Darby
It’s day two of Darby being alone in a small room. I’m about ready to bug out.
Mom and Dad stay away like I ask. The nurses and aids check on me a few times, but they’re in and out to check my vital signs, comment on the food I’m not eating, and remind me to shower.
Mostly I’m waiting for Dr. Shaw to come back. She said she’d help me and then she’d disappeared. Maybe I dreamed her up.
I slide off my bed and peek out the window. Outside, light and dark fight. Black sky argues with yellow office windows. Red, yellow, and green stoplights yell at blue neon signs hanging over the stores’ front doors. Headlights from the steady flow of cars slap the wet road. Rain flecks over the whole scene like static on a TV screen.
I climb back into bed and tug a lock of hair apart from the rest, dividing it into three sections. It only takes a few seconds to braid it, so I get busy sectioning off and twisting strands until half my head is in loose, half-unraveling twists.
“I like the new look.”
I startle.
Shaw leans against the wall with her arms folded across her chest. Her hair is down. Loose curls touch her shoulders. It softens her sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. I could never hope to be as beautiful as her. She’s like art. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I tousle my hair to undo the braids. “Just messing around. Not a lot to do here.”
My gaze lands on the pile of lonely art supplies dumped in the corner. I wouldn’t even know where to start if I picked up a brush again.
She takes off her pea coat. Her cream cable knit sweater compliments her porcelain skin and her skinny jeans highlight how slim and tall she is.
God, it’s like she’s stepped out of Vogue. I, on the other hand, could barely make the cut for some heroin-junky-busted-for-shoplifting-crime-bulletin-photo on the local police Facebook page.
She twists her mouth to the side. “Have you left your room at all?”
“No.”
“Well that’s terrible.”
I snort.
“Would you like to get out of here for a while?”
I stare at the doorway. Do I deserve it? “I don’t know.”
“You have a jacket?”
“In the closet.”
“Get dressed.” She twirls her coat like a bull fighter and slides her arms in the sleeves.
“I, uh … ”
“Come on. We won’t be breaking any rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She fastens her buttons. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
I sit there, stunned, as Shaw shuts the door behind her. A smile plays at my mouth. She’s really serious about going outside.
I lower my feet to the floor. The tiles are cold on my bare feet. I pad to the closet next to the mini-bathroom—with the locker-sized shower—and open the door. Mom organized what she brought—a couple shirts and sweatshirts on the left, jeans in the middle, and underwear, bras, and socks in a mesh bag on the right. A pair of boots and sneakers wait neatly on the floor. Not one piece is stain-free, all wearing paint or turpentine.
I grab jeans and a zippered sweatshirt so I don’t have to tug anything over my c-collar and dress quickly. The smell of fabric softener and home mixes with the bleach-y hospital scent. For a fraction of a second, I get a flash of my old life, pre-accident. A life where I plot revenge against a know-it-all cheerleader, doodle in my notebook during school, and party hard at the club. In that life, Daniel is always there to swoop in and save me from crashing and burning.
My safety net is gone now.
I open the door and take the first step out of my hospital room turned jail cell.
Shaw’s talking to a nurse by the nursing station. Rosa. Her laughter pulls a small smile from me even though I have no idea what’s funny.
Rosa catches me walking up to Shaw. The lights rimming the station along the ceiling reflect off her glasses. “Oh my goodness, she’s out of her room!”
Shaw turns to me. “Darby, I’m glad you decided to join me.”
I tuck a loose chunk of hair behind my ear. “Yeah.”
“It’s chilly out. You might want to layer. Do you have a hat?”
I’d tip my chin up to glare at her, but my neck brace stops me so I lean back instead. “I don’t need you to act like my Mom.”
She raises her hands in surrender. “Not my intention.”
I tug the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Shaw flashes her perfect teeth. “As you wish.”
Rosa leans over the counter. “Have her back in an hour?”
“Of course.” Shaw waves goodbye to Rosa and we’re on our way to the elevator.
