Not in the Heart (16 page)

C
HAPTER
25

Abigail held Aiden's hand and patted it like she had when they were young. When he was a baby, her mother had allowed her to be a “big girl” and sit with him on the couch with her arm tucked gently behind his head. She would pat his hand when he was in his high chair waiting for food. Pat his hand sitting next to his car seat as they drove to the hospital for another procedure. His hand still seemed just as fragile.

A game was on TV, but he had the sound muted. He watched haphazardly, as if he knew the winner and loser didn't really matter.
How could you become emotionally invested in baseball,
she thought,
in your condition?

“I admire you,” she said out of the blue, staring at his pale hand. She traced a blue vein with her eye until it disappeared under his wrist.

“What's to admire?” Aiden said.

“The way you've handled all of this. Even when you were little, you just took everything in stride. One day at a time.”

“It's the only way I knew how to live. What else was I going to do?” His voice was shallow, supported by short puffs of air.

“Don't sell yourself short. It's admirable. I wish I could live that way.”

“You do. You just don't see it.”

“Not like you, though.”

Aiden turned on his side and the effort made him wince. “Well, maybe you're seeing something else and not just me.”

“Don't start,” she said.

“Don't start what?”

“You know what—the God stuff.”

Aiden smiled.

“Mom has been working on me nonstop. And Philip's mom and dad are really into the religion thing. I'm getting it from all sides.”

“Religion gets you nowhere—”

“I know, I know—if I hear one more time that it's a
relationship
, I'm going to hurl.”

“It's true, Abby. Why don't you give your dying brother just one chance to explain?” He said it with a twinkle in his eye, as if he could guilt her into listening to something she knew was real, knew had made a difference.

“You looking for a pity conversion?” she said.

“That's funny. A new witnessing tool. Evangelism Implosion.” His thin rib cage shook through the hospital gown. “Get sick and lead your whole family to faith.”

She laughed with him, then looked away as a tear formed. She didn't want him to see her weak and doubting. She had to be positive and upbeat and believe the best and all that. That's what he needed now. But just hearing his voice made her sad, made her think of what might be in the coming days. What it would be to not have that voice around anymore.

“Truth is, I admire
you
,” he said.

“Now there's a shocker,” she said. “What little brother in the history of the world has ever said that?”

“First time for everything.”

“So what do you admire?”

“Going after your dreams. How smart you are. Gorgeous. You're going to take the world by the tail one day and sling it around, big sister. I can tell.”

“You think so?”

“I know it. I just hope I can be there to watch.”

“See, that's why I admire you,” she said. “You can get outside of yourself, even when you're in pain. Most people would just wallow in self-pity. Do you know how rare that is?”

“Do you know how rare it is for somebody not to take a compliment?”

She tossed his hand aside, feigning disgust.

“How's Philip?” he said. “I'll bet he misses you.”

“We needed a break anyway. I think he's more ready to settle down than I am.”

“Usually it's the other way around.”

“You're just going on the only example you've ever known: Mom and Dad.”

“No, I read. I watch movies. I have friends. Most of the time the guy doesn't want to be tied down too soon and the girl wants the long-term commitment. Philip sounds like a nice guy.”

“He is. I just don't know if he's the one. I want to make sure that he's as good as my little brother.”

“You might wait a lifetime for that.” Aiden laughed and coughed a little. He rolled onto his back and coughed again and something didn't seem right.

He waved her off when she asked if he needed a nurse, but when he couldn't stop coughing, she ran into the hall. She could have just punched the button by the bed, but coming out here felt better. She hated to see him suffer, hated to see him struggle. But that had been his whole life, one long struggle.

Abigail got halfway to the nurses' station and listened for his cough, but all was quiet.

C
HAPTER
26

Ellen pulled up to the guard at the front gate. The man leaned down and looked past her, recognizing Truman and nodding. He told them where to park and shuffled them off to another guard, who walked them to the front door, bathed in splendorous light. The governor's aide, Reginald, met them there.

The man showed them into the dining room and Truman told her it was the same he had seen earlier. The house had the feel of a mortuary to Ellen, muted in its subdued lighting and the classical music that played in the background, just loud enough to be heard above the fountain in the next room. There was tea, decaf, and cookies at the side table in a serve-yourself arrangement, and Truman did, offering to retrieve something for her. But she just rubbed her hands, gazing at the tasteful decorating.

“You reconsidering your choice in husbands?” Truman said.

She smiled nervously, memories flooding back of the time she and Carlton had spent together. She had mainly been against a relationship with him because her parents were all for it. Then, with his charm and perseverance, he had slipped into her life.

“Feels a little too nice, doesn't it?” she said.

