Keep Me in Your Heart Read online

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “You saw me in Judge Monsanto’s office.”

  “And you never even spoke to me.” His father sounded wounded.

  “I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t very well have congratulated you on winning, now could I?” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s all you ever care about anyway—winning. It’s the most important thing. The only thing.”

  “No!” his father said sharply. “This isn’t about winning.” Jeremy saw that tears had sprung to his father’s eyes. He waited while his father reined in his emotions. “It’s about losing, Jeremy. It’s about losing you.”

  Slowly Jeremy sat down.

  His father continued, “I’ve already lost one son. I can’t lose another.”

  “Tom,” Jeremy whispered.

  “He was alive. Then in an instant he was dead. Nothing in all my years of living prepared me for that. I only know I can’t go through it again.”

  “I’m not going to die, Dad.”

  “I know it’s an irrational fear,” his father said, raking his hand through his hair. “I know that thousands of people undergo surgery every day and come out just fine. I know that in my head. But in my heart—” He shook his head. “I can’t stand to think about you dying on the table. Or suffering irreversible damage. Of you ending up like Tom. And if any of those things happened, I would be responsible because I agreed to let you do it. In short, it would be my fault if something bad happened to you.”

  Stunned by the fervor in his father’s voice, astounded by the scenario his fears had written, Jeremy found it difficult to respond. Finally he said, “I’m not Tom.”

  “That’s what the psychiatrist at the hospital told me.”

  “You spoke to her? When? Why?”

  His father rubbed his eyes and let out his breath. “I stormed into her office after you passed all the hospital tests. I went to fight with her, to castigate her for saying a sixteen-year-old boy was competent to make the decision to give away an organ.”

  “That’s what her report said,” Jeremy declared. He barely recalled that part of the testing process.

  “I didn’t think a woman who’d seen you for a couple of hours could know you as well as your own parents. I called her names, I yelled and told her she was a puppet of the hospital, doing their bidding because they wanted to perform another transplant.”

  “You didn’t!” Jeremy cried, appalled.

  His father shrugged. “I told her you’d lost a brother—how could you be rational? You know what she said?”

  Jeremy shook his head, fascinated by the story.

  “She said, ‘Mr. Travino, Jeremy’s dealt amazingly well with his brother’s death. I suspect that’s because he’s talked about it so much with Jessica and traveled through so many aspects of the grieving process. You, sir, however, haven’t even begun to deal with it.’ ”

  Jeremy’s jaw dropped. His father? He was always so much in control. He was brilliant, tenacious, unflappable. And yet he hadn’t fully dealt with Tom’s death?

  “Is it true? How about Mom?”

  “I’m afraid she isn’t coping with it either. And that’s my fault too. I never let her talk about it to me. And I never even guessed how badly she needed to. You brought it all to a head when you packed your bags and walked out.”

  “But I never meant to hurt you or Mom. I just wanted to help Jessica. I didn’t know how else to do it.”

  For the first time, his father offered a wry smile. “You’re too much like me, Jeremy. You even used my own ploy from my college days against me by getting law students to defend you. You settled on a course of action, and you took it. Do you know how hard it’s been for me to have to sit back and let other forces control my life? Emancipation …” He shook his head. “That took guts. I’ve been torn between wanting to be proud of you and wanting to choke you.”

  “You wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say and we were running out of time. We still are,” Jeremy added.

  His father laced his fingers together and stared at Jeremy across the table. Jeremy held his gaze without flinching. At last his father said, “Your mother and I will sign the consent form. We don’t want to lose you, son, and if we don’t say yes, you’ll hate us. Please be part of our family. We need you.”

  Jeremy leaped to his feet again. “Dad, you’ll really sign?”

  “Only if you promise not to die on us.”

  A slow smile spread across Jeremy’s face. “You got it.”

  “So let’s call in your attorney and break the news that he’s out of work.”

