Change of Heart Read online

  "I'll give you five minutes," the nurse said. "But you have to promise you won't bring him in again before the transplant."

  Claire, who had a death grip on the dog, glanced up. "Transplant?" she repeated. "What transplant?"

  "She was being theoretical," I said quickly.

  "Dr. Wu doesn't schedule theoretical transplants," the nurse said.

  Claire blinked at me. "Mom?" There was a thread in her voice that had started to unravel.

  The nurse turned on her heel. "I'm counting," she said, and left the room.

  "Is it true?" Claire asked. "There's a heart for me?"

  "We're not sure. There's a catch ..."

  "There's always a catch," Claire said. "I mean, how many hearts have turned out to not be as great as Dr. Wu expected?"

  "Well, this one ... it's not ready for transplant yet. It's sort of still being used."

  Claire laughed a little. "What are you planning to do? Kill someone?"

  I didn't answer.

  "Is the donor really sick, or old? How could she even be a donor if she's sick or old?" Claire asked.

  "Honey," I said. "We have to wait for the donor to be executed."

  Claire was not stupid. I watched her put together this new information with what she'd heard on television. Her hands tightened on Dudley. "No way," she said quietly. "I am not taking a heart from the guy who killed my father and my sister."

  "He wants to give it to you. He offered."

  "This is sick," Claire said. "You're sick." She struggled to get up, but she was tethered to the bed with tubes and wires.

  "Even Dr. Wu said that it's an amazing match for you and your body. I couldn't just say no."

  "What about me? Don't I get to say no?"

  "Claire, baby, you know donors don't come along every day. I had to do it."

  "Then undo it," she demanded. "Tell them I don't want his stupid heart."

  I sank down on the edge of the hospital bed. "It's just a muscle. It doesn't mean you'll be like him." I paused. "And besides, he owes this to us."

  "He doesn't owe us anything! Why don't you get that?" Her eyes filled with tears. "You can't tie the score, Mom. You just have to start over."

  Her monitors began to sound an alert; her pulse was rising, her heart pumping too hard. Dudley began to bark. "Claire, you have to calm down ..."

  "This isn't about him," Claire said. "This isn't even about me. It's about you. You need to get payment for what happened to Elizabeth. You need to make him pay for what he did. Where do I fit into that?"

  The nurse flew into the room like a great white heron, fussing over Claire. "What's going on in here?" she said, checking the connections and tubes and drips.

  "Nothing," we both said simultaneously.

  The nurse gave me a measured glance. "I highly recommend you take that dog away and let Claire get some rest."

  I reached for Dudley and wrestled him back into the duffel bag. "Just think about it," I pleaded.

  Ignoring me, Claire reached into the bag and patted the dog. "Good-bye," she whispered.

  MICHAEL

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  I had gone back to St. Catherine's. I told Father Walter that I had not been seeing clearly, and that God had opened my eyes to the truth.

  I just neglected to mention that God happened to be sitting on I-tier about three miles away from our church, awaiting an expedited trial that began this week.

  Each night, I said three consecutive rosaries--penance for lying to Father Walter--but I had to be there. I had to do something constructive with my time, now that I wasn't spending it with Shay. Since I'd confessed to him at the hospital that I'd served on the jury that had convicted him, he'd refused to see me.

  There was a part of me that understood his reaction--imagine how it would feel to know your confidant had betrayed you--but there was another part of me that spent hours trying to figure out why divine forgiveness hadn't kicked in yet. Then again, if the Gospel of Thomas was to be believed, no matter how much time and space Shay put between us, we were never really separate: mankind and divinity were flip sides of the same coin.

  And so, every day at noon, I told Father Walter I was meeting a fictional couple at their house to try to guide them away from the path of divorce. But instead, I rode my Trophy to the prison, burrowed through the crowds, and went inside to try to see Shay.

  CO Whitaker was called to escort me to I-tier after I'd passed through the metal detectors at the visitor's booth. "Hi, Father. You here to sell Girl Scout cookies?"

  "You know it," I replied. "Anything exciting happen today?"

  "Let's see. Joey Kunz got a medical visit for diarrhea."

  "Wow," I said. "Sorry I missed that."

  As I suited up in my flak jacket, Whitaker went into I-tier to tell Shay I'd come. Again. But no more than five seconds had passed before he returned, a sheepish look on his face. "Not today, Father," he said. "Sorry."

  "I'll try again," I replied, but we both knew that wasn't possible. We had run out of time: Shay's trial began tomorrow.

  I left the prison and walked back to my motorcycle. All modesty aside, I was the closest thing Shay had to a disciple; and if that was true, it meant learning from the mistakes of history. At Jesus's crucifixion, His followers had scattered--except for Mary Magdalene, and his mother. So even if Shay didn't acknowledge me in court, I would still be there. I would bear witness for him.

  For a long time, I sat on my bike in the parking lot, going nowhere.

  In fairness, it wasn't like I wanted to spring this all on Maggie a few days before the trial. The truth of the matter was that if Shay didn't want me as his spiritual advisor anymore, I had no excuse for not telling Maggie that I'd been on the jury that convicted him. I'd tried to contact her several times over the past week, but she was either out of her office, not at home, or not answering her cell. And then, out of the blue, she called me. "Get your ass down here," she said. "You have some explaining to do."

  In twenty minutes, I was sitting in her ACLU office. "I had a meeting with Shay today," Maggie said. "He said you'd lied to him."

  I nodded. "Did he go into detail?"

  "No. He said I deserved to hear it firsthand." She crossed her arms. "He also said he didn't want you testifying on his behalf."

  "Right," I mumbled. "I don't blame him."

  "Are you really a priest?"

  I blinked at her. "Of course I am--"

  "Then I don't care what you're lying about," Maggie said. "You can unburden your soul after we win Shay's case."

  "It's not that simple ..."

  "Yes it is, Father. You are the only character witness we've got for Shay; you're credible because you're wearing that collar. I don't care if you and Shay had a fight; I don't care if you moonlight as a drag queen; I don't care if you have enough secrets to last a lifetime. It's don't ask, don't tell until the trial starts, okay? All I care about is that you wear that collar, get on the stand, and make Shay sound like a saint. If you walk, the whole case goes down the toilet. Is that simple enough for you?"

  If Maggie was right--if my testimony was the only thing that would help Shay--then how could I tell her something now that would ruin the case? A sin of omission could be understandable if you were helping someone by holding back. I could not give Shay his life back, but I could make sure his death was what he wanted.

  Maybe it would be enough for him to forgive me.

  "It's normal to be a little freaked out about going to court," Maggie said, misreading my silence.

  During my testimony, I was supposed to explain in layman's terms how donating a heart to Claire Nealon was one of Shay's spiritual beliefs. Having a priest say this was a stroke of genius on Maggie's part--who wouldn't believe a member of the clergy when it came to religion?

  "You don't have to be worried about the cross-exam," Maggie continued. "You tell the judge that while a Catholic would believe that salvation comes solely through Jesus Christ, Shay believes organ donation's