“Makes you wonder how he keeps that youthful physique when there are cookies every night.” Truman glanced about the room. “I get the feeling there's some guy in uniform watching our every move.”

Reginald returned and stopped just inside the door until Carlton Townsend appeared, still in his suit coat, though he removed that and put it on the back of a chair as he glided forward. There seemed to be no wasted motion in anything he did. Ellen recalled feeling the same way as he studied for tests while sipping coffee. Watching him sign an executive order in some statehouse ceremony was maddening in its circumspection and fluidity.

He crossed the room and gave Ellen an elegant hug and a passing kiss, standing back and looking her in the eye, beaming. “You haven't changed a bit, Ellen. Beautiful.”

She could see Truman rolling his eyes and sticking a finger toward his throat.

Carlton turned and shook hands with him. “Thank you both for coming on such short notice. I really appreciate it.” He took three steps to the table, tore off half a cookie, grabbed a chair, and turned it around. “Jennifer hates these but they're one of my guilty pleasures.”

“Reagan had his jelly beans; you'll have cookies in the White House,” Truman said.

“So you saw the announcement.”

“Yeah, just happened to catch it. Shame you didn't get more press.”

He smiled, then looked at Ellen, turning serious. His voice dropped. “How's Aiden?”

It felt calculated to her, a little too Hollywood. “He's holding his own,” she said with a slight tremble.

“He's going to make it, right?” Carlton said. “We only have two weeks to go.”

“The doctors are doing everything they can.”

“Good. Tell them to keep it up.” He dipped his head like a prizefighter before a weigh-in. “With God's help we're going to get this thing done.”

The words felt designed. His body language showed empathy, but Ellen could tell something was brewing.

“So what's this about?” Truman said, breaking the somber mood.

Townsend pursed his lips as if weighed down by the enormity of the situation, while at the same time exuding confidence and resolve. He rubbed his hands to dust off the cookie crumbs and turned the chair once more to face them.

“You both know that the wheels of justice grind particularly fast at this point in the legal process. There are usually appeals and requests for a stay—all perfectly legal and certainly among Conley's rights. If it were me facing death, I'd fight for every second.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Truman said.

Something rose up in Ellen and she gave Truman a quick glance.
Shut up and let him talk. Don't goad him. Don't make this about you.

“Nothing, per se,” Carlton said. “However, your family is now inextricably intertwined with his story. And you have access to him and his wife like no one else.”

Truman stiffened but didn't speak.

“Therefore, I have a request. I know you're meeting with him again. Tomorrow, I believe.”

“How'd you guess?” Truman said.

Ellen could hardly hold back, but she managed, keeping her eyes locked on Carlton.

“I want this procedure for your son. I want this for you, Ellen. But there are certain realities of the political world that must be understood. . . .”

Truman jumped in. “You want Conley and whatever lawyer from Florida State he has now to stand down. Not try to block the execution.”

Townsend brushed aside the remark like a lion shaking a fly from its mane. “I simply think it will be best for all of us if the process goes on unimpeded. Aiden's chances are much better the smoother this goes in the courts and in the court of public opinion. You can understand that.”

Ellen finally spoke. “From what Oleta has told me, there aren't going to be any further appeals. She and Terrelle are resigned to the inevitable.”

“That's good to hear. If it's true, then what I have to ask next shouldn't be a problem.”

Ellen felt in the pit of her stomach that whatever would come next was going to be a huge problem.

The governor paused for dramatic effect and looked at Truman. “I need a confession.”

“What?” Truman said, his mouth dropping.

Ellen put a warning hand on his arm. “Carlton, you know he won't sign a confession.”

Carlton showed his palms as if in supplication. “Then my hands are tied.”

Ellen dug her fingernails into Truman's arm, trying to stem the rising tide she knew was coursing through her husband. “If you know there won't be any further attempts to drag out the process, to get a last-minute stay, what could possibly go wrong?” she said evenly, unemotional.

Carlton leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his index fingers together and touching his lips. “There is intense pressure about this issue from every side. The right is up in arms that we are coddling a murderer. We're setting a dangerous precedent. The left is agitated that we'll begin using death row inmates as organ factories. You can't imagine the phone calls, e-mails, protests—and not just to me. This filters through to members of the legislature.”

Ellen couldn't help thinking that those members wanted reelection more than anything. Something that would have occurred to her husband as well.

“It would be much easier just to let this train pass without trying to step in front of it. Some in my camp are suggesting it's political suicide. But I'm willing to fight for your son.”

“You're not willing to fight for anyone but yourself,” Truman spat. “You never have been.” He shook away Ellen's hand. “If you had any concern for anyone but yourself, you'd do the right thing and tell the right and the left to shove it. But you won't. You stick your finger in the air and Reginald and your other bean counters calculate the cost of votes from one county to the next. And if it's convenient, you'll use my son's life to show how compassionate you are, but we both know it's the polls that will decide this.”