  Jeremy hurried to the door and yanked it open. A startled Jake, who’d been sitting on a chair near the door, jumped to his feet. “We’re dropping the suit!” Jeremy exclaimed. “My parents are going to allow me to donate.”

  Jake stepped into the room and regarded Jeremy’s father cautiously. “Is that true, sir?”

  “It’s true.”

  Jake’s face broke into a grin. “I think that’s great news.” He held out his hand, and Frank Travino took it.

  “Can I ask you on what grounds you were planning to appeal?” Frank asked. “Just for the record.”

  “Constitutional grounds.”

  “Federal court?” Jeremy’s father asked, sounding surprised.

  “You know—what rights a minor has over his own body,” Jake said. “It’s a constitutional issue.”

  “I guess you could plead that,” Frank said, looking impressed.

  “It was Jeremy’s idea.”

  Frank turned and looked Jeremy full in the face. In his eyes Jeremy could have sworn that he saw astonishment. And pride.

  The next thing Jeremy did was head for the phone to call Jessica. Her mother answered on the first ring. “Mrs. McMillan—,” he started.

  “Is Jessica with you?” Her voice sounded high and thin, edgy, near hysteria.

  His heart thudded. “No, she’s not.”

  Her mother let out a strangled cry. “Oh, Jeremy, she’s missing. She never came home from dialysis today.”

  Chapter

  18

  Traffic on U.S. Highway 17 was at a standstill in both directions and had been for over an hour. Jessica had sat in the car with the engine running until she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. She turned off the engine, got out of the car and paced the shoulder of the road with other stranded motorists. She heard them talking about the tie-up.

  “A semi overturned.”

  “According to my CB, it was carrying hazardous chemicals and spilled the stuff over both sides of the road.”

  “The cleanup could take hours!”

  “How far to the next exit?”

  “Maybe ten miles.”

  “Then we’re stuck?”

  “Guess so.”

  Jessica climbed back into her car and turned on the air-conditioning for a few minutes. The summer sun was broiling, her head was throbbing and she felt sick to her stomach. She realized too late that her mother had taken the car phone with her in their older, less reliable car so that Jessica could have the newer vehicle. She was out of communication with everyone.

  The clock on the dashboard read 3:00 P.M. She also realized the trip to the beach was out. She had to wait until she could get to an exit so that she could turn around and head back to the Washington area. “This is the pits,” she mumbled. She laid her head against the back of the seat and shut her eyes.

  Jeremy had gone straight to Jessica’s house from the campus. Because of daylight saving time, it was still light at seven o’clock, but the fading sun only made him feel more anxious. Her parents were beside themselves with worry. “The dialysis unit said she left at eleven-thirty,” her mother said tearfully. “I called the police, but they can’t begin an official search until she’s been missing longer.”

  “But she’s got medical problems,” Jeremy blurted. “And this isn’t like her. I’d called to tell you good news. This can’t be happening just when it’s all going to work out
.”

  Jeremy paced the floor, his heart thudding with fear. Something was wrong. Jessica always came home after dialysis. Often she got sick, and he knew she would want to be in familiar surroundings. “I think I know a way to speed up the police,” he said.

  “Do it,” Ruth pleaded.

  Jeremy dialed his home number, telling Jessica’s mother, “My father will help.”

  When traffic finally began to creep forward, Jessica inched along with it, willing her car to the nearest exit. Once there, she’d find a phone and call home. It was just five; her parents wouldn’t even be home yet and wouldn’t have missed her. She’d leave a message on the answering machine telling them she was on her way and not to worry.

  It was almost six when she finally made it to the exit, but it took another twenty minutes to get off the ramp. Traffic at the two gas stations near the exit was backed up for a mile in either direction and the lines for the phone seemed just as long.

  She heard one motorist tell another, “Can’t return on Seventeen because it’s a snarl with everybody trying to get back to Washington. Right now we’re just hoping to find a place to spend the night.”

