The Broken Miracle Read online

  My room had three beds: on the left was Dan’s, the one in the middle Jonahs’, and mine was on the far right. Though the room was in the basement, the window beside my bed provided a bit of sunlight, which was something I enjoyed waking up to in the mornings.

  I lay in bed for a while, replaying the previous night’s dinner in my head, hands folded over my chest. Sawyer clipped along at a jog as the memories filled my mind: Dad’s proud face, Mom’s eyes staring at me like I was a hero, and Jonahs making his mashed potato dams.

  After being lazy for a few more minutes, I jumped up, only to have the room spin around me. For a few moments, I was on a merry-go-round without any handholds. I stood rooted to the spot, arms spread out. One of my hands jolted to my chest. Sawyer’s beating felt different, like a drummer who’d lost their groove.

  I took a step forward when my surroundings settled. Nothing moved.

  “Guess I’m just hungry,” I said, though Sawyer still felt strange.

  I walked out of my bedroom and saw the other two rooms were empty, beds already made. I entered the bathroom and glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “Eleven fifteen!” I barked.

  I enjoyed sleeping in every once in a while but never this late. Dad always told us that a day was wasted if someone slept past ten. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and changed in less than twenty minutes.

  Sawyer fluttered as I walked upstairs, leaving me light-headed. I halted halfway, pressing my back against the wall. Ragged breaths followed as everything spun again. It felt like the distance between me and the doorway was hundreds of miles long. If I passed out, my body would roll down the stairs like a bowling ball. I pressed my eyes shut and attempted to control my breathing.

  A minute passed and the room no longer spun when I chanced a look. Sawyer calmed, beating evenly. I took a step up, holding on to the rail as if my life depended on it—which, at the moment, it did.

  “You’re awake!” Mom said, appearing at the top of the stairs. “I was about to come get you up. I need you to clean that basement before it’s destroyed by your siblings again. It’s your week after all. Dad has everyone else weeding the flower beds outside.”

  “Well…hi, Mom.” I forced a smile, hoping to conceal my fear. I didn’t want to alarm anyone.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, hands on her waist. “You’re pale.”

  “Yeah, just hungry.” I managed to make my way into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure?” she insisted.

  “I’m fine. Kind of upset I lost the whole day.” I frowned. “Why did you let me sleep in?”

  She stared into my eyes like she had some sort of superpower that could scan my brain for the truth. “Go eat,” she said. “There’s still some food left.”

  I was fine.

  Sawyer was fine.

  I was just hungry.

  I sat on one of the stools by the counter. There was bread, scrambled eggs, juice, and milk.

  Once I fixed myself a plate, I moved to the red couch by the window and sat on its arm so I could admire the view. Mount Olympus was on full display. Climbing to the top had been a dream of mine for as long as I could remember, but I knew the possibility of that happening was slim. Sawyer would never let me, and unless I got a brand-new heart, Mount Olympus’ summit would remain a fruit of my imagination. That’s the thing about living with half a heart—you get used to the things you want remaining dreams. Nothing more.

  A couple of my friends came by in the afternoon and invited me to play football with them and some other guys. The game was kind of perfect for someone in my condition since players had to stop constantly. It allowed me to catch my breath and for Sawyer to build up his strength.

  I marched down the stairs into the basement and retreated to my room to change. Images of my almost-fainting-on-the-stairs incident spooked me as I got dressed. I brushed it off. It was nothing to worry about. I had been fine since then.

  “I’m alright,” I said to myself. “Sawyer’s alright.”

  The field was a short five-minute walk from the house. The conversation ranged from cute girls to their excitement about waving Evergreen Middle School goodbye to say hello to Mount Olympus High in the fall. Sure, I was going to miss them, but I’d be joining them in a year.

  The game started a few minutes after we arrived. All the other kids were from Park Middle School across town. Apparently, this was the only open field available. Understandable, since people in Salt Lake were intense about their summers.

  I was reluctant during the first few moments of the game, still taking it easy on Sawyer. I brushed off my concern after a few touchdowns. But then I got worse; my entire body went cold and numb. I squinted my eyes, trying to remain focused on the field, but everything blurred. Sawyer lost his groove. I put my trembling hands on my knees, bent down, and squeezed my eyes shut. It was happening again, only this time in front of friends and strangers. I gasped for air, but my lungs failed to breathe.

  Darkness.

  There was this constant, annoying beeping sound in my head. I thought it was a dream until my eyes fluttered open.

  I didn’t recognize the wallpaper. It was blue and crowded with pictures of farm animals. There was a window to my right with salmon curtains, the sky outside dark, the lights of the city a bright display. I felt an itch on my cheek while searching for the source of all the beeping. There was a tug on my hand as I raised it, and I shuddered at the sight of the IV in my vein. Then I noticed the turquoise gown.

  “Paul?” My face turned toward the familiar voice. Mom sat on a brown leather chair, a book on her lap. She gave me a trembling smile. “Oh, thank goodness you’re awake.”

  She shifted from the leather chair to the edge of the bed.