The governor's aide appeared as Truman concluded and locked eyes with his boss. Carlton lifted a hand and smiled. “We're fine; we're fine.”

Reginald stepped out with an indignant air.

“I like your spunk, Truman,” Carlton said evenly. “I always have. That bulldog mentality of getting the story and getting it right has served you well. Remember when you pushed your way into that hotel meeting room? First job out of college and you were already making headlines with your tenacity.”

Ellen remembered the incident and was impressed that Carlton did. Something about a quorum and the public's right to know. Truman had read the rules and knew a new city manager was being courted. An aide opened the door and Truman pushed through with the cameraman behind him, capturing horrified faces around a poker table. His stock went up in journalistic circles and down with local politicians, most of whom were tossed out in the next election.

Carlton continued, “You've never been able to understand that tenacity must live in communion with reality. We can't be idealists. I wish we lived in a perfect world where black and white are always distinguishable. Where the good guys win and the bad guys lose. But we do not live in that world. We live in a place where every move is calculated against us by someone with their own agenda. That's the world I live in every day. I don't like it. I want to change it, but I can only do so much. At the end of the day, I have to put my head on the pillow and try to sleep. And I would sleep much better if I knew that Aiden Wiley had a regular heartbeat and that I helped a convicted murderer do something good with his life. One last good thing.”

Ellen sat back, looking at Carlton's eyes. It didn't feel like a speech. It didn't feel rehearsed. It felt genuine and from the heart.

“This is what I hate most about you, Townsend,” Truman said.

“What's that?”

“Your ability to sway even the most skeptical crowd with that smug superiority that's always bathed in narcissistic compassion.”

“What do you want us to do?” Ellen said.

“I would like both of you to talk with Oleta and Terrelle.” He said their names like he was an old friend from their neighborhood. “If they know this is the only way the transplant can be done, they may accede to the confession. You both know every man on death row is holding out for a miracle. That's not going to happen. This book you're writing can explain in detail what a heroic thing it was for Terrelle to sign a confession and waive his rights. He's doing this selflessly, putting others' interests ahead of his own.”

“He's not going to say something that isn't true,” Truman said. “He's come too far.”

“That's why you have to get him to look at the big picture. Is it wrong to lie? Yes. Is it ever for the greater good? You need to convince him that this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Why now?” Truman said. “Why didn't you bring this up before I met with him the first time?”

“I didn't have the information I have now. I'm meeting tomorrow afternoon with members of the judiciary subcommittee. They've indicated support for this effort if—and that's the operative word here—Conley waives his final appeals and automatic requests for reprieves or stays.”

“And if he signs a confession,” Ellen said.

“Yes.”

“You're saying it's a done deal?” Truman said.

“You learn very early on that nothing is a done deal in the political realm. But if I were a betting man—” he looked at Truman—“I would say your son has a very good chance.”

“What if he won't confess?” Truman said. “Isn't there middle ground I can offer?”

“What middle ground?”

“Let's say he agrees to waive his right to a stay and all the petitions. Isn't that what you really want?”

“If we don't have a confession, that hurts us down the road, or at least the potential is there to be hurt and I'm not willing to risk that. It's not in the best interests of the state or my own future political goals.”

“That's what this comes down to?” Ellen said. It was her turn to challenge. She had been listening intently and now shifted to the edge of her seat. “You're not really concerned about justice or compassion or benevolence. Truman's right. You're concerned about what kind of plus or minus this gives you in the polls.”

“Ellen, I want this as badly as you do—”

“No, you don't. You have no idea how badly we want this.”

“You're right.” He held up both hands in surrender. “I can only imagine what you've been through and I'm sorry. So sorry. But I do know that this is your best chance at a new life for your son.”

Ellen deflated, seeing the dead end this truly was. A political leader can only offer so much. They will always stop short of your humanity. She slumped in her chair, staring blankly at the pristine table with its perfectly polished silver.

Carlton stood and turned to Truman. The meeting was over. He didn't hold out his hand or pat her husband on the shoulder or make any kind of physical gesture, just a few words to charge him. “Get the confession. I'll get your son a heart.”

Ellen's phone rang with the tune that signaled it was Abigail. “Who Let the Dogs Out” clashed with Chopin, but she didn't care. She fumbled with her purse and retrieved it.

“Mom, something's wrong,” Abigail said. Alarms were going off in the background. “I'm scared.”

“We're on our way.”

“Is everything all right?” Carlton said from the doorway.

Ellen pushed past him without speaking.