My stomach flops on the ride down. I haven’t been outside since the accident. Thankfully, the hallways are nearly empty as we walk to the front entrance. Only a couple people rush along the sidewalk, collars turned up and heads ducked against the chilly rain.
An icy breeze blows, shoving cold air into my lungs. Even my skin tingles. It’s not painful, though. It’s refreshing after so many days of stale hospital air.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Shaw says in my ear.
“Yeah.” There’s a lightness to my voice I haven’t heard in weeks. Despite myself, I’m enjoying this. I pause. Am I supposed to be liking this?
Shaw and I duck out of the way of a woman with a giant umbrella. Seriously, she could fit a bus under that thing.
Shaw hooks an arm through mine so I don’t step into a pothole. I hadn’t noticed it and if I’d fallen … well, it wouldn’t have been pretty, even with the c-collar to protect me.
“Thanks.”
She squeezes my arm. “Anytime. Where would you like to go?”
I lift my hood. Not too many options. A cafe across the street. Yuck. Or the sandwich shop between a pharmacy and bank. Generic. “I don’t care.”
“There’s a diner at the corner.”
More like a mess of chrome and neon. I can taste the French fries from here. Tempting. As much as I don’t want to go inside so soon, I’m shivering from the damp. “Okay.”
The diner is pretty quiet when we enter. Bitter coffee, fresh grease, and decades of customers wrap us in a suit of odors that’ll stay in our clothes.
A perky waitress with big hair seats us at a table next to a window and hands each of us a menu. Her uniform is the same pastel blue as the vinyl booths … and her chipping fingernail polish. Her nametag reads Celia.
Shaw orders a tea.
I ask for water.
“Sure thing.” Celia bounces off to get our drinks, popping her gum along the way.
Shaw shirks out of her coat, grinning. “We break out of a hospital and you order water? Pick out something fun. My treat.”
I dig a twenty out of my pocket and slap it on the white table. “I have money.”
“All right. We’ll go Dutch.”
“Huh?”
She giggles. “I’ll pay for mine and you pay for yours.”
Celia returns with our drinks and silverware on a tray. After setting the items in front of us she says, “What can I get you?”
Shaw squints at me, but her smile is all fun and light. “Apple pie with vanilla ice cream, please.”
Celia scribbles down the order, though I can’t imagine she’d have trouble remembering it. She turns to me. “What’ll you have, hun?”
I scan the menu, lost in all the choices. It’s been so long since I wanted food that I can’t decide from the pictures of juicy burgers, overflowing fries, and sundaes.
“Rosa said you didn’t eat dinner,” Shaw says.
Celia sucks on the end of her pencil. “Oh, you must be starving. How about mac and cheese? Randy makes it extra cheesy. It’s delicious.”
Shaw watches me.
“Sure. Sounds good.” I hand Celia my menu, not sure if I really want food, but I can’t refuse either since this is what we agreed on.
Doctor Shaw adds a packet of sugar to her tea and stirs it slowly with a spoon. “So, what’s it like for you?”
I peel the wrapping off a straw. “What do you mean?”
“Being outside.” She blows on the tea. Wisps of steam curl into the air and disappear.
“It’s … weird.” And it is.
“How so?”
I chew on my straw. “I don’t know. Everything feels different. I mean, it’s the same, but not.” I sigh. “That’s pretty lame.”
Shaw takes a sip of tea. “Not at all. People who suffer trauma often feel the way you do. The world is the same, but you’re different and it makes things seem off somehow.”
I drag my thumb along the side of my glass, tracing the outline of ice cubes. Some are square, some more rounded, and others are simply shards. The memory of the Mustang’s broken windshield flashes before me. “Exactly. And I don’t think things will ever be right again.”
“You’re very brave.”
I tear my gaze from the water. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not easy to jump back into life.” She rolls up an empty sugar packet between her thumb and forefinger.
“I haven’t.”
She drops the tiny ball. “But you have. By stepping foot outside your room. By trusting me enough to talk.”
I shrug. “We’re at a diner. It’s not like we’re heading to a rave or something.”
