It was like her to suddenly continue an interrupted or forgotten bit of conversation. She rarely forgot anything McCaleb said to her. Bonnie Fox was a small woman about McCaleb’s age with short hair gone prematurely gray. Her white lab coat hung almost to her ankles because it had been designed for a taller person. Embroidered on the breast pocket was an outline of the cardiopulmonary system, her specialty as a surgeon. She was all business when it came to their meetings. She had an air of confidence and caring, a combination McCaleb had always found rare in physicians-and in the last years there had been many. He returned the confidence and caring. He liked her and trusted her. In his most secret thoughts there had once been a hesitation when he considered he would one day put his life in the hands of this woman. But the hesitation quickly left and caused him only a feeling of guilt. When the time came for the transplant, it had been her smiling face that was the last he had seen as he was put to sleep in pre-op. There had been no hesitation in him by then. And it was her smiling face that welcomed him back to the world with a new heart and new life.
McCaleb took the fact that in the eight weeks since the transplant there had not been a hitch in his recovery as proof his belief in her was valid. In the three years since he had first walked into her office, a bond had developed between them that had gone far beyond the professional. They were good friends now, or so McCaleb believed. They had shared meals a half dozen times and countless spirited debates on everything from genetic cloning to the O. J. Simpson trials-McCaleb had won a hundred bucks from her on the first verdict, easily seeing that her unwavering belief in the justice system had blinded her to racial realities of the case. She wouldn’t bet him on the second.
Whatever the subject, half the time McCaleb found himself taking the opposing opinion just because he liked battling with her. Fox now followed her question with a look that said she was ready for another joust.
“Whether we should be doing
“One other person, one other part. Let’s not be so dramatic.”
“But it’s the big part, isn’t it? You know, when I was with the bureau, we had to qualify on the range every year. You know, shoot at targets. And the best way to qualify was to go for the heart. The circle around the heart on those targets scores more than the head. It’s called the ten ring. Highest score.”
“Look, if this is the aren’t – we – acting – like – God debate again, I thought we were well past that.”
She shook her head, smiled and looked him over for a few seconds. The smile eventually dropped away.
“What’s really wrong?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling guilty.”
“What, about living?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been through this, too. I have no time for survivor’s guilt. Look at the choices here. It’s simple. You’ve got life on one side and then you’ve got death. Big decision. What is there to be guilty about?”
He raised his hands in surrender. She always put things in their clearest context.
“Typical,” she said, refusing to let him back off. “You hang around almost two years waiting for a heart, draw your string out and nearly don’t even make it, and now you wonder if we should have even given it to you. What’s really bothering you, Terry? I don’t have time to be bullshitting with you.”
He looked back at her. She had developed a skill at reading him. It was something all the best bureau agents and cops he had known had. He hesitated and then decided to say what was on his mind.
“I guess I want to know how come you didn’t tell me that the woman whose heart I got had been murdered.” She was clearly taken aback. The shock of his statement showed on her face.
“Murdered? What are you talking about?”
“She was murdered.”
“How?”
“I don’t know exactly. She got caught in the middle of a robbery in some convenience store up in the Valley. Shot in the head. She died and I got her heart.”
“You’re not supposed to know anything about your donor. How do you know this?”
“Because her sister came and saw me on Saturday. She told me the whole thing… It sort of changes things, you know?”
Fox sat on the hospital bed and leaned over him. A stern look came over her face.
“First of all, I had no idea where your heart came from. We never do. It came through BOPRA. All we were told was that an organ was available with a blood work match to a recipient we had on call and at the top of our list. That was you. You know how BOPRA works. You watched the film during orientation. We get limited information because it works best that way. I told you exactly what we knew. Female, twenty-six years old, if I remember. Perfect health, perfect blood typing, perfect donor. That’s it.”
