The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (19 page)

“You’re kidding me,” Mom said at the dinner table, when the three of us sat down to eat. “She’s pregnant?”

Dad’s eyebrows lifted as he passed me the salad bowl.

“I’m not kidding,” I said. “Becky saw it on Nadia’s Facebook page and called to tell me.”

“And you’re sure it’s Rick’s.”

“It must be, because he paid her fifty thousand dollars to stay away and leave him alone forever.”

Mom scoffed with disgust, and Dad shook his head. “You got off lucky,” he said to me. “You’re better off without him. You should
thank
Nadia for that.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.” I served up some salad, and dipped my spoon into my bowl of chili.

Mom and Dad glanced at each other.

“How long has it been since you’ve spoken to Nadia?” Dad cautiously asked.

“It’s been months,” I replied, “but she left me a voicemail message today.”

Mom picked through the lettuce leaves on her salad plate. “What did she say?”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t listened to it. I’ve been speculating about all sorts of things, though.”

Mom laid down her fork. “Speculating will get you nowhere, dear, and the suspense is killing me. Don’t just sit there. Go listen to it.”

I met her gaze from across the table. “Don’t we have an ironclad rule about cell phones at the dinner table?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said with a smile. “Go listen to it in the foyer.”

I chuckled at her, and rose from my chair. After pulling my phone out of my purse, I punched in the code.

The first thing I noticed, when the message began, was that Nadia sounded exhausted, and I wondered if she’d been ill. Then, as she continued to explain why she was calling, I felt the color drain from my face.

Turning to look at my parents, who were seated at the table watching me, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stand there, numb and speechless, as I listened to my sister’s message.

P
LACING MY PHONE
on the polished mahogany table, I pressed the speaker button and increased the volume so we could all listen. As soon as Nadia began to speak, I sank into a chair and rubbed my forehead with my hand.

“Hi Diana,” she said. “It’s Nadia. I know it’s been awhile since we talked, but something happened to me and I have no one else to call.” She paused. “I got sick a few weeks ago – just the regular flu, I thought – but it turned out to be some kind of weird virus that attacks the heart. It’s called myocarditis if you want to look it up. I’m in the hospital now, and they tell me I have only twenty-five percent of my heart function. They had to use paddles to shock me back to life yesterday. So I’m not in great shape. The doctor says I’m going to need a heart transplant, but that could take awhile and...”

The message timed out, and Mom and Dad exclaimed. “Good God! A heart transplant! Was she cut off just now? Can you get her back?”

I nodded and accessed the second voicemail message she had left.

“I got cut off,” Nadia said. “I can’t remember what I was saying. I think I was telling you about the transplant, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m pregnant. I’m six months along, and I’m... I’m afraid about what’s going to happen to the baby. She’s too little to come out of my tummy now, so we have to wait until it’s safe to do a C-section. That’s why I’m calling.”

Her voice began to tremble, and I knew she was holding back tears. I locked eyes with my mother, who was white as a sheet.

“I don’t know if I can make it through all of this,” Nadia said, “and I’m worried about what will happen to my baby. Diana, will you please call? Will you take her if anything happens to me?”

She was cut off again, so I keyed in the code to listen to the third and final message.

This time, Nadia was weeping.

“Will you please call me? I’m all alone here, and I’m really scared. I don’t like my doctor, and I can’t call Rick. He doesn’t want the baby. I don’t want her to be left all alone in the world like I was. Please, Diana. Please call me.”

It ended there.

“Oh, my God. Did she leave a number?” Mom frantically asked.

I picked up my phone. “It’s listed on the call display.”

My hands shook uncontrollably as I dialed what I assumed was the Los Angeles hospital where Nadia was being treated.

“
N
ADIA
,
IS THIS
you?” I paced back and forth beside the dining room table. “It’s Diana.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said on a sigh. “I can’t believe you called.”

“Of course I called,” I said. “How are you? Are they taking good care of you?”

Her voice was weak, as if she’d just woken from a nap. “I’m in intensive care, and the nurses are really nice. They seem to know what they’re doing, and the baby’s okay. They have her hooked up to a fetal monitor, so I can hear her heart beating all the time. Can you hear it?”

I strained to listen, and made out the faint rhythm of the monitor in the background. “Yes, I think I can.”

“I’m sorry about what happened between us,” Nadia said. “I wish I could take it all back. I never wanted to hurt you. It was the stupidest thing I ever did.”

“But if that hadn’t happened,” I said, needing to remind her of the only thing that mattered in that moment, “you wouldn’t be carrying that precious baby.”

She mumbled in agreement. “I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Did this mean I forgave her? I wondered as I paced back and forth in the dining room.

No, it couldn’t be that simple. I wished I could forget my suspicions from a year ago, how I confronted her about her relationship with Rick, and how she’d lied to my face.

I wished I could forget the angst that went on for weeks, and the explosive pain I felt when I caught her and Rick kissing in the elevator.

But that was not relevant now. There were other things far more pressing.

“Did you listen to all my messages?” Nadia asked. “Did you hear what I said about the baby, in case I don’t survive the surgeries?”

“You’re going to be fine,” I insisted, but my voice quivered on the last word. I honestly had no idea what her chances were. Twenty-five percent heart function didn’t sound good.

“I need you to do a few things for me, okay?” I said, aware of my parents watching me. “I need you to tell me the name of your doctor – the one you said you didn’t like.”

“His name is Dr. Jeffrey Vaughn. He’s a cardiologist here.”

