Fragile Hearts (3 page)

I
follow the map Tyce has drawn and locate the house where Kathleen Ventura
lives. It's not a regular house—it's one of those expensive mansions not far from
campus that's been restored. I want to turn around and forget tutoring, but because
I've promised to do this, I push the intercom button at the gate. I may have
issues, but keeping my word isn't one of them. I have to push the button three
times before a young girl's voice says, "Are you the tutor?"

"I
am."

"What's
your name?"

"Morgan
Wheeler."

The
girl pauses and then says, "That's funny. Morgan
Wheeler
in a
wheelchair."

I
frown wondering what Tyce told her about me. "How do you know I'm in a
wheelchair?"

"Candid
camera. Look up."

I
do what she says and frown even more at the surveillance camera. Before I can
respond, the gate clicks and the girl says, "Just push it open. The walkway
leads to the front door. I'll be waiting for you."

I
want to ask the girl where her parents are.
I decide to ask her later.

I
follow the flagstone walkway past beautiful landscaping of trees, vines, ground
cover, and colorful flowerbeds. The house is set back from the street and
hidden by all the foliage. I reach a portico and the front door is thrown open.
The door is tall and elaborate, with carvings of birds and vines. The girl
standing in the entrance looks miniscule compared to the size of the opening.
Her hair is short, blond, and corkscrew curly, and her expressive green eyes
seem like they should be in a much older person. Two descriptive words pop into
my mind for this child, "sprite" and "pixie."

She
says curtly, "My name is Kathleen, but don't call me that; I hate it. Call
me Kaylee. Follow me." She holds the door open while I roll inside. The
foyer is probably as large as my parents' living and dining rooms combined.
It's got all the elegance one associates with rich people.

I
pause inside the entrance and call to the girl's retreating back, "Where
are your parents?"

She
turns and shrugs, "Yachting somewhere is my best guess."

"Isn't
there someone here to take care of you?"

"Of
course. But my governess is either on the phone with her boyfriend or swimming
laps. Besides driving me crazy, those are her two passions in life. If you want
to know where the housekeeper, gardener, cook, and the mess of other people
keeping this mausoleum intact are, they're all playing poker in the game room.
Don't you know…when the cats are away, the mice will play. Anymore
questions?"

I
shake my head.
Is this a grownup in a child's body?

I
follow the girl to a room that is obviously the library. The huge area is lined
with books from floor to ceiling and even has one of those rolling ladders. The
room is at the back of the house with towering windows overlooking a massive
yard. A profusion of colorful plants interspersed with thick grass, covers
every square inch. To the right of the library windows, cascading fuchsia clings
to a low fence enclosing a large oval swimming pool with a woman swimming laps.

"I'm
impressed," I admit aloud.

Kaylee
points to a massive desk positioned in front of the windows and facing inward.
"You can use the desk," she says, and hurries around it to push the
office chair aside and make room for my wheelchair.

I
hesitate because I don't want to sit at someone else's desk. It seems
disrespectful. Kaylee notices my reticence and says, "It's okay. That's
where Tyce always sits. My dad doesn't even use this room. He has an office
upstairs."

I
shrug and roll my chair behind the desk, and then I reach into the pocket on my
wheelchair to pull out the lesson plan Tyce gave me.

Kaylee
sits across from me and leans forward on her elbows. Unexpectedly, she asks,
"Do you think Tyce is handsome?"

I
frown. "Why are you asking?"

"Because
I think he's gorgeous. Of course, he's too old for me, but he's not too old for
you."

"I
think I came here to tutor you in algebra, not talk about Tyce. I understand
you have a math test on Friday."

Kaylee
grins. "You do think he's cute! I can see it in your eyes."

I'm
starting to get irritated. "Please open your book to page twenty-four. I
believe that's where you left off with Tyce."

Kaylee
slumps back in her chair. "You're too stuffy."

"I'm
only here for an hour so we need to get started."

"You
could stay longer and I could show you around this museum."

"Please
open your book."

Kaylee
sighs and thumbs to page twenty-four.

I
ignore her obvious distaste for math and ask, "Where do you go to
school?"

"The
internet."

"Why
not a regular school?"

"I
have my reason," she replies cryptically.

Obviously,
she's not going to tell me, so I say, "Let's look at these equations and
see if we can discover what the unknown 'X' is."

"As
in
X Files?"
she retorts.

I
ignore her again and begin dissecting the variables in the first equation. After
I finish, I say, "So, what is the first step in discovering the value of 'X'?"

Kaylee
mumbles something and I ask, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I
said I hate math and I'm never going to use this stuff, so why do I have to
learn it?"

