“I’ll be right there.”
“You don’t have to—” Hannah starts, but Sophie has already hung up. Much of their salon’s success has been due to her partner’s unwillingness to take no for an answer. It’s the reason Hannah owns half the business in the first place.
Almost twenty years ago, she and Sophie worked together at a large commercial salon where it was less about the quality of their work and more about how many clients they could shuffle in and out of their chairs each day. Finally, after a few years of dealing with a toxic atmosphere of gossipy and backstabbing stylists, Sophie talked Hannah into applying for a small business loan to start their own salon. They were so successful, in fact, that they recently purchased a charming Craftsman house in a business district of Bellevue and plan to transform it into a second Ciseaux location.
“Ms. Scott?” A doctor in blue scrubs approaches, snapping Hannah out of her thoughts. He is older, a fact she finds strangely comforting, as though his years of wisdom and experience can somehow erase the perilous nature of this moment. His silver hair is damp around his forehead, and he clutches a surgical cap in one hand. “I’m Dr. Wilder. I was working on your daughter.”
Was working? Past tense? Hannah stands, pulse racing, still clutching her cell phone. “Is she okay? Can I see her?”
“Soon.” Dr. Wilder takes another step toward her and gestures for her to sit. She complies, slipping her phone back into her purse, which she only has because another neighbor dashed into her house and grabbed it for her before the ambulance shut its doors. The doctor sits as well, taking her hand in his. His fingers are soft and warm. They feel capable. Hannah latches onto this thought as evidence that Emily is safe.
“Your daughter sustained life-threatening injuries,” he says. His voice is low and calm; his gray eyes reveal nothing. “When her head hit the pavement, her brain began to bleed.” Hannah nods, her jaw rattling so violently she has to clench her teeth to stop it. Dr. Wilder knits his thick, white brows together before continuing. “We were able to stop the hemorrhage, but I’m afraid the damage was extensive.”
“What does that mean?” Hannah asks. Her heart thuds against her rib cage in a violent rhythm, hard enough to convince her it will bruise.
“It means she is alive, but only because we’ve put her on a ventilator.” He waits a beat. “She’s had no spontaneous brain function. None at all since she came in.”
The buzzing in Hannah’s head takes over her thoughts and the room starts to spin. She closes her eyes. “Is it a coma?” she finally manages to whisper. “Will she wake up?”
Dr. Wilder squeezes her hand. “I’m afraid not,” he says. “There’s no activity in her brain stem. If we discontinued life support, she wouldn’t survive. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but there’s simply no chance she’ll recover.”
Her eyes snap open. “Oh god . . . no!” She moans, a low, throbbing sound. Letting go of his hand, she bends over, crossing her arms over her chest. Tears rush down her cheeks as she once again rocks in place. “Are you sure? Are you sure?” she says, repeating the question. She feels the eyes of the other couple in the room upon her. The old man gets up and walks away, as though distancing himself from her could help him avoid a similar fate.
“Yes,” the doctor says. “I’m very sorry.” He doesn’t speak again, waiting for Hannah to right herself.
When she does, she faces him with swollen eyes and red cheeks. “She should have worn that damn helmet,” she says through quivering lips.
“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” he says. “The impact was too severe.”
Hearing this, Hannah allows herself to feel a small flash of relief. “Isn’t there something else you can do? Another surgery?” she asks, but Dr. Wilder frowns and shakes his head. Hannah feels her throat close up. She can’t swallow, and for a moment, she can’t speak. The walls seem to curve, compressing the air around her. She reminds herself to breathe. “I need to see her,” she finally says in a hoarse voice, one she doesn’t recognize as her own. Her body feels fragile, like thinly blown glass.
Dr. Wilder nods. “Of course,” he says, then hesitates a moment before continuing. “And please, forgive me, but I need to ask . . . is your daughter an organ donor?”
“What?” Hannah says, blinking. She can’t focus on his meaning. She knows she should understand it, but everything is muffled, as though they were having this conversation underwater.
“Her blood type is rare,” he says. “And if she’s a donor, it’s possible she can save other lives when she passes.”
When she passes? Hannah can’t wrap her mind around the thought. I’ll do anything, anything to make this not true. I’ll sell the business, move back to Idaho with my parents like they’ve always wanted. I’ll give Emily a quiet life in the country, let her frolic with goats and milk the cows, like I did growing up. I’ve been so selfish, having her live in the city. I’ll give everything up. I’ll change it all if she’ll just stay with me.
Hannah shakes her head. “I just . . . I don’t . . . I can’t think about that right now,” she says.
“I understand how difficult this is,” the doctor says. “I only ask because her organs will deteriorate as her condition worsens. The sooner we know if she might be a donor, the more lives she could save. That’s all.” He stands and motions for her to do the same.
Hannah stares at him a moment, wondering if she refuses to go, if she cements herself to the chair, would anything change? If she could somehow reverse the day, go back to the beginning and start over, do everything differently, none of this would have happened.
But the look Dr. Wilder gives her lifts her from her seat. With a deep breath, she follows him down the hall, suddenly facing the kind of decision that no mother should ever have to make.
PHOTO CREDIT: SHERRIE STOCKLAND
AMY HATVANY is the author of Outside the Lines, Best Kept Secret, and The Language of Sisters. She lives in Seattle with her family. To learn more, visit www.amyhatvany.com.
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COVER DESIGN BY JANET PERR
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ALSO BY AMY HATVANY
Best Kept Secret
Outside the Lines
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Amy Hatvany
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First Washington Square Press trade paperback edition March 2013
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hatvany, Amy, 1972—
Heart
like mine : a novel / Amy Hatvany.
p. cm.
1. Stepmothers—Fiction. 2. Stepchildren—Fiction. 3. Mothers—Fiction.
4. Death—Fiction. 5. Fathers and daughters—Fiction. 6. Children—Family relationships—Fiction. 7. Seattle (Wash.)—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3608.A8658H43 2013
813’.6—dc23
2012024899
ISBN 978-1-4516-4056-4
ISBN 978-1-4516-4057-1 (ebook)