Heart Strings (2 page)

“The tea is already sweetened. I hope that's okay,” she said, sitting down opposite him in a wooden rocker. Tall and thin with sharp features and a tight bun of gray hair, she looked stern, but when she smiled, her blue eyes were surrounded by friendly crinkles. “Now, please tell me all about yourself, Tripp.”

He hadn't slept worrying about this meeting and his mouth was dry. Frowning at the tea, he chanced a sip. It wasn’t bad. “Let's see … I'm an only child. I turned seventeen January thirteenth. I'm a junior at Destiny High. I make the honor roll. Work out.” He shrugged. “There's not much else to tell.”

“Mark never made the honor roll, but he was a good boy.” Evelyn Jefferson smiled and held out the cookies. They were oatmeal-raisin, Tripp's favorite, and still warm. He took two, and she patted his hand before settling back in her chair. “That boy of mine liked working on his car better than anything. He didn't care about playing an instrument but loved loud music. Rock, mostly. He didn't care for sports except racing. What about you? Do you like sports? What do you love to do?”

Tripp took a gulp of tea and a bite of cookie. No one ever asked him what he loved before. And most of the things he did were quiet and unexciting. “I'm not into athletics much. I wasn't allowed.”

She looked stricken. “Of course you weren't. I'm sorry.”

“That's okay. I'm not big on sports anyway except golf. I've played since I was seven, and I'm pretty decent if I do say so myself.”

Mrs. Jefferson nibbled a cookie. “My husband loved golf.”

Wondering if her husband was dead, Tripp poured himself more tea and refilled her glass. “I spend a lot of my time at University Hospital, entertaining kids. I enjoy that and know how much it means to them.”

“That's nice, Tripp.” Rocking quietly, Mrs. Jefferson smiled. “Anything else?”

What else was there? He tried to think. “I was in a play a couple of years ago. That was fun. And I like books and movies.”

“You and Keely Johannsen, our neighbor girl, would get along well,” Mrs. Jefferson said, smiling. “Keely loves plays, books, and movies. Her mother's an English teacher and maybe that's why, but that girl is always reading. It's funny she and Mark were so close. He never read a book he didn't have to.”

Tripp smiled and helped himself to another cookie. He'd like to know Keely better, but she seemed shy.

“Would you like the cookie recipe for your mother?”

“Thanks, but she and dad are travel writers and gone a lot. Our housekeeper cooks but…” he shrugged. “Mom doesn't like to have sweets around.”

“I would have thought she'd spoiled you, with your being sick.” Mrs. Jefferson turned her head, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes. “I would have.”

She would, Tripp could tell. She was the motherly type. Cookies and tea. Crocheted doilies on the chair arms. Impulsive little hugs and pats. “I was never babied, but I wasn't sick much. I led a pretty normal life until I started high school.” Tripp shifted in his chair. “I spent my freshman year at home with nurses and tutors, and my sophomore year in the hospital, praying for a transplant. Then…”

“My Mark's heart saved your life,” Mrs. Jefferson said, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Exactly. And you'll never know how grateful I am.” Tripp looked into her blue eyes, bright with tears. How did you tell a guy's mother you're happy to live when it couldn't have happened without her son's death? “I'm just sorry….”

She held up her hand. “I'd give my life if the accident hadn't happened, but since it did, I'm happy some good could come of it. Mark wanted to be a heart donor and I'm proud he did. You don't know what a comfort it is to me to meet the boy whose life he saved. When I wrote and asked, I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable coming.”

“Some of the members of my support group suggested it wasn't a good idea to meet the donor's family, so I was nervous.” Tripp had felt too indebted not to pay Mrs. Jefferson this visit. “But you've made me feel at home.”

Laughing softly, Mrs. Jefferson hugged her arms to her waist. “My home will always be open to you. You're the best thing that's happened to me lately. I put Mark's pictures away today. I thought you might be … bothered.”

Tripp nodded and she leaned forward to touch his hand. “Tripp, I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it,” he said, setting down his empty glass. Sweetened or not, he'd never tasted tea he liked before.