"Because
if you don't, you won't pass college-entrance exams, and then you'll end up
washing dishes in some diner in the skids."

For
a moment, Kaylee looks stunned, and then she grins. "So you do have a
sense of humor. I was beginning to think you were an alien from the planet, Brainiac."

Because
I can't help myself, I laugh. The girl is too funny.

She
leans closer. "Come on; let me show you my room. It's on the third floor. My
parents buy me cool stuff. They're trying to buy my love."

I
lean forward too. "If I check out your room, do you promise to let me
tutor you?"

Kaylee
grins and makes a motion over her heart. "I cross my heart."

"I'm
not finished. Do you also promise to give me your full attention?"

Her
grin widens and she lifts two fingers. "Girl Scouts honor."

I'm
not fooled. "You're not lifting enough fingers."

"Oops."
She corrects her gesture.

I
roll away from behind the desk. "Okay, lead the way."

Kaylee
says, "We've got an elevator."

"I
figured you did or we'd have a problem getting me there."

Kaylee
grins at me and I say, "I have to admit that I've never been in such a
magnificent house."

She
shrugs. "Seen one, seen them all."

I
follow her back to the central hallway and we continue past ornate doors flanking
it. She points to one, and says, "That's the dining room." She nods
across the hallway. "And that's my mother's tea room that opens into her
office."

"Impressive,"
I say with humor.

"Not
so much."

At
the end of the hallway is the elevator. Kaylee punches a button and it
immediately opens. She makes a waving motion. "After you."

I
enter the cream-colored, velvet-lined elevator and Kaylee follows. She punches
another button and up we go. She says, "My parents' suite is on the second
floor. It takes up one side of the house. The other side is a gymnasium. Other
than my bedroom on the third floor, the rest of the rooms are for our live-in
servants. My parents hate that I'm on the third floor, but I had a temper
tantrum when they tried to move me to the first floor."

I
laugh. "So…they're
servants
and not domestic-help."

The
elevator stops and the doors open. Kaylee looks serious. "That's what my
parents call them. If it were up to me, I'd call them friends."

I'm
stunned at the girl's response. Maybe she's not as spoiled as I first thought.

I
follow her down a hallway that leads toward the front of the house. She stops
at an elaborately carved door painted pink. She says, "Pink is my favorite
color." With a grin, she grabs the hot-pink doorknob and swings the door
inward.

Because
I can't help myself, I gasp. Everything is pink—curtains, bedspread, velvet
headboard, chairs, walls, vanity, chests, throw rugs. Slowly, I roll into the
room.

Kaylee
asks, "What do you think?"

"I
think I've never seen so much pink."

She
grins. "I even have pink stars on the ceiling that glow at night."

I
glance upward and I can barely make them out during the light of day.

Kaylee
asks, "What's your favorite color?"

I
don't answer right away because I'm still absorbing my surroundings. "Um,
actually, I like green."

"Lime
or forest?"

"Excuse
me?"

"Lime
green or forest green?"

"Oh.
More along the line of melon green."

"Is
your bedroom done in that color?"

"No."
I circle my chair around.

"What
color is your room?"

"I
live in a dorm. The colors are mostly brown and tan."

"What
about your bedroom at home?"

"White
and…just about every color."

"If
your favorite color is melon green, why isn't your room that color?"

I
feel like Kaylee has me on the hot seat. "I guess because it's not
important to me."

Kaylee
shrugs. "What
is
important to you?"

I
don't know how to answer. She waits. Finally, I say, "My family is
important. My education. My…" I can't think of anything else.

Kaylee
stretches out on her bed. "Someday I want to be a detective and solve
mysteries. I also want to paint. I want to write a book. I want to own a dress
shop and design beautiful clothes. I want to dig for fossils. I want to drive a
truck, and…" she giggles,
"live dangerously!"
Her
enthusiasm is endearing, but it makes me uncomfortable. She asks, "What do
you want to be when you graduate?"

I
answer, "I'm not sure. I guess I'll decide closer to graduation."

She
looks incredulous. "You mean you haven't been dreaming all of your life about
what you'd be when you grow up?"

I
don't want to tell her that after my accident, I stopped dreaming.

She
asks bluntly, "Before you were in a wheelchair, what did you want to
be?"

"How
do you know I haven't always been in a wheelchair?"

She
cocks her head to the side. "Because I know things I'm not supposed to
know."

Her
response is cryptic. "What does that mean?"

"I
can't tell you. So, what did you used to want to be?"

Before
I consider my response, I blurt, "I wanted to swim in the Olympics and then
teach physical education at the college level."

