“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not you. It’s me. I can’t . . . explain it.” She allowed him to hold her hand as they walked in and got her things.
On the drive, disappointment greater than the breadth of the sky washed over him. What was wrong with her? When they reached her apartment, Marcus killed the engine and turned to her. “Is it me? You’re not attracted to me?”
A single laugh escaped her and she let her head fall back. “Are you serious?” She looked at him, her cheeks slightly redder than before. “I can’t even think around you.” She took his hand and looked deep into his eyes. “You make me feel . . . like I’ve never felt.”
“So . . .” Hope shot through Marcus. “Maybe we need to take things slower. Stay with Tyler and Sami so”—he laughed—“you know, we don’t wind up dancing under the stars.”
The laughter left her and she looked at her hands for a long few seconds. “It’s not that.” She angled her face and turned her eyes to him once more. “Please, Marcus. Trust me.”
He wanted to argue, but there wasn’t room. She had left him no choice. He climbed out, helped her from her side of the car, and walked with her up to the door. When he hugged her, she let herself linger. But she eased back before either of them might think about another kiss. “Thank you.” She smiled, her eyes as sincere as summer. “I had the best night ever.”
“Me, too.” He wanted to stop time and make her explain things. How could she slip into her apartment without helping him understand? If they both felt this, then how come . . . ?
Her smile was marked with longing. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
He waited until she shut the door before turning around and heading back to his car. In all his life he’d never felt like this. The way she made him feel. And since she was as drawn to him as he was to her, he had no idea what the problem was or why she wouldn’t tell him. He knew only one thing.
He wouldn’t give up until she did.
27
EXCEPT FOR THEIR GROUP meetings at the police station on Thursday and a hangout with Tyler and Sami Saturday night, Mary Catherine did a good job of avoiding Marcus the rest of the week.
She had no choice.
Her doctor appointment was that Monday morning and as she signed in at the office, she knew her hurting heart had nothing to do with her health. The night at Marcus’s house had been the best. Mary Catherine had told him the truth.
The pull Marcus Dillinger had on her was beyond anything she had ever experienced. She had replayed that night a thousand times and always she was sure. There was nothing she would’ve done differently. He made her laugh and feel, and in his presence all of life was good and right and whole.
By the time they stepped out on the deck after the pool games, Mary Catherine didn’t care about her damaged heart or the time she didn’t have. She had that night. It was all she could think about.
The nurse stepped out and called her name. “The doctor will see you first. We’ll do paperwork and blood tests later. Before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She followed the woman to a familiar room, changed into a hospital gown, and waited.
A few minutes later Dr. Cohen stepped inside.
“Mary Catherine.” He shook her hand. His face was masked in shadows. “I’m sorry about all this.” He raised his brow and gave a single shake of his head. “It took me by surprise.” He pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her. “A heart transplant is always a possibility for anyone with your condition. But I really thought you’d only need a valve.”
The Internet had given Mary Catherine ample time to research. “I wrote down a few questions.” She pulled her phone from her purse. “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” He crossed his arms, waiting.
She opened her notes app and started at the top. “ ‘Why not a valve transplant first? It wouldn’t be as invasive, and it could buy us more time.’ ” She looked at Dr. Cohen. “Right?”
“Well . . .” He angled his head one way and then the other, as if he were weighing the possibility. “I had a patient last year. Tried to replace his aortic valve and his ascending aorta—exactly the surgery you would need in that scenario.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Young guy. Just twenty years old. Suffered a heart attack during the procedure, which created more damage. He had to be resuscitated nine times before we finished operating.”
The doctor explained that the surgery did such damage to the young man’s heart, he was suddenly rushed to the top of the transplant list. “Thankfully, he got his heart. He’s doing well.”
Mary Catherine hung onto those last few words. “A person with a heart transplant can do well?”
“Yes.” Caution sounded in his tone. “There are nearly two hundred thousand patients waiting for a heart. Conditions have to be just right.”
“But if . . .”
“It’s a long road, but yes. We know of heart transplant patients who are still alive twenty, twenty-five years after surgery. It’s rare but possible.”
Possible.
For the first time since the call from the doctor’s office a week ago, Mary Catherine didn’t feel like she was falling. The blackness that sucked her hope and light and energy cracked and she could see blue sky again. “I . . . guess I didn’t know that.”
“It doesn’t always work that way. If a patient gets a heart . . .” His brow raised again. “If . . . well, then, sometimes the patient is sickly for the next few years and then we lose them. Their bodies can reject the organ or vice versa. Lots can go wrong.”
“Dr. Cohen.” Mary Catherine smiled. “You should know me better than that. I’m not a lots-can-go-wrong kind of girl. I believe in the most rare possibilities.” They’d been over this before. “Remember?”
“Yes.” The doctor smiled, patient. “Because that’s where God works best.”
“Exactly.” She tried not to think about Marcus. “I had made a plan not to fall in love. Given the situation.” Her smile took some effort. “But from what you just told me, there’s still hope.”
