Change of Heart (24 page)

Sharlie sat on a bench at the Wall Street tennis courts gazing up at the roof of the bubble ceiling. As the sea gulls flew past outside, darting and diving above the East River, their shadows flickered through the white canvas expanse. Brian's shout interrupted her, and she looked down to watch his body arch as he stretched for a lob. He crashed the ball down the line past Susan's feet on the other side of the net.

“Bastard!” Susan called with a grin. He tipped his racquet to her in mock salute.

Sharlie felt a sudden wave of nausea, and she bent her head to combat the dizziness that accompanied it She held on tightly to the edge of the bench, lowering her head to keep herself from fainting.

She had felt the queasy discomfort all day, but blamed it on last night's dinner—the monthly rebellion. Spaghetti carbonara and a slice of garlic bread at a trattoria in Greenwich Village.

But her symptoms had gradually intensified, until now she felt she couldn't possibly wait to get into bed. The wooden seat seemed to pitch and roll beneath her, and she clutched at its rough surface, hoping to ride out the attack without alarming anyone. She lifted her head carefully to see the white figures darting back and forth, long legs spinning and turning. She felt herself falling as the bench rose on its side and tossed her off onto the green surface of the court.

She woke up in the back of Susan's car, with Brian holding her tightly against him. She could hear the thumping of the pulse in his neck and smell the salty heat of him under his damp tennis shirt They were hurtling up the FDR Drive, with Susan weaving the car expertly through the heavy northbound traffic. Sharlie tried to move her head so that she could look at Brian, but he put his hand on her hair and held her still against his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“Shh,” he said.

“I thought we were home free.”

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Weird. As if everything's far away.”

“
I'm
not far away. You rest.”

She must have fallen asleep or passed out again because the next thing she was aware of was being helped from the car at Saint Joseph's emergency entrance. As Brian and Susan propped her up, Sharlie said groggily to Brian,
“Déjà vu?”

They put her on a flat table, and Brian sat next to her, holding her hand. He said to Susan, “Do me a favor and page Mary MacDonald. When you get her, tell her we've got Sharlie down here.”

Susan went off, grateful to be useful, and in a moment they heard Mary's name over the loudspeaker.

She arrived almost immediately. Sharlie opened her eyes and looked up at the familiar round face with relief. Mary picked up Sharlie's wrist. As she timed her pulse, she regarded Brian intently. “What happened?” she asked.

Brian shook his head. “She passed out.”

“Swooned,” Sharlie said drunkenly. “Your basic swoon dive onto the floor. Good form, poor recovery …”

“Hush,” Mary said sharply. Then dropping Sharlie's wrist, she moved quickly about the Emergency Room issuing orders and enlisting a harassed attendant to wheel Sharlie upstairs to the eleventh floor. Brian tried to follow, but Mary put a firm hand on his chest.

“She's so out of it she won't miss you. Go get yourself a stiff drink and come back in a couple of hours.”

Mary glanced at Susan, who was standing off to the side in her damp tennis dress trying to look unobtrusive. “And you ought to put some clothes on.”

Susan smiled weakly, not sure whether the brusque nurse was commenting on her risk of contracting pneumonia or her immodesty.

“What is it, Mary?” Brian asked.

Mary shook her head. “Won't know until we run the tests.”

“You don't think she's rejecting,” he said.

Mary gave him a noncommittal look. “Won't know until we run the tests,” she repeated.

Brian put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Thanks for being around.”

“Oh, I'm part of the equipment in this place.”

“The best part,” he said, releasing her. She bustled off down the hallway, and before he and Susan had gotten to the elevator, they heard Dr. Diller being paged.

Her voltage had dropped alarmingly, and all her tests indicated rejection. Diller conferred with Jason Lewis in California. The cautious consensus was that they had caught the problem just on the brink of the acute stage. They injected her with the painful ATG serum immediately, pumping the powerful vaccine into her thighs while she lay absolutely still with clenched teeth, the sweat pouring off her body.

