A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. –Mark Twain
The next day, Jonah checked into the Sunrise Medical facility for a myocardial biopsy. Someone told me—I didn’t remember who—that it was a same-day office procedure, but his doctor, Dr. Morrison, wanted Jonah to stay overnight for more tests. Kidney and liver panels, and an EKG.
“Are you his girlfriend?” Dr. Morrison asked in the hall outside Jonah’s room. Theo stood beside me.
“Yes,” I said, hugging my arms. “Kacey Dawson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kacey,” Dr. Morrison said. He was a lovely man, with a graying beard and sharp, kind eyes. I liked him at once, but all the while we exchanged pleasantries I screamed at him in my mind…
FIX HIM
MAKE HIM WELL.
GIVE HIM BACK TO ME.
Dr. Morrison explained what Jonah would need while recovering from a biopsy. “It would be ideal if someone were with him for the twenty-four hours after the procedure. Presuming he’s released tomorrow morning as planned.”
“Why wouldn’t he be released?” I asked.
“No reason at this time. We’ll let the test results come back and go from there, all right?”
We were allowed in Jonah’s room then. He lay reclined in bed, an IV of clear fluid hung over him and fed into the back of his right hand, the needle taped just above his medic alert bracelet. He threw us a glance of greeting. He’d been sullen and silent all morning. Unreachable. As Theo and I took a seat on either side of the bed, he looked at neither of us but absently cycled through channels on the muted wall TV.
“Mom and Dad are on the way,” Theo said.
“They don’t need to come.”
“You’re in the hospital,” his brother replied, barely keeping the sharp edge out of his voice. “You think Mom will stay away?”
Jonah shrugged and said nothing.
“Oscar texted me,” Theo continued. “He’s at work and wants to come. He and Dena both. I told them it’s not an emergency.”
“Good.”
I put my hand over Jonah’s, mindful of the IV. He didn’t react, didn’t move to take my hand or look at me. I sucked down the pain roaring within me, I’m not strong enough for this. I’m not I’m not I’m not…
Theo’s eyes found mine, searchingly. Like Lola, ready and waiting for me to flake out right before a big show, only the stakes were a billion times higher.
You knew this was coming, I told myself. You knew it wasn’t going to be long walks on the beach in San Diego and making love all night, every night. This is it. This is real, and now you’re going to stay and fucking take it.
Except that I didn’t think we’d actually be here. I’d always held on to a little flame of hope and now it was guttering out.
A nurse or technician wheeled in a cart, and Theo got up to make room. As Dr. Morrison and the tech bustled around the machines, the heart tracking Jonah’s pulse beeped faster, betraying the stoic expression on his face.
“Hey,” I whispered.
He nodded, his eyes straight ahead.
“Do you want to hold my hand?”
“I’ll crush it.” He turned his head on the pillow and looked at me for the first time all morning. Within the cold, flat lines of his face, his eyes were rimmed with terror. Because this was happening. We were at this dreaded place, and it was worse, so much worse, than I could have ever possibly imagined.
I can’t I can’t I can’t…
I let go of his hand. “Maybe Theo, then…”
Jonah’s chin rose a hair, then fell.
I surrendered my seat to Theo. He took Jonah’s hand in his and I watched them exchange a look. A commiseration. Theo knew what to do, and Jonah trusted him to do it.
The tech gave Jonah a shot of anesthetic in the neck, just above his collarbone, while Dr. Morrison readied a hideous-looking instrument.
“All right, Jonah,” Dr. Morrison said, “you’re going to feel a slight pinch and then pressure.”
“Liar,” Jonah said, his entire body tensed and knuckles white in the hand holding Theo’s.
“Guilty as charged,” Morrison said, his eyes flicking between his hands and the monitor showing the tiny camera now threading down Jonah’s jugular. And I could see everything. I could see inside Jonah’s body, taking a narrow, dark road down to the heart that was failing him.
“Almost there,” Dr. Morrison said. “You’re doing great. Try to stay relaxed.”
“Exhale,” Theo murmured. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Jonah let the held air out through his nose, keeping his teeth gritted. The heart monitor continued beeping at ninety-eight pulses per minute.
“There we are,” the doctor said, and Jonah closed his eyes.
Through the catheter, Morrison inserted a bioptome—a device with tiny jaws at the tip. It pinched off a piece of Jonah’s heart tissue, then retreated back down the vein.