The Best of Me

She hugged each of them in turn, holding Amanda longest of all. Stepping back to inspect the group, she asked, "Now, who needs something to eat?"

  Evelyn promptly herded Lynn and Annette off to the cafeteria, leaving Frank and Amanda alone. Amanda couldn't fathom the thought of eating. As for Frank, she didn't really care. All she could do was think about Jared.

  And wait.

  And pray.

  When one of the ICU nurses passed by the waiting room, Amanda raced after her, catching her in the hallway. Voice trembling, she asked the obvious question.

  "No," the nurse answered, "I'm sorry. So far, there's no word on a possible donor."

  Still standing in the hallway, Amanda brought her hands to her face.

  Unbeknownst to her, Frank had emerged from the waiting room, reaching her side as the nurse hurried away.

  "They'll find a donor," Frank said.

  At his tentative touch, she wheeled around.

  "They'll find one," he said again.

  Her eyes flashed. "You of all people can't promise me that."

  "No, of course not..."

  "Then don't say anything," she said. "Don't say things that are meaningless."

  Frank touched the swollen bridge of his nose. "I'm just trying to--"

  "What?" she demanded. "Make me feel better? My son is dying!" Her voice rang out in the tiled hallway, turning heads.

  "He's my son, too," Frank said, his voice quiet.

  Amanda's anger, so long suppressed, suddenly exploded to the surface. "Then why did you make him come and get you?" she cried. "Why were you too drunk to drive yourself?"

  "Amanda..."

  "You did this!" she screamed at him. Up and down the corridor, patients craned to peer out their open doors, and nurses froze midstride. "He shouldn't have been in the car! There was no reason for him to be there! But you got so damn drunk that you couldn't take care of yourself! Again! Just like you always do!"

  "It was an accident," Frank tried to interject.

  "But it wasn't! Don't you understand that? You bought the beer, you drank it--you set all this in motion. You put Jared in the path of that car!"

  Amanda was breathing hard, oblivious to anyone in the hallway. "I've asked you to stop drinking," she hissed. "I've begged you to stop. But you never stopped. You never cared about what I wanted, or what was best for the kids. The only thing you ever thought about was yourself and how much you hurt after Bea died." She drew a harsh breath. "Well, you know what? I was crushed, too. I'm the one who gave birth to her. I'm the one who held her and fed her and changed her diapers while you were at work. I was the one who never left her side when she was sick. That was me, not you. Me." She stabbed her own chest with her finger. "But somehow you became the one who couldn't cope. And you know what happened? I ended up losing the husband I married, along with my baby. Yet even then I was somehow able to soldier on and make the best of things." Amanda turned away from Frank, her face twisted with bitterness.

  "My son is on life support and his time is running out because I never had the courage to leave you. But that's what I should have done a long time ago."

  Halfway through her outburst, Frank had dropped his gaze, focusing instead on the floor. Spent, Amanda began to walk down the hall, away from him.

  She stopped for a moment, turned, and added, "I know that it was an accident. I know you're sorry. But being sorry isn't enough. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here, and both of us know that."

  Her last words were a challenge that echoed through the hospital ward, and she half-expected him to respond. But he said nothing, and Amanda finally walked away.

  When family members were allowed to visit the ICU again, Amanda and the girls took turns sitting with Jared. She stayed with him for almost an hour. As soon as Frank arrived, she left. Evelyn went in to see Jared next, staying only a few minutes.

  After the rest of the family was shepherded off by Evelyn, Amanda returned to Jared's bedside alone, remaining there until after the nurses changed shifts.

  There was still no word on a donor.

  The dinner hour arrived and more time passed. Evelyn finally showed up and frog-marched Amanda out of the ICU, leading her down to the cafeteria. Although the thought of food made her feel almost nauseated, her mother personally supervised Amanda's eating of a sandwich in silence. Swallowing each tasteless mouthful with mechanical effort, Amanda finally choked down the last bite and crumpled the cellophane wrapper.