  “What happened?” I asked, trying to recall how I ended up at the hospital.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was playing ball.” My words turned to ragged breaths. “And then I…I was…”

  “You passed out in the middle of the game.” Her chin wobbled. “They called your father at work and told him you were being brought here. They’re doing some tests to see what’s going on.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He went to the cafeteria to get us some decent food.” A teary smile found her face. “At least you’re awake. I was so scared, honey. I’m going to call the nurse. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”

  My eyes followed her until she closed the door.

  Anger wrapped itself around me. I fainted in front of all those people. My tears wanted to escape, but I fought against them. I guess I thought life was willing to skip this chapter and let me go on as if Sawyer was okay. But I was a fool with a messed-up heart. I thought winning all those merit badges meant I could have somewhat of a normal life, but being here—where they do nothing but fix broken people—was a reminder. In the same way climbing Mount Olympus would remain a dream, a healthy Sawyer would be nothing but desire.

  Mom returned with a nurse—a very cute one at least. She had blonde hair and bright blue eyes matching the stripes on her white scrubs.

  “Hey there, Paul. My name is Christie.” She smiled. “Happy to see you’re awake! I need to ask you a few things.”

  A flood of questions began. I felt like a celebrity being interviewed—only she was interested in my disease and health, not my charm. She wrote on her notepad with great determination. Mom struggled to keep a straight face as she listened.

  “I think I have all I need,” Christie said. “I’m going to speak to the doctor. Meanwhile, don’t eat any solid food until we have more updates. Do call if you need anything.”

  Dad emerged holding a tray of food as soon as she walked out, the smell of chicken filling the entire room.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, dry-mouthed from all the interview questions.

  “You’re awake
!” He rushed inside, setting the tray on a table by the bed. There were mashed potatoes with gravy and applesauce. “Is everything okay? Any updates?”

  “We’ll know soon,” Mom replied.

  “Good, good.” Dad’s eyes grew vacant. “Meanwhile, let’s eat.”

  “Let’s play a game,” I said with a smirk, trying to break the tension. “Let’s see how long it’s going to take me to vomit up this hospital food.”

  Mom scrunched her face. “That sounds fun.”

  “Then give me the chicken.”

  “You better stick to applesauce for now,” Dad said.

  “Might as well not eat then.” I shrugged. “Mushy food.”

  “Here, Paul.” He opened the plastic cup and handed it to me with a spoon. “You need to have something in your system.”

  We ate in silence.

  I knew they hurt for me.

  The Unknown

  NOVEMBER 2005

  “I’ll get it!” I shouted, grabbing the yellow baby bag from the counter. Olivia stood by the door wearing a brown coat, hand on her enormous belly. It was time. Her contractions started after coming home from her shift early in the afternoon. By six p.m., they averaged eight minutes apart, a clear sign Neil was coming.

  “The contractions could’ve started while I was still at work. It would’ve saved us a car ride to the hospital during rush hour,” she said, buttoning up her coat and opening the door, a cold November wind greeting us.

  “Sweetie, if only there was an alarm clock for these things,” I said, helping her down the stairs of the porch and into the car. Sawyer was in a frenzy, as excited as I was about seeing Neil’s face for the first time.

  Rush’s “Closer to the Heart” started playing the moment I started the car.

  “Of course this would be the soundtrack of our hospital trip.” She smiled with a nod. “I guess Neil is meant to love Rush, too.”

  “We’re about to go on the wildest adventure of our lives,” I said, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. “We need iconic music for the ride. By the way, you did pay attention to those birthing classes, right?”

  “As much as you did.”

  “Then we’re in trouble!”

  “Very funny,” she said.

  Mount Olympus stared at me as we drove, the sky painted in streaks of orange and dark blue.

  “Paul, slow down!” Olivia latched onto the grab handle after I drove over a hill. “Pregnant women don’t ride roller coasters. And try not to get us pulled over.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Just excited. We’re about to do this!”

  I swerved and cut through every car in traffic like I was in a game of Pole Position. A couple of middle fingers and horns were sent my way in retribution.

  Once at the hospital, we were told by Dr. Homer that Olivia was dilated one centimeter and had to stay overnight. She was dilated three centimeters by midnight.

  Olivia was ready to push at one p.m. the next day. The nurse and I guided her through the first series of pushes until Dr. Homer arrived. Sawyer leaped wildly under my ribcage. My fingers tingled as if playing a new melody on the piano.

  The world stopped when I spotted a small patch of brown hair as he made his way into our world. The doctor pulled him from Olivia, handing him to the nurse. She held him up and spanked his bottom. Neil’s cry was the most powerful melody to have ever graced my ears. No song I had written or melody I ever composed could compare to its sound. The nurse approached me with a smile, my son in her arms. I followed them to a table where I was given a cloth to clean him up.

  “Hey, little Neil.” The wisps of dark hair on his reddish scalp remained visible despite my welling tears. “I’m your dad and you’re my son.” His cheeks were round and puffy, his hands small. “We’re going to be best buddies.”

  “Wrap him with this,” said the nurse, handing me a white blanket.

  Neil ceased his crying after I wrapped him.

  He smacked his lips and cooed as I laid him in Olivia’s arms. We gazed upon our son. After two painful miscarriages, here we were, witnessing a living miracle.

