The Perfect Son

The doctor walked toward the door. “I’ll leave the two of you alone. Ella, I hope you’ll consider going on the transplant list. I’ll see you tomorrow on my rounds. Keep up the good work, and be assured that we will continue to treat you to the best of our abilities.”


And he left.

What if Ella started crying? She hardly ever cried, and when she did, she took these huge, gulping breaths that jabbed his heart like red-hot pokers. Leaning over the bedrail, Felix took her hand and raised it to his lips. His mouth lingered on her wedding ring. “I love you, Ella Bella,” he said. Why hadn’t he told her that every day? People said I love you all the time. Look at the way Harry tossed it into the air like a badminton shuttlecock. I love you, Mom! Love you, Maxi-Pad! I love Sammie.

I love you: the three hardest words to say, unless you believed your wife was dying.




It was a death sentence with a timer. There were no guarantees that her heart would hold out until she could get a new one. She knew it; Felix knew it. Why else would he say I love you, words he rarely spoke?

Ella grabbed a tissue from the box by her bed and dabbed at her eyes.

“Don’t cry, darling, please.”

“I’m not. The air in here is too dry. Makes my eyes water.”

Felix gave her one of his laser looks; he wasn’t falling for it. But if she told him the truth, if she screamed, What else do you expect me to do, it would be harder for both of them. He would fall to pieces, and that wasn’t an option. Finally, it was his turn to be strong enough for two. He had to be the strong parent, because otherwise, what would happen to Harry? And what would happen to Felix? Her thoughts circled like turkey vultures. Who should she worry about first?

“I think it’s time to call Dad.” Once she told her father, there would be no going back. She was stepping up to the plate, admitting she could die. Until the clogged stent, it hadn’t felt real. This was as real as it got.

“Do you want me to take care of it? I could call him from home.”

Ella shook her head. “If it comes from you, he’ll worry more. He’ll want to hear my voice, gauge how I’m coping. I have to be the one to tell him.” After Felix left, she would sit with this, try her death sentence on for size, find words that wouldn’t bring a rush of memories for her dad. Then she would pick up the pieces and discover her fighting spirit. Tell herself that she was a good candidate for a transplant. If she’d been lucky to survive on the plane, she was lucky still. Unlike Felix, she had no problem with luck.

“And what if you break down on the phone?” Felix said.

“I won’t do that to him. I can fake it when I have to.”

“That’s not a reassuring thing for a husband to hear.”

Ella stared at the tissue. “For the record, I’ve never faked anything with you.”

Felix shot up and darted around the hospital room as if the walls and ceiling were closing in on them, shrinking. “Please consider transferring to a better hospital. If I pull every IOU, I can get you a bed at Memorial before the end of the day. I’ve played golf with the chief of cardiology. I’d prefer to get you moved to Duke, but—”

“No. We’re done with that conversation, Felix.” Ella closed her eyes. “I’m still competent to make my own medical decisions. I’m not starting over with a different team. I like the staff here, and I want to continue the conversation with Dr. Beaubridge about a heart transplant.”

She reached for Felix, pulling him down until his head rested on her chest. She buried her face in his hair. “I like the nongel look.” His hair, so soft, smelled of lavender. Had he been using her shampoo?

“Once I get home, things will seem brighter.”

Felix straightened up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “I think you’re being overly optimistic.”

“Please, Felix. I need you to support me in this. I’m not changing hospitals, and I don’t want to argue.”

“Because life’s too short?”

“Quite frankly, yes. I could croak at any time.”

“Ella, that’s not remotely funny. Nor is it appropriate.”

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