  Dismayed, she decided to go home by another route. She studied the map, but felt confusion spreading over her like a thick fog. I should eat something, she told herself. She found an old granola bar and a bag of pretzels in the glove compartment. She’d worry about her special diet later.

  She drove, allowing the air-conditioning to blast in her face. The coolness made her feel better. When she saw a country side road, her heart leaped. Quickly she turned onto it. Surely there’d be a farmhouse somewhere along the old road where she could stop and call home for help.

  Jeremy had to hand it to his father. The man certainly had clout and knew how to use it. He and Marilyn had rushed right over when Jeremy called, and after Jeremy’s brief reunion with his tearful mother, he watched his father go to work.

  Frank called prominent people, barking orders and threats into the phone. By nine o’clock the police had put out an all points bulletin on Jessica’s car. “If any officer spots it, we’ll know,” said the detective who’d come to Jessica’s house.

  “What if she’s been carjacked?” Her mother was nearly hysterical.

  “We’ll find her,” the detective said.

  Jeremy’s mother tried to comfort Jessica’s.

  Earlier, while they’d waited, he’d told Don and Ruth about having his parents’ consent to donate his kidney. The news fell flat. How could he donate an organ to a girl who was missing? One who could be in serious trouble?

  The country road had turned into a trail of rutted red clay and weeds. “Don’t panic,” Jessica told herself, forcing down waves of fear. All she had to do was turn around and go back the way she’d come. She’d return to the highway; surely by now the traffic would have cleared. She backed the car over the rough, hard Virginia ground and felt a rear tire sag. The sun was dipping low—soon it would be dark.

  Her mouth felt dry as cotton. If only she had a sip of water. Medications! With a start, she realized she hadn’t taken her evening medicines. At least she had a pill bottle in her purse with a dose of the most vital prescriptions. She looked for a place to stop that was friendlier than the rutted road. It was terribly hot since now the air-conditioning seemed to be blowing hot air and wasn’t working properly. She saw a large tree in the middle of a field; it looked cool and inviting. Maybe if I rest awhile, I’ll feel better, she told herself. Carefully she drove toward the tree, hearing the thump, thump of the tire.

  Beneath the tree’s branches, the air was cooler. Her shoes pinched, and she knew her feet were swollen. Still she got out and limped around to the back of the car and saw that her right rear tire was flat. She didn’t have either the strength or expertise to change the tire. She fought down panic. Someone would find her. Sooner or later, she’d be found.

  She returned to the car, where she fumbled in her purse until she found the pill bottle. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow, so she said to herself, “I’ll take a little nap.” Things would look better after some sleep.

  Jeremy’s father called the local media at ten o’clock, hoping to get a story about Jessica on the late news. Jeremy drove to several local stations with photos of Jessica and a brief description of her medical condition.

  A reporter from The Washington Post came to the house and did an interview with Jessica’s parents, telling them he’d have the story on the front page of the morning edition. He asked, “Was your daughter depressed? I mean, about her condition and all?”

  “She was coping,” Don McMillan said.

  “She wouldn’t have simply run off, would she?”

  “No!” He sounded angry. “She knows she can’t survive without dialysis. Besides, we’ve just learned that she is to receive a kidney transplant. It’s what she’s been waiting for.”

  Jeremy was thankful that Don hadn’t looked toward him. At this point he didn’t want the press to know he was to be Jessica’s donor. He didn’t want to answer a hundred questions. Didn’t want them to know about the lawsuit. It might only add fuel to their speculation on her running away.

  At eleven the local news channels ran the story about Jessica along with her photo. At midnight the detective who had remained with them at the house suggested they all go to bed and promised he’d keep them apprised of any new information.

  Of course, no one went to bed. Jeremy waited by the phone with both sets of parents, drinking coffee and willing the phone to ring. But it didn’t—not once during the long and arduous night.