  Sawyer had never beaten with such determination. It was my heart’s constant thumping and my son’s face that sent a shiver down my spine. I had wanted this for so long that my own limitations slipped my mind.

  The weeks that followed Neil’s arrival were an adventure. Sleeping a whole night became a ridiculous notion. Our new pastimes became diaper changing, sleep-rocking, and making sure the water in his tub wasn’t scorching hot. It was the best worst thing to ever happen to us, and we wouldn’t trade it for the world. Olivia’s smile gave me hope she could see past the unknowns and beyond the what ifs. Maybe finally having a child of our own was what she needed.

  When Neil came home, I hung the mobile above the white crib and spun it to make sure it worked. But the sound of the innocent lullaby brought a sense of impending doom. I saw the spinning plastic animals and thought of a possible future where I wouldn’t get to see the crib replaced with a bed.

  The image of my son asleep in his crib did push away some of those thoughts. But they lingered, hovering like vultures over a carcass. In his innocent face, I saw some of my mom. She told me that when I was a newborn, she didn’t even want to sleep in a separate room. Is his heart pumping? Is he breathing? Is he alive? Am I going to wake up to find him dead? I never understood or fully appreciated the love my parents had for me until Neil.

  After his birth, any free time I had was spent at my piano. We had placed his room upstairs so the music wouldn’t wake him. Inspiration was more constant than ever. Songs of gratitude, hope, and faith flowed out of me. One particular melody whirled in my head relentlessly, especially when he was near me. During one of my almost-nonexistent free times, I composed a song called “Our Love”—a dedication to my own little piece of paradise.

  I was at the piano working on the piece, repeating the opening again and again when the phone suddenly interrupted me. I rushed to the living room, annoyed as to who dared disturb my creative escape, not to mention Olivia and Neil’s nap. I looked at the caller ID. It was Walter, my booking agent.

  “Paul, I may have a gig for you this time.” The sound of his smoke-damaged voice sent a heatwave down my body.

  “Well, hey, I’m great. Olivia and Neil are fantastic,” I retorted. “I thought you knew I was taking the month off to be with them.”

  “And I heard you, but my job is to help you get gigs. That’s what you wanted me to do, right?”

  That’s what I wanted him to do, but he barely did it. He had me spend thousands on printed ads and conferences in the hope presenters would book me. His ideas always meant he would sit back, and I had to do the legwork.

  “I’m telling you, Paul.” A nervous laugh escaped him. “This one is big.”

  “Just spill it,” I said, wondering why I didn’t have it in me to let this guy go.

  “I got this opportunity to have you do a series of Christmas concerts in the upper Midwest. Good money. Good exposure. Bigger venue. It’s a nice way to keep momentum going for your new album. I figured this could also be a good fit since you did that Christmas record in 2003. I’m forwarding you the email from the Arts Council with all the details. You’ll like the offer.”

  I retreated upstairs to my office, phone in hand. To my surprise, Walter wasn’t lying. The gig paid well and presented the opportunity to introduce my music to thousands of people who had never heard it before.

  “Are you in?” he asked.

  I knew the right thing to do was consult Olivia, but my mouth spoke faster than my mind. “Sounds great.”

  “Fantastic. And you can put a band and set together by December sixteenth, right?”

  “Sure,” I mumbled, my mind scurrying for a solution to his request.

  “Great! It’s settled. Can’t wait to
see you then.”

  Creaks echoed from the hall. Olivia appeared, face puffed, hair tied into a bun. She wore a long white shirt and pajama bottoms.

  “Slept okay?” I asked.

  “I never thought I’d treasure sleep that much.” She smiled. “Come to the kitchen. I need water.”

  The two of us headed downstairs.

  “Who was that on the phone?” She walked to the cabinet and grabbed a glass.

  “Walter,” I said, resting my shoulder on the wall, arms folded over my chest.

  She tensed, holding the glass under the water filter on the fridge. “What did he want? I know he wasn’t calling to congratulate you. I still don’t know why you put up with that guy. Aren’t agents supposed to book actual gigs?”

  “You’re funny.” I smirked.

  How was I going to break the news to her?

  “Everything okay?” Olivia asked.

  “There’s an opportunity for me to play a couple of Christmas concerts next month.”

  She scoffed and set the glass on the counter, hands on her waist. “But Thanksgiving is this Thursday.” A frown appeared on her face. “That would put an incredible weight on us right now. What did you tell him?”

  My lips pressed into a line. “That I was going to do it. It’s the first thing he’s gotten me in months. It pays well.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “How do you think you’re going to accomplish that?”

  “I’ll find a way. I’ll get some people together, get a band going. We need the money. When you go back to the hospital it’s only going to be part-time. And I need to keep the momentum going on this new album. He forwarded me the email from the Arts Council. They want me to be part of it.”

  “Did you even think about us?”

  “I’ll be gone for four, five days tops. And you’re both the reason why I’m doing this.”

  “Of course we are,” she said snidely. “Maybe shows just aren’t for us. Walter keeps struggling to get you booked for these types of things. Maybe it’s a sign”