The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(71)

“Oh, lovely. You’ve brought me what appears to be a package of illegal drugs, right in front of all our neighbors. Just what I needed.”

He laughed.

“But really, what is this?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders extra-high and held out his hands, but his smile told me he knew exactly what it was. “I’m just…”

“The messenger?”

“The person who’s not in hot water for something that’s obviously juicy and epic, because Jackson usually gets away with murder. Any idea why he’s grounded?”

Jack hadn’t told him? Wow. “It will go with me to my grave,” I said.

“And you just happen to be grounded, too? The whole thing reeks of scandal, if you ask me.”

“Good-bye, Andy.”

He grinned and saluted me. “I’ll let him know the package has been transferred successfully.”

“Thanks.” He stood there for another moment, so I asked, “Are you and Sierra seeing each other?”

“Indeed we are,” he said, then added, “exclusively.”

As he started down the steps, I thought of all the things the girls at Jack’s party were saying about her, and I’m not sure why, but instead of hating her guts, I felt a little sorry for her. “Hey,” I called out in a low voice.

He paused and turned around. “Yeah?”

“She needs someone she can count on.”

“I know.” He smiled and jogged down the stairs to rejoin her in the car.

Once they drove away, I headed back inside and examined the strange package. I was pretty eager to find out what was under all that tape, but it took kitchen shears and some elbow grease to get it open. Jack must’ve been paranoid about Andy sneaking a peek inside to have Fort Knox–ed it up like that. Why? Inside were a folded note and a small black bag.

The note was handwritten in perfect letters:

Bex,

Good news and bad news. The bad: I probably won’t be able to meet up with you to show Jillian the painting, because my mom’s coming with me to see her on Tuesday. But if you can email me a photo of it, I’ll find a way to sneak Jillian a peek at it. The good news: I found a devious and brilliant way to attend your art show on Thursday. Don’t worry! It doesn’t involve graffiti.

A “devious” way? What in the world was he doing? I prayed it wasn’t something risky or stupid, because him being at the art show wasn’t worth it. I didn’t want to make his father any angrier than he already was. But if Jack said not to worry, I wouldn’t. Much. I continued reading:

As to what’s inside the bag … You once gave me the choice of none of you or all of you. No matter what happens, I wanted you to know that you have all of me in return. I’m giving this to you because I trust you to keep it safe.

Love,
Jack

I opened up the black bag. The contents tumbled out. A sterling silver anatomical heart sat in my palm, suspended on a short chain. Maybe an inch tall and modeled all the way around, the pendant was beautifully cast and anatomically correct. It was also a locket, and when I opened the tiny clasp, two halves swung open to reveal a hollow compartment. My pulse leaped when I spied the jeweler’s script engraving on the smooth inner wall:

Jack’s Heart

I snapped it shut and looped it around my neck. It hung over the top of my breastbone, heavy and polished. I warmed the silver with my fingers and whispered a promise to him: “I will.”

30

When the big day finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck. I’d finished my contest entry and received Jillian’s approval through Jack, and though the paint was barely dry, I got it turned in on time. Now I just had to survive the moment of truth.

The show was downtown on Geary Street, and traffic stank. Mom, Heath, and I were stuck in the paddy wagon trying to find a parking space while I was quietly having a stroke over the fact that we were maybe-probably-definitely going to be late.

I tried to assure myself that I looked good, at least. I was wearing my most flattering dress—black and white polka dots, with buttons all the way down the front and a belt in the middle—along with the gray knee-high boots. I was also wearing Jack’s heart. (When Mom saw it, she asked me where I’d gotten it, and I told her the truth; she’d only said “Hmph,” but that was better than “Throw it in the trash!” so I figured it was okay.) And when I’d stopped by Alto on my way back from dropping off my painting, Ms. Lopez gave me a cloisonné ladybug for luck, which I’d pinned to the collar of my dress.

But that ladybug was already letting me down, and it only got worse when Heath casually said, “Hey, look at this SF Weekly article on the show tonight,” and passed me his phone. My eyes glazed over as the headline attacked me from the small screen:

MAYOR’S WIFE TO SPEAK AT MUSEUM-SPONSORED STUDENT ART EXHIBITION

I nearly choked. Heath shot me a wide-eyed look between the seats when Mom was busy complaining to herself about city parking. If this discreet silence was Heath’s way of making up for his massive betrayal, I supposed I’d let him have a few points.

The article was brief. At the last minute, Marlena Vincent was scheduled to appear at the exhibition. The article described her as a “long-time patron of the arts” and remarked on her extensive art collection. (Her chair paintings? Really?) Apparently, she’d also helped raise a shit-ton of money for Bay Area art education. And of course the exhibition organizers were just “thrilled” to have her on board to inspire the young talent who had entered the contest.