  Jessica awoke with a start. She’d fallen asleep across the seat of the car. The lights on the dashboard had gone out. With a sickening sensation, she realized that she hadn’t turned off the key, and the interior lights and radio had run down the battery. Her heart thudded wildly.

  She tried to start the engine, but it made a grinding sound and she knew the battery was dead. A flat tire and a dead battery. Not good, she thought. She imagined her parents worrying about her. And Jeremy. She’d give anything to see his face, have him hug her. She wondered how his meeting with his father had gone. She hoped she got out of this mess in time to find out.

  Outside, the moon drifted from behind the clouds, and in its weak light she squinted at the face of her watch: 3:00 A.M. By now, she hoped, people were out looking for her. The night air was humid, and the dampness made her feel chilled. She mumbled a prayer, curled up in a ball and fell into a fitful sleep.

  Jessica’s picture and story were all over the morning news shows and papers. A headline read: MISSING GIRL NEEDS DIALYSIS. Jeremy rubbed his eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, and read every word. The phone at Jessica’s house started ringing as concerned friends and neighbors called. The detective cut the callers short, telling them the line had to be kept open for important police calls, and just in case Jessica called home herself.

  Jessica’s mother had been given tranquilizers, so she slept. When Jessica’s father felt heart palpitations, his doctor insisted on bed rest or immediate hospitalization. Don McMillan chose to remain in bed. Jeremy’s parents became responsible for cooking, fending off reporters, doing whatever needed to be done. He himself was torn between going to look for her and staying close to the phone in case she was found. One call that got through in the late afternoon was from Dr. Witherspoon. “This isn’t good,” the doctor told Jeremy. “She probably doesn’t have her medications with her.”

  Jeremy could confirm that. The bottles stood upstairs on her dresser. He told the doctor that his parents had relented and that when Jessica was found, he could donate his kidney to her.

  “Let’s just hope she’s found in time,” Dr. Witherspoon said grimly. “She needs to be stable for the surgery. And you’ll need to be prepped for it too.”

  In a trembling voice, Jeremy asked, “How long can she go without dialysis?”

  “Maybe a week,” Dr. Witherspoon said.

  It had already been over tw
enty-four hours since she’d left the dialysis unit.

  “We’ve got to find her soon.”

  Chapter

  19

  Jessica woke when the sun slanted into her eyes. She felt hot and sticky all over. She groaned as she tried to sit upright. For a few dazed moments, she attempted to figure out where she was; then, in a jumble of memories, it came back to her. She was stranded in a field out in the middle of nowhere.

  She thought about walking up the road, but quickly realized she hadn’t the strength. What day is it? Her head was in a fog and her skin itched like crazy. She needed dialysis. She was panting, and it hurt to breathe deeply. “Jeremy,” she called weakly.

  Why didn’t he come for her? Why was he staying away? “I need you, Jeremy. I need you.”

  “It’s been four days,” Jeremy wailed to the detective. “Four days! You should have found her by now.”

  “You’re assuming she wants to be found,” the man countered.

  “Of course she wants to be found. What kind of idea is that? She’s somewhere suffering from uremia. She can’t get to a phone. She’s probably hurt. Her doctor says she may be in a coma someplace.”

  The detective put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I don’t need you to freak out on me, son. Stay calm. Every clue, every lead is being followed up. It takes time.”

  “She doesn’t have any time.” Jeremy felt desperate, crazy with worry. Jessica’s time was running out.

  In her dreams, she drifted in a sea of lapping water. If she came too close to the surface, she hurt. It was as if her body were on fire. Thirsty. So thirsty. All she had to do was turn her head and lap the cool water, but when she tried, the water receded and the pain was excruciating.

  She was hot. She was cold. She thought another day and night passed, but she wasn’t sure. She wondered if she was dying. Poor Jessica, she heard imaginary voices say. Poor, poor Jessica. She drowned on the way to the beach in a field of grass in a car that would not start.