But in forty-eight hours she was well enough to sit up in bed and talk to visitors. Sharlie had insisted that Brian not interrupt his work again. Who knew, after all, how many times this sort of thing would happen over the years, she'd told him. If he took any more days off, he'd forget all his
thereafter's
and
hereto-fore's
, and none of the judges would understand him anymore. He had acquiesced reluctantly, but Sharlie knew he needed the activity and involvement away from the hospital. He hated feeling helpless, and she would rather think of him occupied in court than pacing back and forth in the waiting room.

And besides, she was tired. She had never been so tired. She felt as if she'd been fighting the Hundred Years War and that she was just about out of reserves. As she lay in bed waiting for her mother, it struck her suddenly that she no longer felt like fighting. The thought made her swallow hard, with guilt more than fear. Not to struggle—the greatest sin of all, at least in the Gospel According to Walter Converse. Giving up was unthinkable, and until now Sharlie had quickly forced such ideas back into the morass of her subconscious.

Maybe also it was because finally, finally, she was happy. In the past there had been fleeting moments when she'd felt death would be preferable to the unmitigated suffering, but in general, it seemed unthinkable. How senseless to disappear from life after tasting only the misery, all those years of hurt and loneliness. She would hang on another hour, another day, in the desperate hope that she could go out saying she'd experienced a little of the good stuff, too. But now. In just a few months it was as if she had lived a thousand lifetimes. She had fought so hard—to last through one more attack, to endure another siege of searing pain—and now, after all the struggling, she could feel herself beginning to release her stubborn grip on survival. She looked out the window and stared into the pale-blue morning sky. Not so terrible to let go now, she thought.

Sharlie heard rustling at the door and turned to see her mother standing there watching her. Margaret walked to the bed and took her daughter's hand. “What were you thinking about just then?” she asked.

“Woolgathering, I guess,” Sharlie answered.

“Looked like lofty thoughts to me.”

Sharlie laughed. “I was probably wondering what's for lunch.”

“That's a good sign,” Margaret said and sat down. “I talked with Dr. Diller this morning. He's optimistic.”

“What's he doing here? I thought he was going to stay out West and be a movie star.”

Margaret smiled. “Jason Lewis casts a long shadow, I think.” Sharlie giggled, and Margaret went on. “He says you'll be home by the end of the week if you keep on the way you're going.”

Sharlie smiled vaguely, her eyes fastened on the window.

“You don't seem all that excited.”

“Mother, I could be back here again a day after I get out.”

“Don't you want to go home?” Margaret asked. Her voice had deepened abruptly, and Sharlie stared at her.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Margaret looked away.

“Mother,” Sharlie said, and waited until Margaret faced her reluctantly. “Tell me what you mean.”

“Well, it's hard to put my finger on it exactly, but you seem very … tense.”

Sharlie laughed, and Margaret began to look flustered. “I'm sorry,” Sharlie said through her laughter, “but there's nothing like a heart transplant to make a person tense. Besides, what does that have to do with going home?”

Margaret looked down at her hands folded in a tight ball in her lap. “I meant the tension between you and Brian.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake. Is all this because of dinner last week?”

Margaret gave her daughter a significant look, and Sharlie sighed. “There's nothing wrong with a good battle now and then. Don't worry about it.”

Margaret's voice sounded injured. “I only wanted to help. After all, I've been married to your father for nearly thirty-five years.”

“And you never fight with him, do you?”

“Some things are worth an argument. Most are not. A husband's career, for instance. For whatever reasons he's out late. Even if it's not strictly business—”

“Oh, Mother, don't insinuate. Just come out with it.”

Margaret took a breath and faced Sharlie squarely. “All right. I just wanted to say that you shouldn't let it upset you if Brian has another woman.”

“What?” Sharlie's outburst was half laughter, half shriek.

“You're not a normal woman, don't forget, despite the transplant. You can't blame him if he … strays. Men do, even under the best of circumstances.”

Sharlie stared at her mother in horror. Margaret interpreted the look as attentiveness and felt encouraged to continue. “I don't want to get into a discussion about your father. That's neither relevant nor fair, but suffice it to say that I have had my suspicions. Certainties. And I had the sense, thank God, to remind myself that fidelity is not within the framework of a man's character. I wouldn't want you to hold Brian to any foolish notions. He's obviously devoted to you, no matter what he may do just for the release.” She hesitated, finally realizing that her daughter's face contained more menace than gratitude.

