14

It was after 7:00 p.m. before Kira left the office. She’d covered several meetings at city hall, along with an important city appointment, and didn’t finish the last story until long after everyone else had left.

No visit to Mom tonight. She was simply too tired, and her mother, according to the nurse on duty, was sleeping.

She walked to the MARTA station. She usually drove but she’d been late this morning, and rapid transit was quicker during the morning rush hours. MARTA didn’t come to a standstill like Atlanta traffic.

The platform was empty, meaning a train had just left. Sighing, she took one of the seats on the platform and looked at the newspaper she’d grabbed as she left the office. The story she’d filed at noon led the front page. She never quite got over the thrill of seeing her byline at the top of page one. She read it over and thought about follow-up stories for the next day.

Then she stood. The next train should be coming. The platform was still nearly empty. No Atlanta Braves game tonight. Apparently no other event to draw people. A signal that a train was nearing. She moved to the area next to the track.

She became aware of someone moving toward her. She probably would have noticed it sooner if she hadn’t been emotionally and mentally drained. But suddenly a man was next to her, just as she heard the train coming.

Startled, she turned. Caught a glimpse of a Braves cap pulled down over a forehead and dark glasses. Then his hands came out just as the train thundered toward them.

“Hey,” a voice some distance away yelled. The man nearing her stumbled, pushing her as he did. Her legs went from under her and she started to fall toward the tracks and the oncoming train.

She frantically reached for something, but there was nothing but air.

A hand grabbed her, swung her around just as the train slowed and came to a stop.

She landed on the ground, her arm scraping the cement. She couldn’t move for a moment. Her heart thundered. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought how easily she might have been lying on the train tracks.

Several people gathered around her, including her Good Samaritan. “You okay?” he asked.

She sat up. Looked at him. He was an older man, bulky in a blue work shirt and pants. “You okay, ma’am?” he asked again.

She nodded, tried to breathe normally. “Thanks … to you. Did you see what happened?”

“Looked like someone was in too big a hurry. Running for the train. I saw him collide with you. I guess he panicked and ran off.”

Blood ran down her arm. The fall had scraped a portion of skin from her arm.

“Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Just glad you’re okay. But I think we should call nine-one-one. Have them look at that arm.”

The last thing she needed now was hours spent with the police. Long explanations. “No. You said it was an accident. And I’m not badly hurt.”

Her Samaritan helped her stand and led her back to a seat. “I’ll wait with you for the next train,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said again. She wanted to say it a hundred times. Her hand and wrist were wet now with blood. She used some tissues from her purse to stanch it. Her mind raced, even as her breathing slowed. “Who are you? You were so quick.”

“Vietnam, ma’am. You learn to react fast. I ain’t never forgot it. I work as a security guard at the Omni.”

“I’m Kira Douglas,” she said. “I work for the Observer. Can I get your name?”

“No, ma’am. I mean I don’t want no thanks or nothing in the newspapers. Didn’t do anything but grab your hand.”’

“You could have gone down with me.”

“Didn’t happen,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked around, found her purse, picked it up, and gave it to her.

The platform started filling again. Not crowds, just one or two people at a time. They glanced at her curiously, their eyes falling to the bloodied blouse, then looked away.

Another train came to a stop. Her new friend gave her a hand up and steadied her. Together, they stepped inside the car.

“Are you going this way?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see what the guy looked like?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He moved too fast, and his face was partially covered by that cap. Probably about five feet eight inches or so. Thin. That’s it.”

Five stops later, she stepped out. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

“Not necessary,” she said. “I live right around the corner.”

He nodded.

“Isn’t there some way I could thank you? Not just words …”

“Words are nice, miss. Just don’t get too close to the edge again.”

“Not to worry about that,” she replied as she stepped off.

She’d parked at the MARTA station. Warily, she found her car and unlocked it. In minutes she was home. She went inside and leaned against the wall.

And shook. Quick mental snapshots of the fall … the train approaching …

She tried to recall the man who bumped her. Or had he pushed her? And if so, why?

Remember! But it was so quick. Blurred.

She double-checked the lock, then went to the bathroom, cleaned the wound on her arm, and swathed it in bandages. Then she poured herself a large glass of wine and ran steaming water in the tub with an extra dose of soothing bath oil. She took her cordless phone from the cradle and placed it beside the tub.

When the tub was full, she sank into it, protecting her arm, but relishing the heat of the water. She felt some of the tension ebbing away. She closed her eyes. Her mother’s wan face floated in her mind along with Max’s angry one and Leigh’s bewildered one.

Had she done everything wrong? Had she ruined her mother’s chances? That haunted her more than her own mishap.

