Free A Matter of Heart by Amy Fellner Dominy Page A

up inside me, so bitter I can taste it at the back of my throat. The words are lying there, mocking me. I reach for the paper and wad it in my hands. It crinkles as I squash it into a ball, folding the words in on themselves, destroying them before they can destroy me. I shove the crumpled ball into my purse and stand up. “I’ve got to get out of here,” I say.
    I’m drowning.
    The doctor has told me I can’t swim, and now I’m drowning.

16

    W e leave the way we came in but everything is different now. I’m in front, moving fast because I still can’t breathe and I don’t think I’ll be able to until I’m out of this place. Away from that room and that doctor. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m fine.
    I’m fine!
    The elevator ride to the parking garage is quiet except for the thrum of Dad’s keys. He’s swinging them up in his fist and then down.
Swish…clack. Swish…clack
. I’d kill to know what he’s thinking, but he’s got his head bent so low I can see the thinning patch of hair on top of his head. Mom keeps looking away and wiping at her eye, as if it’s an eyelash that’s making her cry. I want to scream in her face to stop. Her tears are a sign of surrender, and I’m not surrendering.
    I watch the lights flash on the elevator panel. B1, B2, B3. My lips are pressed tight so I won’t breathe. It’s stupid, I know, but ifI take a breath, I’ll inhale everything that was said and then it’ll be a part of me. I have to get clear of this place. I concentrate on the
swish-clack
, the elevator lights, and not breathing.
    My phone vibrates. Another text. I ignore it. What can my thumbs say when the rest of me is without words?
    We get to the car and climb in. There are all the normal sounds of seat belts, the key in the ignition, the motor coming to life. But no words. I’m sinking under the heavy silence. Choking on the now-steady flow of Mom’s tears. She’s crying like we’re at a funeral. My funeral.
    The car is idling but not moving, as if we’re stuck going nowhere. I feel the scream working up from inside me.
    “No!” The word explodes from Dad.
No!
Sharp and angry and loud.
    The scream inside me dies and I breathe. My lungs open and air floods in. It’s as if I’m alive again. This, I realize, is what I was waiting for. Dad isn’t giving up. And if Dad believes in me, then it’s going to be okay.
    He slams a hand on the steering wheel. “This is not the end of this,” he mutters. “Who was this guy, anyway?”
    “David.”
    “I’m serious, Joanne.”
    “He’s a well-respected cardiologist.”
    “Why?” Dad shoots back. “Because your friend Laney says so?”
    “I researched the practice. It’s one of the best in the state.”
    “Even doctors make mistakes, and this is obviously a mistake. She has one dizzy spell and suddenly she’s got a heart condition?”
    “You heard him. It often presents itself during adolescence.”
    “Don’t give me that medical jargon,” Dad snaps. “I heard it.”
    Mom’s lips purse. She doesn’t say anything. Dad’s hands clench and unclench the wheel.
    I lean forward, one hand on each of their seat backs. “It only happened the one time because I let myself get dehydrated.”
    “There were tests, honey.” Mom looks back. Her eyes are red. “We have to accept what the doctor said.”
    “It’s one doctor,” Dad says. “Don’t you think we should look into it a little more before throwing away Abby’s dream? Or do you want to crush her now?”
    “I don’t want to crush her!”
    “You think she pushes herself too hard. Admit it.”
    “I think you push her too hard.”
    Dad’s voice is spilling fury. “If you’d ever had a dream…if you’d ever been close to something like the Olympics, you’d understand.”
    Her mouth gapes as if he just slapped her. “I’m going to let that pass,” she says. “Because this has been a shock. We heard things tonight that are…difficult to absorb. But you can’t let that cloud