“For love?” The doctor had a fond way of looking at her. As if she were his daughter.
“For life. To really live.”
“Your situation is complicated, Mary Catherine. I don’t want to give you false hope.”
“Hope can never be false. It’s the product of faith, the substance of things not seen.” She exhaled and tried to settle down. “I didn’t know heart transplant people could live that long. That’s all.”
“I’m afraid I have more, Mary Catherine.”
She blinked and sank a little into the examination table. “Okay.”
Dr. Cohen opened a notebook and went over her tests in detail. Her situation was much worse than he had expected. Worse than Mary Catherine had known.
“You’ll start feeling symptoms soon. Tiredness, shortness of breath.” He peered at her, sterner than before. “You need to curb the things that give you an adrenaline rush. I know that’ll be hard.”
Mary Catherine stared at the man and then let her gaze fall to a spot on the floor. “Adrenaline rush?” She muttered the words and then looked at him again. Her whole life was an adrenaline rush. “Like . . . skydiving?”
“That, obviously. But boogie boarding . . . sprinting . . . competitive games. Anything that makes your heart work too hard.”
The darkness was back. “You’re asking me to quit living?”
“No.” He sighed and closed the notebook. “Mary Catherine, I’m asking you to take it easy. Be serious about this. Until we can find you a heart.”
She nodded, but inside she was falling . . . falling the same as before. “And you think it’ll be at least six months before I’ll be on the list?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “I’m so sorry. You’ll need to talk once a week with a counselor about what’s too much activity now and what
’s appropriate health and wellness care as you near your time on the list. We have a myriad of blood tests for you today and . . .”
Mary Catherine couldn’t hear him. He was still talking, still telling her all that was required of her and how her life would change while she waited to be placed on the list. Something about the time being sped up if her next series of heart tests in a few months were significantly worse than they were now. All Mary Catherine could think about was adrenaline, and the fact that it had been hurting her heart.
The very thing that made her feel alive was taking years off her life.
Dr. Cohen was explaining something else, something about how though she wasn’t quite sick enough to be on the list, she was getting there quickly. But Mary Catherine was picturing the children on her refrigerator, the ones she sponsored. What if she didn’t get a transplant? Or what if she got one and it didn’t take? She would never have another time like now to go to Africa, to live there and move among the people and love them the way she had always dreamed.
She couldn’t have Marcus, that much was certain.
At least she could have this. “Dr. Cohen.” She must’ve interrupted him because he looked like he was caught midsentence. “I’m sorry. I have to tell you something.”
“I understand this is difficult.” His patience remained. “What is it?”
“I’m moving to Africa. In a month.” She couldn’t pose the idea as a question. He’d never let her go. “I’ll be living in Uganda for six months.” She was aware she sounded a bit intense. She softened her tone some. “I . . . thought you should know.”
“Mary Catherine, you can’t move to Uganda. Not when we’re trying to get you on the transplant list.”
“You’re doing the tests today, right? Any additional tests can be done there. They have a hospital. We can have the results sent to you.”
Dr. Cohen looked caught off guard. “That would be . . . well, it would be highly unconventional. You’d have to return at a moment’s notice. The minute we could get you officially on the transplant list.”
“I understand.” A surge of elation rushed through her. Her damaged heart had cost her so much, but it wouldn’t cost her this. She would leave California as soon as possible. Spend a week with each of her parents and then fly to Uganda. She was connected with a ministry there, and they were always looking for volunteers. If she had it her way, she would spend the next six months building a new orphanage. Something that would serve the people for decades.
Even if she couldn’t.
“I have to tell you, Mary Catherine, I completely recommend against a move to Uganda. With your heart this way.”
“I have no symptoms. I feel wonderful.” She thought about dancing with Marcus the other night. “Better than wonderful. If I’m going to move to Uganda I should do it now. Before I start to feel . . . whatever you said.”
Again he looked stumped. “How quickly can a person get home from Uganda? That’s what I want you to find out. You’d need a couple days’ travel at least.” He removed his glasses and massaged his brow. “I’m not sure that would get you here quickly enough .”
“I won’t wait that long. If I start to feel sick, I’ll come home.”
“You understand that this goes against the advice on adrenaline?” Dr. Cohen set his notebook on the counter beside him. “I ask you to keep things calm, and you tell me you’re moving to Uganda.”
“It’s a calm place, Dr. Cohen. Really.” She grinned. “No amusement parks, no skydiving. Very simple.”
“Let’s get through your blood tests and paperwork.” He stood and pulled his stethoscope to his ears. “Let me take a listen.” He moved around behind her and pressed the base to her back. “Breathe.”
Mary Catherine filled her lungs.
“Again.”
She did as he asked. He spent several minutes listening to her heart through her back, and then through her chest. When he was finished he exhaled, like someone not willing to keep fighting. “No more than six months. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.” Mary Catherine felt the exhilaration surging in her veins. It wasn’t the kind of joy she’d known the other night in Marcus’s arms. But it was something better, given the circumstances.
It was a plan.