“I'd like you to keep your heart donor's identity a secret. My husband's sister and brother are narrow-minded people who don't approve of organ transplants. They're already furious with me for putting George in a long-term care Alzheimer's facility, but my husband was becoming difficult, even violent at times. Nelson and Mildred refused to believe it, and I'm having enough trouble dealing with them over that. The transplant would only add fuel to their ire.” Mrs. Jefferson smiled.

“There’s no reason anyone has to know whose heart I have.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you didn't even mention a transplant. They might jump to the right conclusion.” There was one cookie left on the plate and she offered it to him. “I miss having someone around to eat my baked goods. If you'll come see me again, I promise to make oatmeal-raisin cookies.”

He smiled. “My folks are going to Europe, so I might just spend the summer.”

Mrs. Jefferson's smile was radiant as she leaned forward to squeeze his hand. “Oh, Tripp, would you, please? I’ve been so lonely, and it would be the next best thing to having my son back.”

*****

When Tripp bid Mrs. Jefferson good-bye, his head was reeling with crazy thoughts of spending the summer with her. He did a double-take when he saw Keely Johannsen sitting on her front steps, head bent over a book, auburn hair shining in the sun.

She'd made a point of telling him where she lived, but it was probably silly and conceited to hope she wanted to see him again. Childish as it seemed, he crossed his fingers. She was really pretty and they had a lot in common, according to Mrs. Jefferson. He wiped his palms on his chinos as he neared the spot where he'd parked.

Keely raised her head and smiled. “Hi,” she called.

His heart beating like a tom-tom, he raised his hand in salute and casually ambled up her front walk. “Hi, yourself.”

“Everything go all right at the Jefferson's?” Blushing from her white tee shirt to the roots of her hair, she ducked her head.

He thought it was an odd question, and maybe she did too after she had asked. He shrugged. “Everything went great.”

Leaning back against the step, Keely stretched out her legs, her finger holding the place in her book. Her legs looked long and slim in cut-off jeans, but she was small. If she stood up, she would probably just reach his chin. He sank down beside her, and she looked up at him through long thick lashes. “Do you mind?” he asked, and she shook her head.

He settled himself, searching for words. “Mrs. Jefferson said you and I'd get along well.”

“What made her say that?” Keely demanded.

Maybe it was her almost-red hair that made her blush so easily, or maybe she disagreed. “We both like to read, for one thing.” He tapped the book in her hand.

She was still holding her place with her finger. Pulling a pink bookmark out of her T-shirt pocket, she slipped it in the paperback and laid it on the step. “I love reading. You too, huh?”

The book was face down so Tripp couldn't see the title, and upside down so he couldn't read the print, but there was a picture of a boy and girl on the back. “I like mysteries a lot.”

“So does my friend Megan, the girl you met earlier, but I prefer a good romance.” Keely smiled without turning red this time. “Megan reads mysteries, then tries to make a mystery out of everything in real life.”

“And do you try to make a romance out of everything in life?” he teased.

She ducked her head and her hair looked silky hanging alongside her face. Tripp fought back an urge to touch it.

“Megan accuses me of it, but I don't think so.”

“It wouldn't be bad if you did,” he said, leaning back. The cement step was hot against his back and the sun warm on his face. Spring. He was alive and well with a pretty girl sitting next to him. It would be nice to see Keely every day of the week. If he took Mrs. Jefferson up on her invitation, he could, and he'd be close to the hospital so he could visit the kids more often. He got lonely and bored when his parents were away.

“What else did Mrs. Jefferson think we had in common?” Keely asked.

“Acting in school plays.”

“Really? You like acting in plays?” She clapped her hands like a little kid. “What ones have you been in?”

“Beauty and the Beast, for one.”

“Me too!”

“Obviously we played opposite roles.”

Keely threw back her head and laughed. “I've never seen you around before. Where do you live?”

“Destiny. Know the town?”

“Destiny? Sure. It's about forty minutes from here. Small. Wealthy. Kind of artsy. With a neat name.”

“You've got the place pegged. Small shops filled with artwork, antiques, and crafts. Huge old Victorian houses filled with the same things.”

“I went antiquing there once with Megan and her mom. Her mother collects glass paperweights. She found a beautiful one in Destiny.”

“I can tell you read romances,” he said, chuckling. A squirrel scampered across the lawn. A bee buzzed around some clover growing near the steps. “I like this neighborhood. Have you lived here long?”