“Okay. Good. Now I need you to give him permission to talk to me. Tell him I’m your twin sister and that I’m going to call him and find out everything that’s going on. Then I’m going to get on the first plane out of here. I’m in Boston right now, but I’ll be in LA as soon as possible. What you need to do is relax and not worry about anything. Can you do that?”

“Thank you so much.” She quietly cried.

I closed my eyes and felt her fear, as if it were my own. “I need to hang up now,” I said, “so that I can book the flight. I’ll call you when I know what time I’ll be arriving.”

“Okay.”

Lowering the phone to my side, I turned to face my parents. My throat closed up and a hot tear rolled down my cheek. “She’s my sister,” I said, “and I have to go to her.”

My mother nodded and rose from her chair. “Yes. I’ll come with you.”

T
HE FIRST THING
I did was book the flights to LA, but we couldn’t leave for a few hours, so I had time to call the hospital and speak with Dr. Vaughn.

I wasn’t sure exactly why Nadia didn’t like him, but at this point, I merely wanted to gather as much information as I could about her condition. He took the time to explain why a heart transplant was necessary, and he described the potential complications that could arise from her pregnancy.

After we hung up, I went online to do some research of my own, and wasn’t thrilled to discover that Dr. Vaughn had been successfully sued in the past. I understood that cardiac surgery was a high-risk profession, and it was not uncommon for surgeons to face lawsuits, but what I didn’t care for was the arrogance I had sensed on the phone.

I resolved to learn more when I met him face to face.

Ten hours later, our flight touched down at LAX. Mom and I got off the plane and took a cab straight to the hospital.

As we sped along the familiar Los Angeles freeway and cut through city streets I had once considered home, I felt no regret that I’d moved back to the east coast. In fact, I was surprised by my lack of nostalgia for LA. I was not sentimental about the years I’d spent here – I suppose my memory of the city had been fouled by the unpleasant circumstances of my departure.

When we arrived at the hospital entrance, I paid the cab driver, and Mom and I got out. The driver fetched our suitcases from the trunk, and we pulled them on their little rubber wheels through the doors and across the reception area to the elevators.

The sliding doors opened and we had to squeeze in. All the while, I tried to imagine how I was going to feel when I saw my twin again, after almost a full year.

In the end, I was not prepared for the emotions I would experience when I saw Nadia in the ICU.

I
WAS STILL
angry with her, though I had to remind myself of that fact as I stood outside her room, looking in at her – so sick and weak – through the glass. She was six months pregnant, yet her face was gaunt. The sallow, pasty color of her skin disturbed me. It was like looking at myself in death’s doorway.

But she was not me, and I was not her.

Mom waited outside while I entered the room on my own. Nadia was asleep, so I stood over her bed for a few minutes and stared at her freely.

Despite what had occurred between us, I was still fascinated by our resemblance. I could stare at her all day. Meanwhile, my emotions oscillated back and forth. I was still angry, yet I felt a distant love inside me that somehow managed to wriggle out from under the shell of my resentment.

Perhaps she sensed my presence over her bed, because her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head on the pillow to look at me.

“Oh...” She reached for my hand. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I’m here.” I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I can breathe all right, and the baby’s doing well.”

“That’s good news.”

“How was your flight?”

“It was fine.”

There was a noticeable awkwardness between us while we chatted about superficial things.

Working to stay focused on the here and now, and what needed to be done for her, I invited my mother in. She kissed Nadia on the cheek as well.

“You poor darling,” Mom said. “Don’t you worry. We’re here now, and everything’s going to be fine.”

Nadia’s eyes welled up. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”

“It’s Sandra.”

For the next little while, we caught up on each other’s news. I told Nadia about the law practice I’d joined in Boston, and she talked to us about what it was like to be pregnant. She was proud to announce that she was recently promoted at work. We congratulated her, of course, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to return.

Later, Mom left to get a cup of coffee. As soon as Nadia and I were alone, she hit me with the question that had been weighing heavily on each of our minds.

“Have you thought about what I asked you on the phone?” she said.

I shifted in my chair. The fact is, I hadn’t thought about it much at all – I certainly hadn’t made any decisions – because I’d been too occupied with researching Nadia’s heart condition, looking into the results of heart transplant surgeries, and searching for the best doctors in the country. Planning for Nadia’s death hadn’t entered my mind, despite the fact that I was a lawyer and I knew how important it was to plan for these things.

“Obviously, we need to talk about it,” I said. “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, but do you have a will? Everyone should have one,” I added, so as not to sound too morbid.

“No,” she replied. “Can you help me with that?”

“Of course. We can do it today. I’ll just take a few notes on my laptop.”

She nodded. “That will be good, but you still haven’t answered my question. Will you be my baby’s mother if something happens to me?”

God
, the way she phrased the question made me feel as if I’d been hit across the back with a baseball bat. The lawyer in me would have used the word “legal guardian,” but a guardian was not what Nadia wanted.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I said. “You’ll make it through this, and
you’re
going to be the baby’s mother.”

“Please, Diana,” she replied. “I know you don’t owe me any favors, and I certainly don’t deserve sympathy from you, but you have to say yes. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

“You’ll survive,” I told her. “That’s what you’ll do.”

She shook her head and frowned in anger. “Don’t try to use that to motivate me to fight for my life. Believe me, I’m plenty motivated. I want to live so that I can raise this child. I want it more than anything. But I also know – perhaps better than anyone – that sometimes things don’t turn out the way you want them to. Life’s not like that.” She paused. “My baby can’t end up without a family. Please, just say yes.”