I'm going to make it?”

“You still need a transplant,” she says carefully, “but for now, they think you're OK. At least, you're in no more imminent danger than you were before. But just to be sure, they're hoping to keep you in their sights until they find a heart. You're number one on the list now, so that's good. Just need to find a match.”

Mom was choking up as she spoke, but now, all of sudden, she's sobbing.

“What's wrong?”

There is a box of tissues next to her chair. She grabs a handful and dabs at her eyes. “Well,” she starts, trying hard to hold it together, “it turns out there's another girl in the hospital right now…who's a very good match for you.” A flood of giant tears flow from her eyes. She dabs again and continues, keeping her gaze on the floor. “The girl is alive, but she's…not doing well. There's a good chance she won't make it. And so if she dies, well…it means you'll have your new heart.”

Now Mom finally looks up at me, and I see something in her eyes that makes my stomach turn. I've never seen anyone so broken in all my life. Suddenly it hits me. “You mean…
Bree
is a match?”

Now I'm bawling too. Mom is so stricken that she just buries her face in her hands.

As the enormity of the situation overcomes me, I have to lie back on my pillow. I can't look at my mother right now, all broken and torn. I close my eyes, squeezing out the last remaining tears, and lie there for what feels like forever, drowning in the thoughts that fill my head.

I've dreamed of finding a donor for months, but not like this. This is all wrong. I'd honestly rather die than live with my sister's heart beating in my chest.

Any heart but hers! God, do you hear me? Any heart but Bree's! If you take her, you have to take me too!

What good would a new heart do me anyway if I can't enjoy my new lease on life with my little sister? I need a heart to be able to swim and run again, but why bother if I can't swim circles around Bree in the pool, or run her out of my room when she gets into my stuff?

No, this is all wrong.

“I don't want it,” I tell my mom eventually. “If she doesn't make it, give her heart to someone else.”

“You know she'd want you to have it, right? Just like she wanted you to have that date with Tanner.”

I can't respond. I can't entertain the thought right now. I know Mom is right, but it hurts too much to admit, because then I might also have to admit that the only reason Bree is in this condition is…

Because she loves me.

There is a quiet rapping on the door. A second later my dad pokes his head in and then enters all the way. Cade isn't far behind.

Dad comes straight for my bed and gives me a hug. I can tell he's been crying too.

After he lets go of me, he bends down next to Mom and wraps his arms around her, as though he's somehow shielding her from the awfulness of the situation.

“How is she?” asks Mom.

“The same.”

“One of us should be upstairs with her. In case she wakes up.”

Or in case she doesn't.

“I know,” Dad says. “We should all be with her. Which is why I've gotten approval to have Ann moved up to Bree's room. Some nurses should be here shortly to wheel her up.”

I lie back down on my pillow and close my eyes. This is all so surreal; I wish closing my eyes would just make it all go away. I remember when we were in Grandma Grace's room not too long ago, when she nearly died, and I was kind of curious to see what would happen. Well, now I don't feel that way at all. They are taking me to my sister's room, so we can be with her in her darkest hour, but I can't bear the thought of being there should she pass away.

Please, God, not my sister…