She could check one more thing off her dream list and maybe while she was busy working with kids and babies in Africa she would get better. Stranger things had happened, right? Look at little Jalen.
The doctor left her to get dressed. She could hardly believe it was going to happen. Sure, her doctor was reluctant. But still he had cleared her to go to Africa. Her favorite nurse drew her blood that day. Sally Hudson. Sally was small and pretty with blue eyes and a warm smile. She was quick with a kind word or a Bible verse.
Usually when Mary Catherine needed it most.
“Hey, honey.” Sally sounded subdued as she led Mary Catherine to a chair in the lab. “I heard about your tests.”
“I still don’t believe it.” She held out her arm so Sally could reach her vein. “I keep thinking there has to be a mistake.”
“Well, don’t you go believing everything a doctor says.” Sally put a stretchy band around Mary Catherine’s upper arm as she felt around for the vein. “In 2001 I was diagnosed with leukemia. No one in my family was a match.”
She inserted the needle in such a way that Mary Catherine didn’t feel a thing. Sally smiled at her. “Doctors told me I didn’t stand a chance without a bone marrow transplant. So I did the only thing I could do. I cried out to Jesus.” The nurse focused on the blood draw. “Changed my whole life.”
Mary Catherine appreciated the story. “You look super healthy.”
“A few years later they found a donor. Perfect stranger. Perfect match.” She finished filling three vials with Mary Catherine’s blood. “Only God has the number of your days.”
“I believe that.”
“You have one chance to write the story of your life. Make it a bestseller.” Sally put a piece of cotton and a bandage over Mary Catherine’s arm on the place where the needle had been. “Look at this.” She took a framed photo from the desk behind her. “This is my family. My daughter Angie had us all meet in Ohio for a family reunion. That’s me and my husband. Our four kids and ten grandkids. That was the day we had our annual candy-making.” Sally had never looked happier. “If I listened to every awful thing a doctor told me, I would never have prayed for a miracle.”
Mary Catherine held onto Sally Hudson’s words long after she left the office. But as she drove home through heavy traffic she let her mind drift. She was no longer stuck on an LA freeway. In her mind, she was on Marcus’s back deck, dancing beneath the stars, feeling the amazing attraction and lost in his arms. Stop, she told herself. There was no point thinking like that.
She would go to Africa and she would believe the trip might even be good for her. She would watch for symptoms and head back if her blood work or tests or pain level changed. She had to go. The trip would give her the one thing she desperately needed, the one thing she had to figure out before she changed her mind.
How to say goodbye to Marcus Dillinger.
JAG WAITED AT the door of the examination office, Aspyn at his side. They were both stunned. “I didn’t see this coming.”
“How could we have?” Aspyn looked ready to fight, ready to take action. Only this time there was nothing to act against. They could do nothing about this problem.
Because it was inside Mary Catherine’s chest.
“The enemy will stop at nothing.” Anger filled Jag’s heart. Illness was part of a fallen world, the handiwork of the darkest forces on earth. “There has to be something we can do.”
They had known Mary Catherine had a heart condition. That she would need a valve transplant in a few years. Not a big deal, they figured.
But this . . .
“We h
ave to find a reason for her to stay.” Aspyn’s eyes blazed. “We need to ask Orlon.”
“And pray for wisdom.” Jag was in his element here in LA. But a heart condition? One that threatened to take Mary Catherine’s life in less than a year? “It will take all of heaven pulling together.”
They watched as Dr. Cohen typed his notes, filling out a report on his visit with Mary Catherine. The man sat alone in his office. He looked deeply defeated. A call came in and he answered it.
Jag and Aspyn listened intently.
“I told her I consulted with you and that we all agree.” The doctor stared out the window. “No . . . I didn’t tell her that.” He paused. “It’s such an unusual case. She isn’t sick enough for a transplant today. But six months from now . . . you’re right. It might be too late.” He released a tired sigh. “She’s in serious trouble.” He waited. “Yes, I know. I tried to tell her.”
“It’s worse than we think.” Jag’s voice was distant.
“There’s nothing more we can do.” Aspyn’s tone was broken. “It will have to be another Angels Walking team. Months from now.”
“In Africa?” Jag’s frustration nearly overwhelmed him. “We have to think of a way to keep her here, in Los Angeles. With Marcus.”
It was a dilemma they’d battled for the past week. Finding ways to keep Mary Catherine and Marcus together. Jag’s mind raced, still every time an idea came to him the impossibility was greater. Especially now that Mary Catherine was determined to leave.
Aspyn was right. They seemed out of options.
They moved to the waiting room, where Mary Catherine was filling out a stack of paperwork. Jag felt the heaviness in the room, the deep discouragement coming from Mary Catherine. It’s okay, dear girl, he wanted to tell her. Jesus isn’t finished with you. This Angels Walking mission might be nearly over.
But they hadn’t lost yet. The greater battle was still at stake. Jag forced himself to hold on to that truth.
Even if the next stage of the war took them to the opposite ends of the earth.