  With that, she stood and went back to the ICU.

  By eight o'clock, when visiting hours were officially over, Evelyn determined that it would be best for the kids to go home for a while. Frank agreed to accompany them, but again Dr. Mills made an exception for Amanda, allowing her to stay in the ICU.

  The frenetic activity of the hospital slowed as evening settled in. Amanda continued to sit unmoving by Jared's bedside. Feeling dazed, she noticed the rotation of nurses, unable to remember their names as soon as they left the room. Amanda begged God over and over to save her son's life, in the same way she'd once begged God to save Bea.

  This time, she could only hope God would listen.

  Sometime after midnight, Dr. Mills stepped into the room.

  "You should go home and get some rest," he said. "I'll call you if I hear anything at all. I promise."

  Amanda refused to release Jared's hand, raising her chin in stubborn defiance.

  "I won't leave him."

  It was nearly three in the morning when Dr. Mills returned to the ICU. By then, Amanda was too exhausted to rise.

  "There's news," he said.

  She turned toward him, suddenly sure that he was going to tell her their last best hope had been exhausted. This is it, she thought, feeling numb. This is the end.

  Instead, she saw something akin to hope in his expression.

  "We found a match," he said. "A one-in-a-million shot that somehow came through."

  Amanda felt adrenaline surge through her limbs, every nerve awakening as she tried to grasp his full meaning. "A match?"

  "A donor heart. It's being transported to the hospital right now, and the surgery has already been scheduled. The team is being assembled as we speak."

  "Does that mean Jared is going to live?" Amanda asked, her voice hoarse.

  "That's the plan," he said, and for the first time since she'd been in the hospital, Amanda began to cry.

  22

  At Dr. Mills's urging, Amanda finally went home. She'd been told that Jared would be taken into pre-op, where he would be readied for the procedure, and she wouldn't be able to spend time with him. After that, the actual surgery would take anywhere from four to six hours, depending on whether there were complications.

  "No," Dr. Mills said, even before she had a chance to ask. "There's no reason to expect any complications."

  Despite her lingering anger, she'd called Frank after getting the news and before she left the hospital. Like her, he hadn't been sleeping, and while she'd expected to hear the slurring she'd grown used to, he was sober when she reached him. His relief about Jared was obvious, and he thanked her for calling him.

  She didn't see Frank once she arrived home, and she suspected that since her mother was in the guest room, Frank was sleeping on the couch in the den. Though exhausted, what she really needed was a shower, and she spent a long time standing beneath the luxurious flow of water before finally crawling into bed.

  Sunrise was still an hour or two away, and as Amanda closed her eyes she told herself she wasn't going to sleep long, just a quick catnap before heading back to the hospital.

  Her dreamless sleep lasted for six hours.

  Her mother was holding a cup of coffee when Amanda came rushing down the hall, frantic to get to the hospital and struggling to remember where she'd left her keys.

  "I called just a few minutes ago," Evelyn said. "Lynn said they hadn't heard anything at all, aside from the fact that Jared was in surgery."

  "I still have to go," Amanda mumbled.

&nbsp
; "Of course you do. But not until you have a cup of coffee." Evelyn held out the cup. "I made this for you."

  Amanda pawed through the piles of junk mail and odds and ends on the counters, still searching for her keys. "I don't have time..."

  "It'll take five or ten minutes to drink," her mother said, in a voice that brooked no protest. She put the steaming cup in Amanda's hand. "It won't change anything. Once you get to the hospital, we both know that all you're going to do is wait. The only thing that will matter to Jared is whether you're there when he wakes up, and that's not going to happen for several hours. So take a few minutes before you rush out of here." Her mother sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and pointed to the seat next to her. "Have a cup of coffee and something to eat."

  "I can't have breakfast while my son is in surgery!" she argued.

  "I know you're worried," Evelyn said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I'm worried, too. But as your mother, I also worry about you, because I know how much the rest of the family depends on you. We both know that you function much better after you've eaten and had a cup of coffee."

