Heart Murmurs

“So, no sharp pains, nothing unusual going on?”

The stethoscope was cold, sliding across Charles’ back. He breathed deeply again, shaking his head.

Dr. Singh moved back to the front of the exam table. “Everything looks good, Charles. Just give us a call if anything seems off.” Dr. Singh smiled, motioned toward the exam room door and continued to enter information to his tablet.

Charles drove the eight miles back home along the familiar route, humming to himself. He kept his window open a crack to take in the refreshingly cool early spring air.

He hesitated at the four-way stop a half mile from his house. He could always take the long way home, around by the grocery store. He searched his mind for something, anything he needed to buy. But he could think of no good reason to go that way. He swallowed.

He drove slowly past the yellow house. The pain in his chest began a half block away, crescendoed to an alarming stab as he came closer to the tiny yard, with its carefully trimmed roses, stepping-stone path and white house numbers: 4 – 1 – 2. It eased off as the house receded in his rearview.

Maybe he should have told Dr. Singh about this.

Next time, he would.

*****

After twelve weeks off work, Charles was thrilled to be back in the classroom. Contrary to what people often assumed, being stuck in a room with twenty-four third graders did not increase his anxiety. It calmed him, having someone to care for, to attend to. He loved witnessing the moments a spark of understanding suddenly lit their eyes.

On the contrary, his anxiety expanded at home during his silent, solitary evenings. A year before his surgery, Charles’ ex-wife claimed his health problems were too much for her to bear. Whatever her reason for leaving really was, it didn’t matter. He was childless and alone. She’d even taken the cat with her. But at least his health would improve now.

He put on some music and pulled out his watercolors. That never failed to soothe his nerves. At least a little bit.

*****

“Mr. Tucker?”

“Yes, Starla.”

“Can I please use the bathroom?”

Over the din in the classroom, Charles swore he heard a mumbling whisper in his ear as she approached his desk. He turned quickly, prepared to tell a student to wait their turn. But no one was there.

“Uh, sure, take the hall pass.” She smiled at him. As she moved away, the mumbling receded, like a wave after it crashes on the shore.

Starla disappeared into the hallway.

*****

The next day, Charles sat at his desk, afternoon tea in hand. Parent/Teacher conferences were here already. He’d only been back in the classroom for two weeks. There was still a lot to catch up on.

All his conferences would be virtual this year. One of the only good things about the post-Covid world was that he had the option to do everything by Zoom. Dr. Singh was already grumpy with him for insisting on being back in the classroom with a bunch of germy eight-year-olds.

“Hello, Ms. Talhoffer?”

She was pretty, with loose brown curls and a gray sweater, blue eyes, tiny pearl earrings. Charles flushed, looked down, arranged the papers on his desk. He hoped the grainy webcam resolution would obscure the color on his face.

“Yes. Please call me Jenny.”

“Charles Tucker. Nice to see you again.”

The sudden stream of muttering in his ears was unexpected and distracting. It was the same as when Starla approached his desk, but this time, there was no classroom noise to explain it away.

“Mr. Tucker… Charles?”

“Oh.” Charles shook his head. “Sorry. Um, do you have any concerns about Starla that you’d like to bring up to me before we begin?”

The mumbling became louder. He could almost make out words. This hadn’t happened on the other conference calls. Could it be drifting in from the hallway? Or was he losing his mind? Could this be related to his surgery? He thought neurological complications were rare. It would be his luck. His recovery had been so smooth so far. He dreaded any setbacks at this point. He was so close to regaining nearly his old quality of life.

“No, just that, you know, she’s still recovering, of course. I hope she hasn’t had any behavioral issues. Thanks for understanding.” Jenny glanced down and off-camera. Charles noticed the shadowy half-moons beneath her eyes. Did she have a grainy webcam, too?

“Ah, yes, of course…” Charles nodded sagely, though he had no idea what Starla was recovering from. He glanced at the stack of student counseling reports on his desk that he hadn’t gotten around to reading since his absence. Guilt settled like a stone in his stomach. He’d better bring them home to read that weekend.

The muttering continued. He shook his head slightly.

“Charles? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, sorry… I-I was just admiring the paintings behind you. They’re very nice.”

“Oh, thank you. I painted them myself. Some years ago,” she said, with a polite smile.

“I watercolor, also. Your work is… quite lovely.”

The murmuring stopped abruptly when he hung up the call.

*****

A week later while out on a walk, Charles decided to test the yellow house. As soon as he crossed the street to its block, a tightening in his chest sent shockwaves down his arms. With each step, he grew more certain that he needed to call Dr. Singh. He stopped short in the sidewalk, deciding whether to continue past the house or just turn back.

“Mr. Tucker!” A little girl in the yard of the yellow house was waving to him.

It was Starla. The pain receded and was immediately replaced by faint murmuring.

“Mr. Tucker? Are you OK?” Starla was walking toward him now. The muttering volume increased.

“Starla, hi. Do… you live here? In the yellow house?”

“Yes! Do you want to come inside? My mom made cookies.”

“Oh, no, not today. I have to get home. But thank you. I’ll see you on Monday!” Charles waved and turned on his heel. The murmuring receded.

Charles rushed back into his house, shedding his coat and hat on the floor. He grabbed the pile of student reports he still hadn’t read from the kitchen table and began rifling through them. This student, that student, and finally – Starla.

She’d lost her father, on… that was strange. The day before his surgery.

A chill went through him, as though he was being watched. He looked around the room, at the stairs, out the window.

Charles knew that his donor would have passed just hours before his surgery, most likely unexpectedly. He’d declined to know his donor’s name before the surgery and hadn’t gone skimming the obituaries to find it. The knowledge that he was alive because someone else wasn’t had been enough for him. It still was. He didn’t need the weight of an identity attached to this transcendent, unrepayable gift. A name with a family and talents and things to live for. Here he was, alive instead of that person, alone, childless, with an empty cat tree and barely a handful of friends. He was a failed husband. He wasn’t even good enough to keep one person happy. Or read his classroom counseling reports on time. How could he ever have thought he had enough to offer to deserve this second chance?

His hands shook as he typed the yellow house’s street address into the search bar.

…Mr. Talhoffer, of 412 Alder St, died in a fatal vehicle collision on January 4.

*****

Charles stood on the porch of the yellow house, wringing his stocking cap in his hands, pain squeezing deep in his chest, muttering in his ears.

Starla opened the door. “Mr. Tucker! You came back!”

Charles smiled.

His heart was finally quiet.