Free Second Hand Heart by Catherine Ryan Hyde Page B

thing, but it’s pretty small. That day you came to the hospital. And I was showing you the worry stone. I said I wore that smooth spot on it with my thumb. But that was only partly true. Esther wore most of the smooth spot when she was on the boat to America. But I’ve been rubbing ever since I went into the hospital this last time. So some part of that smooth spot was me. It must be at least a little smoother because of me. But maybe if I really always told the truth, I would have mentioned Esther’s part in that. In the smooth spot.”
    I still had no idea who this Esther was. “You’re right,” I said. “That’s pretty small.”
    “I can’t believe you thought I would smoke. I have a heart condition. I mean, I had a heart condition. But then, I guess that was the old heart, wasn’t it? I guess now I have a different kind of heart condition. The kind where it’s somebody else’s entirely. Anyway, I wouldn’t smoke.”
    “I have a nephew who has asthma. And he’s a chainsmoker.”
    “Wow,” Vida said. “That’s amazingly stupid. Anyway, this is a weird conversation. Why are we talking about this again?”
    “OK, never mind. We’ll talk about something else. Let me ask you another question. What did you have for breakfast this morning?”
    A long pause on the line.
    “This is weirder than the last thing we were talking about.”
    “It’s just a simple question,” I said. Though it wasn’t.
    “I didn’t have any breakfast.”
    “OK. What did you have for lunch?”
    “Chicken soup. With one matzo ball. Esther made it for me.”
    I suppose I could have stopped the line of questioning long enough to find out who this Esther is, since she kept coming up, but I didn’t care enough to pursue it.
    “How about dinner?”
    “I had a carrot and a hardboiled egg. I wasn’t hungry. But my mother won’t let me off with eating any less than that for dinner.”
    I was thinking that explained a lot about her abnormally low weight.
    “Oh, my God,” she said, “I just got it. You’re trying to figure out if I’m taking good care of the heart.”
    My brain flew in a dozen directions, nearly at once, like a wild animal suddenly trapped in a cage. I was all prepared to say I was doing no such thing. How ridiculous of her to think so. My real point was …
    I thought I’d get a perfect idea any second. A perfect finish for that sentence. My mouth completely betrayed me.
    It said, “Well … do you blame me?”
    “Oh, no,” Vida said. “Of course not. I don’t blame you for anything. I love you.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut.
    “Never say that to me, Vida. That is the one thing you must never, never say to me.”
    Without so much as a beat of silence she said, “OK, fine. I just won’t say it, then.” Then the expected pause. Then, “But it’ll still be true.”
    “That’s just another way of saying it.”
    “OK. You know what? You seem a little upset tonight. So I’ll just call you some other time.”
    I pulled a deep breath and steeled myself as best I could. I’m low on steel these days.
    “No, Vida. I really think … Maybe … Maybe … it would be best if you didn’t call here any more.”
    “OK, talk to you later,” she said. And then I heard the click.
    I lay staring into the receiver for several seconds. Until the dial tone startled me out of my coma.
    I hung up the phone and tried to get back to sleep. I suppose it goes without saying that I had very little success. If any.
    •  •  •
    Vida called again from home. Two nights later.
    It was a little earlier than her usual. Eleven-something.
    It still woke me up.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
    “Do you?”
    “You think I don’t listen to you. That I didn’t hear what you said at the end of our last talk. And that I’m going against what you asked.”
    “That actually sums it up pretty well, yes.”
    “What would you say if I told you I listen to you better than you listen to yourself?”
    “Sounds a