  Amanda hesitated then raised the cup to her lips. It did taste good.

  "You really think it's okay?" She gave an uncertain frown as she took a seat next to her mother at the kitchen table.

  "Of course. You have a long day ahead of you. Jared is going to need you to be strong when he sees you."

  Amanda clutched the cup. "I'm scared," she admitted.

  To Amanda's astonishment, her mother reached out and covered her hands with her own. "I know. I am, too."

  Amanda stared at her hands, still laced around the coffee cup, surrounded and supported by her mother's tiny manicured ones. "Thanks for coming."

  Evelyn allowed herself a small smile. "It's not like I had a choice," she said. "You're my daughter, and you needed me."

  Together, Amanda and her mother drove to the hospital, meeting up with the rest of the family in the waiting room. Annette and Lynn ran to give her a hug, burying their faces in her neck. Frank merely nodded and mumbled a greeting. Her mother, instantly sensing the tension between them, whisked the girls off to an early lunch.

  When Amanda and Frank were alone, he turned to her.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."

  Amanda looked at him. "I know you are."

  "I know it should be me in there, instead of Jared."

  Amanda said nothing.

  "I can leave you alone if you want," he said into the silence. "I can find someplace else to sit."

  Amanda sighed before shaking her head. "It's fine. He's your son. You belong here."

  Frank swallowed. "I've stopped drinking, if that means anything. Really, this time. For good."

  Amanda waved to cut him off. "Just... don't, okay? I don't want to get into this now. This isn't the time or place, and all it's going to do is make me angrier than I already am. I've heard it all before, and I can't deal with this on top of everything else right now."

  Frank nodded. Turning around, he went back to his seat. Amanda sat in a chair along the opposite wall. Neither of them said another word until Evelyn returned with the kids.

  A little after noon, Dr. Mills entered the waiting room. Everyone stood. Amanda searched his face, expecting the worst, but her fears were allayed almost immediately by his air of exhausted satisfaction. "The surgery went well," he began, before walking them through the steps of the procedure.

  When he'd finished, Annette tugged at his sleeve. "Jared is going to be okay?"

  "Yes," the doctor answered with a smile. He reached down to touch her head. "Your brother is going to be fine."

  "When can we see him?" Amanda asked.

  "He's in recovery right now, but maybe in a few hours."

  "Will he be awake then?"

  "Yes," Dr. Mills answered. "He'll be awake."

  When the family was informed they could go in and visit Jared, Frank shook his head.

  "Go ahead," he said to Amanda. "We'll wait. We'll see him after you come out."

  Amanda followed the nurse to the recovery room. Up ahead, Dr. Mills was waiting for her.

  "He's awake." He nodded, falling into step with her. "But I want to warn you that he had a lot of questions and didn't take the news too well. All I ask is that you do your best not to upset him."

  "What should I say?"

  "Just talk to him," he answered. "You'll know what to say. You're his mother."

  Outside the recovery room, Amanda took a deep breath, and Dr. Mills pushed open the door. She entered the brightly lit room, immediately spotting her son in a bed with the curtains drawn back.

  Jared was ghostly pale, and his cheeks were still hollowed out. He rolled his head to the side, a brief smile crossing his face.

  "Hi, Mom," he whispered, his words fuzzy with the remnants of anesthesia.

  Amanda touched his arm, careful not to disturb the countless tubes and swaths of medical tape and instruments attached to his body. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you?"

  "Tired," he mumbled. "Sore."

  "I know," she said. She brushed the hair from his forehead before taking a seat in the hard plastic chair beside him. "And you'll probably be sore for a while. But you won't have to be here long. Just a week or so."

  He blinked, his eyelids moving slowly. Like he used to do as a little boy, right before she turned out the lights at bedtime.

  "I have a new heart," he said. "The doctor said I had no choice."

  "Yes," she answered.