Kaylee
sits Indian fashion on her bed. "You can still do that."

I
can't believe what I've just heard. Angrily, I respond, "Maybe I can
teach, but I can't swim in the Olympics."

"Sure
you can. Don't they have Olympics for people in wheelchairs?"

I
feel emotions long suppressed bubble to the surface. "I was talking about
the
real
Olympics. I'll not participate in a mockery of that and have
everyone feeling sorry for me."

Nonchalantly,
Kaylee pushes a curl away from her face and shakes her head. "Boy, are you
screwed up."

Her
words are unexpected. Impatient now, I say, "I've seen your room and
upheld my end of the bargain. Now it's time for you to uphold yours." I
roll my chair around and start toward the door.

Kaylee
sighs, "Okay, I'm coming." In the elevator she says, "I think people
who swim but can't walk are better than the ones who can walk. Seems to me they
have to work harder."

I
glare at her.

She
shrugs. "Just sayin'."

By noon, on the Saturday after tutoring Kaylee, my
homework is done and I wheel my chair to the small fridge to find something to
eat. Grabbing a frozen dinner, I pop it in the microwave—cheese enchilada. The
picture on the package looks delicious, but the food never tastes like the
picture.

I punch six minutes and then wait, thinking about
Kaylee. She's a strange girl. True to her word, after showing me her room, we
returned to the library and she appeared to give her best effort to understanding
the process of determining "X" in an equation. To me she seems to be
the quintessential "poor little rich girl."

The microwave dings followed by a knock on my
door. Since Lucy said she'd stop by, and she's my only friend, I figure it's
her.

Rolling to the door, I open it to a grinning
Tyce. "So," he says, "how did it go with Kaylee?"

The man always flusters me. "She's an
interesting girl."

"That's all you have to say?"

I frown. "She doesn't like math. She showed
me her
very
pink bedroom. And I guess my impression is that she's
lonely. How's that?"

"Much better. Are you going to invite me
in? Something smells good."

"Microwave enchiladas. But, believe me,
they're not very tasty."

"Well, pop another one in for me."

Tyce gently edges the door open, leans forward, and
places his hands on the arms of my wheelchair. Reaching for the controller, he steers
the chair backwards. His face is inches from mine. My eyes widen and I put my
hands on his chest to push him away. The contact with his body robs me of my
ability to breathe. I turn scarlet and shove him backwards. He barely budges,
but it's enough for me to gain control of my chair and scoot across the room.

Angrily, I ask, "Why are you here?"

"I came to find out how things went with Kaylee."

"They went fine. She's exceptionally smart
and has a better understanding of algebra. Now you can leave."

The microwave dings and Tyce walks over to open
it. With his back to me, he asks, "Why do you dislike me so much?" He
reaches for the enchilada in its plastic container and gingerly sets it on the
stovetop. He turns and studies my face.

I don't know how to answer his question. "I–I
don't dislike you."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I just don't understand why you keep
showing up." I forge on. "Look, I'm not exactly your kind of
girl."

Now he frowns. "Please tell me what
my kind
of girl is. Obviously, you seem to know me better than I know myself."

I'm so flustered I speak without thinking.
"You're a hot guy. You date beautiful women. My looks are just passable.
And since I'm in a wheelchair, you obviously don't want sex. So just tell me
what's going on."

Tyce frowns. "You've got some weird values,
Morgan. And I sure as hell don't like your impression of me. Do I come across
as being that shallow?"

I only glare at him.

His blue gaze sparks with emotion. "You
know, I thought we could be friends. I don't give a shit whether you're in a
wheelchair, whether you're beautiful, or if you're an alien from another
planet. What I saw in you was a woman of character, someone I could hang out
with. I've dated a lot of women, and frankly, I don't give a fuck about the
latest fashion fad, movie star, or hit song."

I can't find words to respond.

His eyes deepen to a shade of blue found only in
the depths of the ocean. "And do you want to know why I
really
asked you to tutor Kaylee?" He doesn't wait for my answer. "She's a
lonely little girl who needs a friend. Her kidneys are failing and soon she'll
be on dialysis. All the money in the world hasn't found a donor that matches
her biology. Sure, you're in a wheelchair, but pick your poison, Morgan. Would
you rather have the wheelchair or kidney failure?"

With a sound of disgust, Tyce walks past me and
out the door. For a long time, I can't move. Then I turn my chair around to see
him leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

Choking back tears, I say. "Would you like
a microwave enchilada while I eat crow?"

Tyce scrubs a hand over his face. "I just
want us to be friends."

Rolling forward, I thrust out my hand.
"Done."