“My entire sixteen years.”

“And the Jeffersons?” He didn't know if he should ask, but ever since Evelyn contacted him, he'd had a strong desire to know more about his donor and family.

“They moved in when Mark and I were in fourth grade. He was a year older but repeated a grade. First, I think.”

“What was Mark Jefferson like?”

Keely half-closed her eyes. “He was older than most kids in our class, so he was the first to drive. Girls wanted to date him and guys envied him, but he spent as little time as he could at school and school functions.” She opened her eyes to study Tripp. “Mark was about your size, but his hair was darker and so was his complexion.”

Size was one of the factors in matching donors and recipients. Age and blood type were something else he and Mark had in common. As for looks, which didn't matter, Tripp knew he was still a little pale. He'd been exercising the way he should, but inside at the hospital fitness center where transplantees could be monitored. Now that spring was here, he was eager to get outside and do some “normal” things.

Keely picked at the frayed edge of her shorts. “Mark's main interest was cars but he liked bikes too, and Evelyn still has his Harley in the garage. He took me riding a time or two.”

She seemed lost in thought for a minute, and Tripp figured she was thinking how great it was to ride. Riding looked like fun, with the wind in your face and hair, but you couldn’t feel it when you were sensible and wore a helmet, which he doubted Mark did.

“His mom said you two were good friends.”

“And total opposites.” Keely smiled and stared off into space like she could see back in time. “Mark did things I would have been scared to death to do, like climbing the tallest trees, and later, cutting school. I marveled at him for being daring, and he enjoyed my admiration. And yeah, that made us close.”

“So he liked to live dangerously?”

“I was impressed,” Keely said, smiling, “but most people don't consider climbing trees and skipping school dangerous.”

“He was killed drag-racing.” Tripp couldn't keep the disapproval out of his voice.

“Well … yes. But it's not like he had a death wish or went out of his way to take chances. He just believed in having fun and getting the most out of life.”

That was an ironic statement if Tripp ever heard one, but Keely rushed on, defending him. “He wasn't racing anyone … that night. H was just trying to set a new, lower time for his Mustang.”

“And he lost control?”

She nodded and looked away.

Tripp knew he should shut up, but he couldn't let it go. Mark shouldn't have taken life so lightly. “Didn't Mark sometimes race other people?”

Keely clenched her hands into fists at her side. “Well, sure … but most of the time, he raced on a sanctioned strip, wearing a helmet, and that's pretty safe.”

He hadn't been playing it safe at all that early September night. Running his car as fast as it would go on a residential street. No headlights, so he wouldn't be seen. No helmet. Tripp had read the newspaper report. He laid his hand over her clenched fist. “I'm sorry. It must be hard to talk about. But after talking to his mother, I feel so sorry for her. Her husband not knowing her any more, then losing … her son.”

Tripp choked up and looked away. A hospital counselor explained it wasn't unusual for transplant recipients to become emotional. Aware of how tenuous life is, they feel deeply and don't hold back. But whenever it happened, he felt dumb. Keely touched his hand. She looked so pretty with her coppery hair glowing in the sun and her hazel eyes shining with tiny golden flecks, he felt a crazy urge to kiss her. He could see her every day. “Guess what? Evelyn Jefferson asked me to spend the summer with her.”

“Why?” Keely dropped her jaw. “Are you a relative?”

“No, but we … uh … have close ties.” He smiled teasingly. “Don’t you want me to stay?”

Seconds ticked by before she answered. “You shouldn't try to take Mark’s place.”

“I couldn't. Wouldn't.” Tripp had never considered such a possibility. “I'd be a house guest for the summer, and that's all.” She continued to frown and he rubbed a thumb gently across her cheek. “Is that so bad?”

Keely jumped up, knocking her lemonade over on her paperback book. “Why did you do that?”

“I … don’t know.” The motion seemed so natural, he felt like he'd done it a hundred times before. She ran inside, and Tripp, left alone on her steps, picked up her book and shook lemon rivulets fall from it. A drop landed on his thumb and he licked it off, and frowned. The lemonade tasted bitter. Iced tea tasted good. Keely’s book was a romance, but what Tripp did to upset her was a mystery. What was going on?