  "What does that mean?" Jared's arm jerked in agitation. "Am I going to have a normal life?"

  "Of course you will," she said soothingly.

  "They took out my heart, Mom." He gripped the sheet on the bed. "They told me that I'm going to be taking drugs forever."

  Confusion and apprehension played across his youthful features. He understood that his future had been irrevocably altered, and while she wished she could shield him from this new reality, she knew she couldn't.

  "Yes," she said, her gaze never wavering. "You had a heart transplant. And yes, you'll be on drugs forever. But those things also mean you're alive."

  "For how long? Even the doctors can't tell me that."

  "Does that really matter right now?"

  "Of course it matters," Jared snapped. "They told me that the average transplant lasts fifteen to twenty years. And then I'll probably need another heart."

  "Then you'll get another one. And in between, you're going to live, and after that, you'll live some more. Just like everyone else."

  "You don't understand what I'm trying to say." Jared turned his face away, toward the wall on the far side of the bed.

  Amanda saw his reaction and searched for the right words to reach him, to help him accept this new world he'd woken up to. "When I was waiting in the hospital for the last couple of days, do you know what I was thinking?" she began. "I was thinking that there were so many things that you still haven't done, things you still haven't experienced. Like the satisfaction of graduating from college, or the thrill of buying a house, or the excitement of landing that perfect job, or meeting the girl of your dreams and falling in love."

  Jared didn't show any signs of having heard her, but she could tell by his alert stillness that he was listening. "You'll still be able to do all those things," she went on. "You'll make mistakes and struggle like everyone, but when you're with the right person, you'll feel almost perfect joy, like you're luckiest person who ever lived." She reached over to pat his arm. "And in the end, a heart transplant has nothing to do with any of those things. Because you're still alive. And that means you'll love and be loved... and in the end, nothing else really matters."

  Jared lay without moving, long enough to make Amanda wonder if he'd fallen asleep in his postoperative haze. Then he gradually turned his head.

  "You really believe everything you just said?" His voice was tentative.

  For the first time since she'd heard about the accident, Amanda thought of Dawson Cole. She leaned
in closer.

  "Every word."

  23

  Morgan Tanner stood in Tuck's garage, his hands clasped before him as he examined the wreckage that had once been the Stingray. He grimaced, thinking that the owner wasn't going to be happy about this.

  The damage was obviously recent. There was a tire iron protruding from a quarter panel that had been partially peeled back from the frame, and he was certain that neither Dawson nor Amanda would have let it remain so, had they seen it. Nor could they be responsible for the chair that had been tossed through the window onto the porch. All of this was likely the work of Ted and Abee Cole.

  Though he wasn't native to Oriental, he had become attuned to the rhythms of the town. He'd learned over time that if he listened carefully at Irvin's, it was possible to learn a great deal about the history of this part of the world, and the people who lived here. Of course, in a place like Irvin's, any information had to be taken with a grain of salt. Rumors, gossip, and innuendo were as common as actual truth. Still, he knew more about the Cole family than most people would have expected. Including quite a bit about Dawson.

  After Tuck had spoken to him about his plans for Dawson and Amanda, Tanner had been concerned enough for his own safety to learn what he could about the Coles. Though Tuck vouched for Dawson's character, Tanner had taken the time to talk to the sheriff who'd arrested him, as well as the prosecutor and public defender. The legal community in Pamlico County was small, and it was easy enough to get his colleagues talking about one of Oriental's most storied crimes.

  Both the prosecutor and public defender had believed there'd been another car on the road that night, and that Dawson had swerved out of the way to avoid it. But given that the judge and sheriff back then were friends of Marilyn Bonner's family, there was little they could do. It was enough to make Tanner frown at the realities of small-town justice. After that, he spoke to the retired warden of the prison in Halifax, who informed him that Dawson had been a model inmate. He also called some of Dawson's prior employers in Louisiana, to verify that his character was sound and trustworthy. Only then did he agree to Tuck's request for assistance.