Heart Failure (3 page)

“He called them bad men. So does that make him a
good
man?” Julie asked.

“I don’t know. What really hurts is that he’s been lying to me! I feel as though I’ve been part of a play, and I’m only now getting to know the actor playing opposite me,” Carrie said. “I’m confused.”

“So . . .” Julie hesitated, and Carrie could tell she was treading lightly. “So is the engagement still on?”

“I gave him back the ring. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You have to answer one question: do you love him?”

Carrie shook her head, even though there was no one to see it. “I love Adam . . . or thought I did. But now I don’t know who Adam is.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I need to let you go. I wish we could get together to talk about this. You always help.”

“Barry’s going to be in Dallas soon, maybe next week. Why don’t I plan to go with him? We can meet somewhere halfway between Dallas and Jameson. I’ll give you a call and set it up.”

“Thanks, Julie.”

“And in the meantime,” her friend said, “pray about it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Carrie said. “I—”

“I know. Some well-meaning people told you that if you prayed hard enough, John wouldn’t die. But he did. That doesn’t mean you have to stop praying. God doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want, but He sees the big picture. And He loves you.”

Carrie didn’t respond.

“I’ll call you soon,” was all Julie said.

Later, as Carrie lay in bed, she stared upward into the dark and wondered if Julie was right. Maybe prayer would help. Even if God didn’t answer, it might help get this burden off her shoulders. Of course, since John’s death, her belief in the power of prayer had gone downhill. But it was worth a try. She began, “God, I don’t know what to do. Please give me wisdom to deal with this.” But soon she found herself on a familiar track, wondering why her prayers for her husband hadn’t been answered. Grief mixed with anger boiled up yet again, stirring a pain that was always there, just under the surface. Finally she rolled over, buried her head in the pillow, and sobbed herself to sleep.

The first thing Sunday morning, Adam dug out his phone directory and looked up the non-emergency number for the Jameson Police Department. “This is Adam Davidson. I left my car parked at the curb in front of my apartment last night, and when I came out this morning, I discovered three bullet holes in the windshield.”

After Adam gave the necessary information, the man on the other end of the line asked him to stay where he was and meet the patrolman who’d be there soon.

“How soon?”

“Maybe an hour. Maybe a bit longer.”

Adam didn’t argue. He knew that complaints like this didn’t carry a sense of urgency like those where the caller was in immediate danger. Besides, he could use the time to make another phone call.

He didn’t have to look up this number. Several times
Adam had started to program it into his cell phone’s speed dial, but for the sake of security, he decided to store it only in his memory. The call was answered on the second ring.

“Branson.”

The voice brought an image to Adam’s mind and a smile to his lips—an image of a man who looked like a slightly stockier, slightly older version of himself. “Dave, it’s me.”

“Keith?”

“You mean Adam.”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” A door closed softly in the background. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Someone shot at me last night. Might be a random drive-by, but I can’t risk thinking that way. I have to assume I was the target.”

Adam envisioned his older brother rubbing his chin, a sure sign he was thinking. “So I guess you’re about to leave again. Adam, are you sure you want to live the rest of your life this way? Always on the run, always looking over your shoulder. Changing names and locations so often that you sometimes wake up wondering who you are, where you are.”

“No, I’m not going to run anymore,” Adam said. “You forget, I’m in love. I just asked Carrie to marry me, and if she’ll still have me, I’m prepared to stay and fight.”

“You’re sure?”

Was he sure? He’d spent most of the night thinking about that question. “Yes. I’m convinced God brought Carrie into my life to complete it.” He sipped from the mug at his elbow and grimaced when he found the coffee had gone cold.

“Does she know who you are? And does she understand the situation?”

“Not the whole story, but enough. Last night I told her that Adam Davidson isn’t my real name and that I’m on the run from some dangerous people.”

“And what did she say?”

“About what you’d expect. She’s angry, hurt, confused. Besides all that, she realizes she’s in danger by being close to me.” The simple act of saying the words made Adam’s throat tighten, a lump that all the coffee in the world couldn’t wash away.

The silence on the other end of the line dragged on so long Adam thought they’d been disconnected. Then Dave said, “Where do you go from here?”

“I’m not sure yet. A lot depends on Carrie, I guess. If I stay, I put both of us in danger. If I go, I lose her.” David felt tears forming.
Stop
that. Real men don’t cry. Or maybe they do if they’ve really fouled up and possibly lost the woman they love
.

“Are you praying about it?” David asked.

“Of course. I’ve prayed every day since I left Chicago. Sometimes it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.”

Before Dave could respond, Adam heard the doorbell. “Gotta go. Police are here to take a report on the shooting.”

Even after leaving his original identity, Adam had always been truthful with law officers. Not only was it part of his nature, it was an obligation. As a lawyer he’d been an officer of the court—still was, although his license was in his original name—sworn to uphold the law, cooperate with authorities, never withhold pertinent information. Now what he was about to tell the policeman at the door would be an outright lie.
And so it begins
.

Adam wondered where it would end.

THREE

CARRIE AWOKE ON SUNDAY MORNING TO A GRAY WORLD. SHEETS of rain beat against her windowpane, matching her mood. Maybe this was a good day to stay in bed. She burrowed deeper into the covers and thought about the changes in her life.