“You like raves?”
“I like parties. Or I used to.” I jab the straw into my glass. Ice cubes shift out of the way. “And I don’t do drugs, so don’t label me as one of those kids.”
“I haven’t. You like to be in control too much to use drugs.” She takes another tiny sip of her tea. It’s not steaming anymore so she doesn’t have to blow on it first.
I lean against the vinyl-covered bench. It creaks. “I’m not in control of anything.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. You’re a fighter, Darby Fox.”
“What makes you say that?”
Celia returns with our food. “Here you go, ladies. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you. This looks great.” Shaw smiles at her.
“Let me know if you need something.” She returns to the counter, busying herself with filling salt and pepper shakers.
Shaw cuts into her pie with a fork and adds some vanilla ice cream before sticking the bite into her mouth.
I eat a spoonful of macaroni, waiting for her to answer while I chew. Maybe she won’t. Maybe she forgot I asked.
She licks her lips. “How’s the mac and cheese?”
“Good.”
She sets her fork down with the tines resting on the plate. “I think you’re brave because you are unapologetically you.”
I swallow. “You don’t know me well enough to say something like that.”
“Am I wrong?”
I can’t bear keeping eye contact with her, so I turn to my food. Celia’s right. Randy does make it cheesy.
“Besides, your mom and dad told me about you. They showed me some of your paintings. They’re brilliant.”
I ignore her compliment about my art. It’s not a part of me anymore. “I’m sure they gave me glowing reviews.”
“They mentioned your tendency to get in trouble at school.”
“Did they also mention how I’m Daniel’s opposite? Did they say how perfect he was? Did they say how much they wish I’d act like him?”
“They’re … frustrated with some of the things you do, but they love you very much.”
“Right.” I drop my spoon. I get it now. Her plan is to show me my mistake so I have to apologize to Mom and Dad. Nope. Not gonna happen.
“It’s true.”
I slide to the end of the booth. Coming here is the mistake, so is listening to this woman.
“Darby, don’t go.”
I face her.
She slides her half-eaten pie to the side. The ice cream has melted, creating a pool of sugar and milk. “Your parents wanted me to tell you that and a lot of other things, but I have something more important to say and I hope you give me the chance to speak.”
“Go ahead.”
A secret waits in the full blackness of her eyes. “I know who received your brother’s heart. Would you like to meet him?”
The air goes thin. My head swirls. “I thought they kept that stuff locked up, secret.”
“Oh. Well, if you don’t want to find out. Never mind.” She drapes her napkin over the pie.
I hold the tabletop so I don’t explode. “Why would you even offer if you’re not allowed to?”
“You don’t strike me as the type of person to follow the rules if they don’t suit you.” She waves to catch Celia’s eye. “You sure you won’t let me pay for this?”
“I, uh … ”
She pushes my twenty to my side of the table. “Put your money away.”
Celia has the check in hand. “All set?”
“Yes.” Shaw gives her a credit card.
“Be back in a jiff.” Celia whips off to run the card.
“So you’d be doing something wrong by telling me who has Daniel’s heart.”
She shoves her arms into her coat sleeves. “For the most part, the anonymity of donors and recipients is a policy I support. But there are exceptions to every situation. Like I said, I’ve never worked with a twin before and this is a unique circumstance.”
“What about Mom and Dad?”
Celia drops off the receipt and Shaw’s card. “Have a good night and stay dry.”
“You too.” Shaw signs the bill. “What about your parents?”
“Will they know?”
She lays the pen diagonally over the receipt. “Everything we discuss is confidential. If you won’t tell, I won’t tell.”
Doubt tangles its slippery fingers around my guts. I’ve never hesitated on doing something I want to do. This seems different. It’s not some silly rule we’re breaking. It’s a real one. Families aren’t supposed to know who gets donor’s organs. Period. I’d have to trust that Shaw isn’t trying to trick me. Then again, she has to trust me not to tattle on her.
Shaw stands and buttons her coat. “Well?”
I slide out of the booth. “I want to know.”