priest.'
'Let me guess... an altar boy.'
'I was a college student, majoring in math. I didn't even go to church until after I served on the jury.'
'What jury?'
I hesitated. 'The one that sentenced you to death. Shay.'
He stared at me for a long minute, and then he turned away. 'Get out.'
'Shay-'
'Get the fuck away from mel' He flailed against his handcuffs, yanking at the bonds so that his skin rubbed raw. The sound he made was wordless, primordial, the noise that had surely filled the world before there was order and light.
A nurse came running in, along with the two officers who were standing outside. 'What happened?' the nurse cried, as Shay continued to thrash, his head whipping from side to side on the pillow. The gauze in his nose bloomed with fresh blood.
The nurse pushed a call button on the panel behind Shay's head, and suddenly the room was filled with people. A doctor yelled at the officers to unlock his damn hands, but as soon as they did. Shay began swatting at everything he could reach. An aide plunged a hypodermic into his arm. 'Get him out of here,' someone said, and an orderly pulled me out of the room; the last thing I saw was Shay going boneless, sliding away from the people who were desperately trying to save him.
June
Claire was standing in front of a full-length mirror, naked. Her chest was crisscrossed with black ribbon, like the lacing on a football.
As I watched, she untied the bow, unraveled the ribbons, and peeled back both halves of her chest. She unhooked a tiny brass hinge on her rib cage and it sprang open.
Inside, the heart was beating sure and strong, a clear sign that it wasn't hers. Claire lifted a serving spoon and began to carve at the organ, trying to sever it from the veins and arteries. Her cheeks went pale; her eyes were the color of agony-but she managed to pull it free: a bloody, misshapen mass that she placed in my outstretched hand. 'Take it back,' she said.
I woke up from the nightmare, sweat-soaked, pulse racing.
After speaking with Dr. Wu about organ compatibility, I'd realized he was right-what was at issue here was not where this heart came from, but whether it came at all.
But I still hadn't told Claire a donor heart had become available.
We had yet to go through the legal proceedings, anyway- and although I told myself I didn't want to get her hopes up until the judge ruled, another part of me realized that I just didn't want to have to tell her the truth.
After all, it was her chest that would be hosting this man's heart.
Even a long shower couldn't get the nightmare of Claire out of my mind, and I realized that we had to have the conversation I had been so studiously avoiding. I dressed and hurried down 254 stairs to find her eating a bowl of cereal on the couch and watching television. 'The dog needs to go out,' she said absently.
'Claire,' I said, 'I have to talk to you.'
'Let me just see the end of this show.'
I glanced at the screen-it was Full House, and Claire had watched this episode so often that even I could have told you Jesse came home from Japan realizing being a rock star was not what it was cracked up to be.
'You've seen it before,' I said, turning off the television.
Her eyes flashed, and she used the remote to turn the show back on.
Maybe it was a lack of sleep; maybe it was just the weight of the imminent future on my shoulders-for whatever reason, I snapped.
I whirled around and yanked the cable feed out of the wall.
'What is wrong with you?' Claire cried. 'Why are you being such a bitch!'
Both of us fell silent, stunned by Claire's language. She'd never called me that before; she'd never really even argued with me. Take it back, I thought, and I remembered that image of Claire, holding out her heart.
'Claire,' I said, backpedaling. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-'
I broke off as Claire's eyes rolled back in her head.
I'd seen this before-too often. The AICD in her chest was firing: when Claire's heart skipped a beat, or several, it automatically defibrillated her. I caught her as she collapsed, settling her on the couch, waiting for her heart to restart, for Claire to come to.
Except this time, she didn't.
On the ambulance ride to the hospital, I counted all the reasons I hated myself: For picking a fight with Claire. For accepting Shay
Bourne's offer to donate his heart, without asking her first. For turning off Full House before the happy ending.
Just stay with me, I begged silently, and you can watch TV twentyfour hours a day. I will watch it with you. Don't give up, we've come so close.
Although the EMTs had gotten Claire's heart beating again by the time we reached the hospital, Dr. Wu had admitted her, with the unspoken agreement that this was her new home until a new heart arrived-or hers gave out. I watched him check Claire, who was fast asleep in the oceanic blue light of the darkened room.
'June,' he said, 'let's talk outside.'
He closed the door behind us. 'There's no good news here.'
I nodded, biting my lip.
'Obviously, the AICD isn't functioning correctly. But in addition, the tests we've done show her urine output decreasing and her creatinine levels rising. We're talking about renal failure, June.
It's not just her heart that's giving out-her whole body is shutting down.'
I looked away, but I couldn't stop a tear from rolling down my cheek.
'I don't know how long it's going to take to get a court to agree to that heart donation,' the doctor said, 'but Claire can't wait around for the docket to clear.'
'I'll call the lawyer,' I said softly. 'Is there anything else I can do?'
Dr. Wu touched my arm. 'You should think about saying good-bye.'
I held myself together long enough for Dr. Wu to disappear into an elevator. Then, I rushed down the hallway and blindly plunged into a doorway that stood ajar. I fell to my knees and let the grief bleed out of me-one great, low keening note.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I blinked through my tears to find the priest who was Shay Bourne's ally staring at me.
'June? Is everything all right?'
'No,' I said. 'No, everything is most definitely not all right.'
I could see then what I hadn't noticed when I first came into the room-the gold cross on the long dais in the front of the room, one flag with the star of David, another with a Muslim crescent moon: this was the hospital chapel, a place to ask for what you wanted the most.
Was it wrong to wish for someone's death so that Claire could have his heart sooner?
'Is it your daughter?' the priest asked.
I nodded, but I couldn't look him in the eye.
'Would it be all right-I mean, would you mind if I prayed for her?'
Although I did not want his assistance-had not asked for his assistance-this one time, I was willing to put aside how I felt about God, because Claire could use all the help she could get.
Almost imperceptibly, I nodded.
Beside me, Father Michael's voice began to move over the hills and valleys of the simplest of prayers: 'Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.'
Before I realized what I was doing, my own mouth had started to form the words, a muscle memory. And to my surprise, instead of it feeling false or forced, it made me relieved, as if I had just passed the baton to someone else.
