Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(22)

I’d overheard her fielding calls from the people she worked with, putting them off, apologizing. She was an artist, and she’d need to get back to it soon. We still hadn’t talked about how to manage that part of our lives because when we did, I’d have to admit for the first time that I didn’t want her to travel so much. I didn’t know what to do about that.

The visions of my heart leaving my body persisted. Sometimes it flopped around the floor and squirted blood; sometimes it only came halfway out; and sometimes, when I scratched the itchy scar, my fingers went through the soft tissue and touched the foreign, beating thing, and in response, it detached and slid into my palm.

Monica was always there in those waking dreams. In the easiest ones, she was simply horrified. In the worst of them, I was driving and killed her when I died at the wheel. But traveling? I was convinced the heart would stay on the ground if I flew, as if it weren’t tethered to my body but to the state of California. I’d ruin her trip and probably her life. I was never scared of my own death. I’d dealt with that already, but its effect on Monica would be shattering.

None of it was rational. None of it made sense. And my nearly physical ache for children made the least sense of all the crazy nonsense I believed. Knowing that didn’t shake the fear or the longing away.

I’d managed to wiggle out of traveling until we drove down to Sheila’s place in Palos Verdes. The June sunset left the sky palette-knifed in orange and navy, and the temperature hung between inoffensively cold and completely generic. With the top down and Monica next to me in the Jag, twisted in her seat, the weather was perfect.

“Are you going to sit like that in front of my sisters?” I asked.

“Hey, if you wanted me to sit straight, you should have been a little gentler.”

“You didn’t marry me for my gentle ways.”

She poked me in the ribs and I laughed, but she sat straighter.

“Is there any country in the world you haven’t been to?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Any one you want to go to?”

“Iceland. But I’m not cleared yet.”

“Yes, you are. You haven’t asked Dr. Solis at all. We could send a bunch of shit shakes ahead and make sure whatever cardiac unit there was knew you were coming.”

I didn’t answer right away. We were communicating, but I shouldn’t answer rashly. I pulled off the 110, slowing my car and my thoughts. “The thought of it is…” I knew what the honest answer was, but it was hard to speak aloud.

“We can do everything to make it less scary—”

“I didn’t say I was scared.”

“Well, I am.” She took my hand, looking out her side of the car. “Anyway. The food’s really bland there. You should like it.”

I reached under her arm and tickled her. She squealed and twisted away. What was I going to do with her? Besides spank her raw and love her senseless? At some point, I would keep our honesty promise and break it to her that even if I funded the artificial heart, I wouldn’t test it. But her relief and happiness were too precious and delicate. I hoped some other obstacle would present itself in the meantime. Blood type, body size, anything.

I went through the gate and parked in front of Sheila’s house, pulling the emergency brake. “About the Swiss thing…”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s not what you think or if it doesn’t work out, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“It’ll work out. I know it.”

She didn’t wait for me to come around. She just opened the door and got out, bouncing as if it were someone’s birthday.

chapter 14.

MONICA

Jonathan followed me, flipping his keys in his palm, spinning them around a finger, flipping again. Spin. Flip. Spin. Flip. All in the rhythm of his gait, like a perfectly tuned instrument of movement and sound. He wore a white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and jeans that fit as if custom built for him. Jogging miles every morning had toned his legs and added grace to his gait.

I rang Sheila’s bell. The door was wide enough to fit two adults walking abreast, so I didn’t know how he was supposed to get in without seeing everyone. But it hadn’t been my job to hide everyone. It had been my job to get him there on time.

He slipped his hand across my bare shoulder and grasped me by the back of the neck, saying nothing and owning me completely. I relaxed right into the warmth of his hand.

The door opened. Sheila wore a pair of skinny jeans and a lavender hoodie. Bare feet. Hair brushed for a change. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks.” He kissed her on the cheek, leaving his other hand on me as if I’d run away.

Was the party off? Had something happened? Where was the big opening salvo? Sheila stepped out of the way. Jonathan guided me in the door, and I greeted her. Looking over her shoulder, I caught sight of the buffet and felt more than saw the presence of other people.

After Jonathan stepped in and the door closed behind him, the shout of “Surprise!” came all at once, at incredible volume, from an impossible number of people. They appeared from the hall, behind the couch, the patio, as if a switch had been flicked.

Jonathan stood in the doorway a second then clutched his chest and stepped back. Mouth open, eyes wide, as if in shock and surprise at the pain.