Dilemma

"You've just used your one 'get out of jail free card.' I have grave doubts about your ability to do this job, and I'm not sure you should continue with the company. That was a set up, the customer knew that what I was saying wasn't true, how long do you think it's going to take for him to trust you? If this had been real, how much money would you have gotten for your integrity?

"There are some sales jobs were you can get away with salesman's 'puffery.' Telemarketing comes to mind. Jobs where you never expect to see or deal with your customer again. Some of them even pay well, but no professional salesman would ever take one. The easy money is the return sale. A real salesman is selling two things: the product and their personal endorsement. Sometimes all you need is the product, but with competition what it is, that rarely lasts a whole career. It's my job to point out every advantage we can offer a customer, but if I think our competitors have a better deal, I'll acknowledge it. That's not just integrity, as I said conditions change and in a year or two we might be better able to meet their needs. We're in the security business, but a good manager will accept a poorer deal if he can trust his vendor. I don't ever want to give that advantage to a competitor.

"Take the rest of the day off and think about what I've said. I don't want you pointing out our weaknesses, but if I ever misspeak or exaggerate, I expect you to do something about it, even if it costs us a sale and takes money from your pocket. Really think about it. What sort of life do you want? You might not make as much money, but you'll sleep a hell of a lot better when you get to be my age."

I didn't go home, instead, I took a drive around the rural parts of Bucks and the adjoining counties. Seeing the two- and three-century old houses, and the ones that had been built to give that impression, I thought about how I might feel to live in one of the faux heritage houses. I don't mean those houses that copy the style, but those who make the attempt to fool people driving by that it was built in colonial times. How would I explain the care I'd given to make the house look old? My life had been ruined or at the very least altered drastically because of falsehood. Was that the way the world worked? Or should I try to find something better? Was honesty better? I knew I would be better off if others were honest, but would honesty be the best policy for me?

I was pretty sure that I could seduce Cindy. Her response to me would be authentic but to do it I'd have cheat. Would I be happier cheating and taking advantage of her? Would there be a cost to pay down the road? What if I did fall in love with her? If she never found out would anyone be hurt?

I made up my mind, and I called Cindy to see where we were going to spend the evening, her place or mine. Children's Hospital said she'd gone home early because she wasn't feeling well. I called her cell and she didn't pick up. I called her home and there was no answer.

A chill shot down my spine and I began to curse Pennsylvania highways. In Texas I'd be able to do 70 on state roads between towns. Here it was like driving on a city street but with fewer stoplights. I couldn't even speed because there were just too many cars on the road. When I got stuck sitting through the second light change at some nameless intersection I panicked and called 911.

I explained that Cindy was at the top of Temple's transplant list and she wasn't answering her phone. I'm afraid I used some language I don't normally use until I was practically begging to have someone go by her apartment. I was left on hold for yet another light change and the operator told me they were asking a police cruiser to check. I was still an hour from her apartment, and now stuck in rush hour traffic when 911 called me back and said that her apartment was empty. A check of Temple had not shown an admission and neither had the local emergency rooms.

I can't begin to describe what I felt at that point. I understood that Cindy was my lifeline to normality and losing her was simply not something I could contemplate without a serious challenge to my sanity. I forced myself to think. Was it possible that she'd simply gone to see a friend? Sure, but that number was literally legion. Cindy is the only person I've ever known who not only knew over 3,000 people by their first name, but considered each a close friend. She collected close friends like West Texas fence lines collect tumbleweeds. Lost people found stability and roots in her, just as I had.

As I tried to find some way through traffic, losing more time with each "shortcut," I began frantically calling those of her friends I could find numbers for. I asked each one I talked to help by calling others they knew in an impromptu telephone tree.

It was almost seven when I reached her apartment. It was empty and I broke down and began to cry. I hadn't cried since I held Lorelei right after her father died. Hope battled dread when I heard someone knocking on her door. With tears still running down my cheeks, I faced a policeman who'd been keeping an eye on the apartment. He was off duty, but one of Cindy's "friends."

As he assured me that he'd contact me if there was any sign of her, he also convinced me I should wait for her at my apartment. I think it was as much cowardliness as pragmatism that convinced me. I didn't want to hear the worst at her place, surrounded by the things she loved.

Of course she was waiting for me at my apartment, vexed that I was late for her "special dinner." She'd left her phone in her car and had no idea that a citywide dragnet was being conducted for her. At first I think she thought it was a bit sweet that I was so worried about her. That is until I told her that I'd been calling her friends.

"Chris! Those folks have enough problems of their own. They sure don't need to be worrying about me!"