The collision on the MARTA platform must have been an accident, nothing more. Someone in too much of a hurry. She probably should have reported it, but she was exhausted and didn’t want to spend hours trying to explain the encounter to the police.

She glanced at the book on the tub’s edge. Part of her wanted to pick it up and escape to some other world. The other part thought it would just take too much effort. She was far too emotionally and mentally drained to make sense of words.

Her eyes closed. Just for a minute.

She jerked awake when the phone rang. For a few seconds, panic played havoc with her thinking processes. Her hand trembling, she reached for the phone.

“We have a potential donor,” her mother’s physician said. “We need to do some more tests, but I’m hopeful.”

“When?”

“It’s on its way from Charlotte,” he said. “It should be here in an hour.”

Exhilaration replaced exhaustion. Adrenaline filled her as she got out of the tub, threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and tore out the door. She was eight blocks away before she realized she hadn’t locked the door. Well, hell’s bells, her mother was more important. Why would a burglar pick this particular day to invade her house?

She sped down the streets to the hospital, praying that this really was the transplant that would save her mother’s life. Then she could drop the whole other mess. She would never mention the switched babies again.

Her mother need never know she’d missed the childhood years of her biological child. Or did she have a moral imperative to tell her mother?

She sped to the hospital, breaking every speed limit. She wanted to be there before the kidney arrived, before they started prepping her mother. Or had they already?

She squealed into the parking lot and ran inside. The information desk was empty. So was the entrance hall. She had often scoffed at movies where a hospital seemed empty when a bad guy pursued the heroine through its halls. But she’d found it eerily true late at night.

She was the sole passenger on the elevator up to her mother’s floor. Once there she ran down the corridor. She stopped at the nurse’s station. They all knew her well by now.

“They’re prepping her now,” one said.

“Has the kidney arrived?”

“It should be here within the hour. The transplant team is already here.”

Kira went down to her mother’s room. Katy Douglas turned her way, her smile luminous. “I’m so glad you got here.”

The surgeon entered then. Nodded to her, then went to her mother’s side. “It’s not certain yet. I want you to understand that. When it arrives, we have to mix your blood with the donor’s blood. If there is no reaction, it means you are compatible with the donor. If there is a reaction, the kidney won’t work for you because it’s incompatible. Or the donor kidney might show signs of deterioration or poor function.”

“I understand,” Katy said. She and her physician had gone through the protocols several times.

He looked at Kira, and she nodded as well.

A technician hurried in, took several vials of blood, then left.

The surgeon left.

Katy looked at Kira, and her eyes lingered on the rather large bandage on her arm. “What happened?”

“Just a fall. You know me. I’m always in a hurry and sometimes my feet trip over each other. It’s a curse.”

Her mother’s eyes bore into her, demanding the truth. It was damn hard lying to her, but by now she’d dismissed the incident at the rapid rail station as an accident.

“Truly it’s only a small cut,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”

She pulled the only chair in the room up to the bed and took her mother’s hand.

Her mother’s eyes met hers. “If it doesn’t match, there’s always another one,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m like the Energizer Bunny. You always said so.”

“It will be so good to have you home again,” Kira said. “The house is empty without you.”

Her mother squeezed her hand.

Minutes passed by. They talked of big and little things. Of old memories and new ones.

“I remember when you first walked,” her mother said. “Earlier than any of the other babies your age. You started talking before anyone else, too.”

“I think you’re prejudiced.” She hesitated, then asked, “You’ve never said much about my father.” It was vital now that she learn more. Leigh had the right to know.

“He gave me you,” her mother said, “and I always loved him for that. But we were both young. He was a musician, more into drugs than I thought, and a wanderer by nature. He tried. I think he really tried, but the only thing he knew was music and the only way you made music was traveling. When he took off, he left every penny he had. It wasn’t much but it was a lot for him. He sent money for a year, not much, but I suspect it was a lot to him. Then suddenly it no longer came. I tried to find someone who knew something. I finally located one of the band members who was in Atlanta with him. He was killed in an accident.”

“He didn’t have any family?”

“He said not.” She squeezed Kira’s hand. “I never talked about him because of the drugs; that part was a nightmare. But you have every right to know. He was a great guitarist but a really poor husband.” She paused. “Don’t ever fall in love in a day.”

A warning she really needed to heed.

Her mother squeezed Kira’s hand. “I love you, baby.”

“Ditto,” Kira replied.

Her mother lay back. More technicians and nurses came in. More blood taken. Body washed.

It was really happening.

Her mother was transferred to a stretcher.

Kira leaned over to kiss her.

Watched her wheeled out.

And started praying.