“I never heard such crap in my life,” Sharlie said.

Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Don't be crude, dear,” she said in a quavering voice.

But Sharlie went on. “I don't know about you and Daddy, and as a matter of fact, I'd just as soon keep it that way. I like sex, Mother, and so does Brian, and he even likes it with
me.
I intend to wear him out until the day I die—in fact, that would be a damn good way to leave this world, wrapped around the man I love instead of lying in some cold, sterile hospital bed thinking about the women he's screwing because he's such a wild animal he can't help himself and I'm too refined for such filthy goings-on.”

Margaret's face was very red, and her eyes threatened tears. Sharlie took a deep, shuddering breath and softened her voice.

“I'm sorry about you and Daddy. But don't you pass the system on to me. I don't accept it.”

Margaret's expression suddenly shifted. Along with the tears, there was heat behind the eyes, and secretiveness. “And don't you make assumptions about your father and me,” she said quietly.

The memory of her parents sitting together on the living room couch flashed into Sharlie's head—her mother's hand touching her father's knee, the meeting of eyes in a communion that had excluded their daughter.

The two women looked at each other carefully until finally Sharlie began to smile. Margaret smiled back, and there was a flicker of intuitive shared joy between them. Then Margaret's eyes clouded, and the moment passed.

“Anyway, we have to get you well so you can go home to your husband, where you belong.”

“Okay, Mother,” Sharlie said softly. “Whatever you say.”

After Margaret left, Sharlie lay awake for a long time. Something had lifted inside, and she felt lighter.

I do believe I just did something important, she thought. She felt strong enough to leap out of bed and perform a dozen pushups in the hallway.

Had she really stood so close to her mother that she was forced to view the world from the same narrow box that Margaret did?

Well, no more. She'd spent too long in that elevator, shuttling up and down between floors, with her mother, with her father, even with poor Udstrom. She had finally reached her stop, and a tiny bell sounded—a small, ordinary ding, and yet, when the doors slid open, she walked out free.

Brian arrived that evening, exhausted after his day in court, with the sleepy, fuzzy look Sharlie loved—his beard was very light, and with a day s growth his face seemed almost frosted, the angular lines softened.

After he had kissed her and sat down on the bed, she smiled at him and said, “So, do I look different?”

He rubbed his eyes and gazed at her blearily. “Cute. Healthier.”

“I'm a new woman,” she said. Brian looked confused. “I've got this incredible feeling, Bri. It's like there's been a war raging in here.” She put her hand to her chest. “And it's over. Or at least there's a truce. The troops took off their helmets and shook hands and went off for a beer together.”

Brian stared at her as if she were demented. She laughed. “They did not raise my Valium dosage. I swear it.”

“Something
happened.”

“Mother was here, and we had this discussion, and all of a sudden I feel so terrific.” She threw her arms apart. “What do you think? Am I born again or something?”

“I would say that you have more likely reached a new plateau of self-realization.”

She stared at him, and he grinned.

“But I didn't think it happened in one fell swoop,” she protested.

“It doesn't.”

“Well, how come it feels that way? Oh, never mind. I think I know.”

“Why?”

She lowered her eyes. He waited for an answer, and finally she said, “I've been saving up my delayed adolescence for all these years, and finally it just exploded all at once.”

Brian leaned over to kiss her again and went to hunt for her dinner, which was already twenty minutes late. After he left, she lay back and watched the sky outside turn dark blue. What's happened, she thought, is that I'm in more of a hurry than other people. If I don't grow up today, I won't ever get the chance. Basically, I'm a dying person.

Sobering thought, no doubt about it But along with today's new feeling of integration had come the realization that she had known the truth for some time. Maybe some unconscious part of her mind had absorbed that knowledge and was pressing her to achieve the kind of freedom she had finally begun to experience. She wanted to spend three days wide awake in her bed thinking it all over. In fact, it would be nice to stay permanently awake all the time from now on. A waste, sleeping.

Brian arrived with the dinner tray. Sharlie sat up on the edge of the bed as he produced two plates, one with broiled fish and one with pot roast and potatoes.

Sharlie stared enviously at Brian's dinner. “How did you manage that?”

“Marylou-the-dietician's a great friend of mine.”

“Oh?”