The shooting in the movie parking lot had shaken her. Then Adam’s revelation turned her world upside down. She didn’t really want to go to church. She wanted to hide her head, block out the world. But church was a habit she’d acquired years ago, and Carrie knew that ultimately she’d leave the safety of her bed and get dressed. Duty or desire, it made no difference. Church was on her agenda today.

She visited the coffee pot, then set about getting ready to face the world. As she did, she took stock of herself in the mirror. Her blond hair was cut in a no-nonsense short style that framed a face others told her was attractive. Her green eyes saw things clearly without the need for glasses, although
obviously they had been unable to penetrate Adam’s disguise. She was an attractive professional, still in the prime of life. But after John’s death she’d put up an invisible fence that might as well have had warning signs on it.
I’ve been hurt. I’m healing, but I’m still vulnerable. Stay away
.

When she met him, she’d opened the gate and let Adam in. In hindsight that was probably a huge mistake, one with which she’d have to deal. And now her world had changed again. Her ringless finger felt peculiar. Even more peculiar was a morning without the usual call from Adam, a day without a lunch or dinner date. She’d adjusted before. She’d do it again. Carrie wiped away the tears that formed in the corners of her eyes. Maybe church would help, maybe not.

She slipped into a simple green dress, gulped the last of her coffee, and grabbed an umbrella.
Ready or not, world, here I come. But be aware. The gate is closed again
.

The organ was sounding the final notes of the prelude when Carrie slipped into the half-filled sanctuary. She stowed her umbrella under her seat and tried to put her mind in neutral. Maybe the service would calm her heart. Maybe it would help her find the answers to the questions nipping at the edges of her thoughts like a pack of wild dogs. She hoped so.

Carrie found it hard to focus on the service. She went through the motions, but her concentration kept slipping. She sang the hymns without letting the lyrics sink in. She stood for the reading of the Scripture, but the words washed over her like waves on a beach. There was no comfort there. And through it all, her emotions were all over the place.

She alternated between anger at Adam for the lies he’d told and disgust at herself for believing them. Carrie revisited her
sorrow for John’s death and the part she might have played in it. She was wracked with pain thinking of her short time with John, snatched from her after only five years of marriage. Her heart ached as she realized the perfect life she’d envisioned with Adam was now disappearing as well, replaced by a situation that was dangerous at best and fatal at worst.

Carrie considered slipping out during the offertory, but then the pastor stepped to the pulpit and it was too late for her to move without attracting attention. The preacher seemed to stare straight into her soul, and his first words tied her stomach in knots. “Let not your heart be troubled.”

The Scripture should have made Carrie relax, but instead it gave her the sensation of being trapped in an elevator in free fall. In an instant she was transported back to a scene from almost two years ago, a scene she’d never forget but wished she could. Her mind’s eye saw the same pastor, the same pulpit. But this time there was a bronze casket at the front of the church, banked on either side by floral tributes that assaulted her nostrils with a sickly sweet scent.

Instead of her current seat in one of the back rows, Carrie was in the front row, with John’s sister and her husband on one side, John’s mother and father on the other. Carrie’s parents hadn’t bothered to come. Even the death of their son-in-law couldn’t bridge the rift between them and Carrie, the chasm that developed when she embraced Christianity in her first year of medical school.

That day the pastor had read that same Scripture: “Let not your heart be troubled.” She supposed the message he brought was one of comfort and hope, but other than the opening verses from the Bible, Carrie couldn’t recall a single word he spoke.
There’d been music and words of tribute from a couple of friends. But all Carrie could think about during the entire service was,
We should have had decades together, but all we had was five years. It was such a freak thing—a punctured coronary artery during a routine procedure. I’m a doctor—why couldn’t I save him?
She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. What did she do wrong? Why did God let it happen? Why?

The swelling notes of the organ brought Carrie back to the present. She’d apparently stood at the proper time. She’d managed to bow her head with the rest of the congregation for the closing prayer. As she joined the crowd filing out, she thought about the morning’s Scripture passage. “Let not your heart be troubled.” The words brought a wry, mirthless smile to her lips.
Sorry, God. I can’t help it. My heart’s been troubled too long
.

Carrie was halfway home, driving on automatic pilot, when the ring of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She pulled into the parking area of a nearly deserted strip shopping center and dug the phone from her purse. The Emergency Room was calling.

“Dr. Markham,” she answered.

“This is Doris in the ER. We have an elderly man here with severe dyspnea. He says he’s seen Dr. Avery in your group, but not for at least a year. You’re on call, but do you want us to try Dr. Avery?”

“No, I’ll see him. Get an EKG and chest film. Oh, and draw some blood chemistries and a CBC. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Carrie laid her cell phone on the seat behind her and aimed her Prius toward the hospital. She kept her eyes focused on the road,
but her mind wasn’t on the hospital or the patient waiting there for her. It was on Adam—her relationship with him, the secret he’d told her, their future together . . . if they had one.

She wondered if there was any way out of this living nightmare. She’d have to talk with Adam again. There were too many questions still unanswered. But she dreaded their next conversation. What could she say? She still didn’t know what she should do. She’d thought she loved Adam, but who, really, was Adam Davidson?