“She had a problem with her kid, and I sent them to the ACLU. Worked out fine.”

“What can
I
do to get pot roast?”

“Don't worry, one of these days they'll get the trays screwed up.”

He plowed through his dinner quickly, but when the aide arrived to remove the dishes, Sharlie's plate was barely touched. She leaned back against her pillow, tired from sitting up so long.

“Brian.”

He was holding a bare foot that stuck out from beneath her sheets. “Yeah?”

“When I get out of here, I want to go on a trip.”

“Where to?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“What for?”

“Silver Creek.” Brian was silent. “I want to meet your father,” she said.

“You're not missing anything.”

“And see where you grew up.”

“I don't want to do that.”

“Please.”

“Let's go to Florida. Or Delaware. I don't care, wherever you want.”

“Except Silver Creek.”

He nodded.

“Oh, Bri, what can he do to you now?” Brian shook his head. “I'll bet he doesn't even have any teeth left to bite you with.” He didn't smile. “Not funny, huh?”

“Not particularly.”

“Will you think about it?”

“Yeah.”

“No, really. I mean
think
about it. I want to go.”

He squeezed her foot. “All right.”

“Give us a kiss,” she said. He kissed her once, and she brought his face back down to hers for another, longer one. “Okay,” she said. “Now go away. Go to the movies. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He left. Now when she looked out her window, the sky was black, and there wasn't a star to be seen.

She woke up in a cold sweat, her limbs rigid. It was as if an icy wind had suddenly swept her empty inside. The sensation was so powerful that she had to hold tightly to the edge of her bed for fear of falling out. Dizzy, she closed her eyes to wait it out.

The wind passed through her, howling, and left by the window, sucking the substance of her with it. Instead of the flesh-and-blood Sharlie of a few moments ago, she felt vacuumed out, so light that it was as if she were merely a tiny slip of paper fluttering helplessly in a black and furious universe. She saw shadowed horizons curving endlessly before her and enormous orbs—dark, menacing red—revolving slowly: omnipotent, magnetic shapes drawing her weightless body into a suffocating, malevolent universe.

She clung desperately to her connection with humanity—details of her daily life, the people she knew and had touched: Brian, her parents, the staff at the hospital—but they, too, seemed ghostly paper figures, powerless against the forces looming around her. The only realities belonged to her dark vision—a grotesque parade of disease, torment, dying children, war, senseless suffering. Death, her death, linked just outside the window, a swirling, twisting blackness that waited to slide inside and obliterate her. She reached deep within herself for the calm acceptance of this afternoon, but terror rose up in her throat, her screams emerging as whimpers. She groped for her call button.

A nurse she'd never seen before appeared in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Where's Mary?” Sharlie choked out.

“At the desk.”

“Can't she come?” Her own words felt as if they belonged to someone else, sounding far, far away.

“Better not. She's got a cold.”

“Mary has a cold,” Sharlie repeated numbly. Mary would never have a cold. Mary would never get sick.

Suddenly she was crying and pleading like a child. “I want Mary. Please. I want Mary.”

Mary was beside her in less than a minute, masked, but with the familiar pink skin visible above the gauze. Her hand was soft on Sharlie's wrist. “Jesus God, you feel like you just ran the marathon.”

“I'm scared. I'm scared,” Sharlie whispered.

“Anything hurt?”

“Just my soul. Oh, Mary, I feel all used up.”

“Let me give you something.”

“Will you stay with me until it works?”

Mary nodded.

“You're sick. Are you all right?”

“A rotten cold, that's all,” Mary answered, pouring Sharlie a glass of water from the pitcher beside her bed.

“You can't be sick, not you,” Sharlie said, gulping the sleeping capsule.

Mary laughed. “Well, why the hell not, I'd like to know?”

“I wish you'd take it off, that mask.”

“Oh, no, m'girl, I don't want you getting my germs.”

“It doesn't matter.” Sharlie's face had stilled. Mary took the slim hand between her own round ones.

“Remember what you asked me to do once upon a time?” Mary asked.

Sharlie nodded her head slightly, eyes closed.

“Are you glad I didn't do it?”

Sharlie nodded again. “Stay with me,” she said groggily.

“As long as you want me, honey.”