As we began calling some of the folks I'd called, people began showing up at the apartment. Time after time I heard some variation of, "Oh Cindy, I was so scared. I don't know what I do without you, and I've never told you how important you are to me." It was the most emotionally draining experience of my life. Yet at the same time it was one of the most uplifting. The love of these friends was palpable, and though directed at Cindy, the backwash was a salve for my broken soul.

Before midnight Cindy was past exhaustion and I'd put her to bed in my room. That she was able to sleep as the flood of well wishers continued until almost three, shows just how weak she was. Some of the latest arrivals prevailed upon me to let them stay until she awoke, and I couldn't turn them out.

Cindy didn't stir when I caressed her cheek just before settling into my special "gamer's" chair to a surprisingly restful sleep. She was still sleeping at seven the next morning when I emerged to find my living room still crowed with people I didn't know. Someone offered me a cup of coffee, and I called Mr. McKindley to tell him I wouldn't be in until later.

"I had a bad scare last night. I thought something had happened to Cindy. I hit the panic button and got a lot of people upset." I paused for just a second, and said, "I thought about what you said, especially last night. I wondered what Cindy would say if she'd seen me yesterday, and it put what I did in a whole new light. I decided I don't ever want her to think less of me if I can help it."

There was a long silence, "She's something special, I don't see any reason to ever bring this up again. You stay in today and take good care of her. Tomorrow we'll begin your real training."

A few minutes later Cindy wandered out of my bedroom, took a look at the motley crew that sprawled around my apartment and said with a big grin, "Chris, now that all these good friends know I spent the night with you, what are you going to do to repair my reputation?"

Everyone laughed, but the only reason anyone left was when they were forced out by new arrivals. Cindy handled the whole thing with dignity and aplomb. I'm not sure how Queen Elizabeth handles her audiences, but I'm pretty sure she could take lessons from Cindy. I know she was wiped out but you'd never know she wasn't absolutely delighted to sit for hours reassuring several hundred people that they would be among the first she called if she ever needed ANYTHING.

Someone, actually several someones brought in so much food I couldn't help but be reminded of when my great-aunt died in her small town up in the panhandle. Neighbors had flooded her modest house with food; I hadn't known that people in big cities ever did stuff like that. I'm not sure how much was brought, but one of the women said something about "loaves and fishes," and by the time the last person left there wasn't so much as a cracker to eat in the place.

Me? I felt like I had when we won our first national championship with a goal in the final minute of the fourth overtime: not just physically exhausted, but on an emotional high. With all the people there today showing how much they loved Cindy, and with her responding in kind, she was still able to clearly convey that I was the real love of her life. I didn't understand the reference at the time, but her bishop had told me as he left, "She might not be THE pearl of great price, or THE treasure hidden in the field, but she is a treasure beyond price. Take care of her."

** ** ** ** ** Chapter 4

The next three months, until she got her heart were the things of nightmares. Looking back, at the time, I was so caught up in the drama of the wait that I wasn't aware of the more important changes taking place in Cindy and in me. I assumed that once Cindy stopped fighting, she'd be given a 1B status, at the very worst a Status 2. It would mean a heart cath every four weeks, but I'd already helped her with one of those, and I no longer feared them. She wasn't. She was a status 3! To make things worse, while she wasn't an extremely hard match, she wasn't a common one either.

I don't know how the people who make the decisions about who gets a heart make their decisions, but it's a good thing I don't know who they are. I'm a big fan of the United Network of Organ Sharing down in Richmond now, but I wasn't until she got her heart.

The first time I knew someone else got a heart that Cindy could have used, I wanted to commit murder. The man who got the heart, was very old, in his early 40s. Yeah, he was married and had two kids, but he was just an ordinary guy, with an ordinary job. I know he was sicker than Cindy, completely bedridden, but how could anyone pick him instead of Cindy?

Of course Cindy wasn't in the least bothered, which just made it worse for me. By the time the next heart was available, Cindy was showing physical signs of failure. She had to give up one of her classes. A week later she had to cut back to working less than half time at Children's. It was the first time I saw her cry about her condition, not for herself but for the kids she wouldn't be able to spend time helping.

A week later she began to swell up, looking more like the Michelin Man than the woman I'd come to love. Seeing her like that was when I first thought I might love her. Not like I'd loved Lorelei, but more than I could ever love anyone else. I took her to the hospital that night and I had tears in my eyes. Tears of impotent rage. I was furious, Cindy was breathing rapidly and she was so very weak and she still wasn't next on the list. Some socialite who'd given a few million dollars to the hospital was next.

To be fair, the woman was only a few years older than Cindy and she also had two very young children, and a husband who doted on her. She'd been in the hospital for a month because she'd been too weak for a transplant when the last heart was available.

God help me, one night as I saw how fragile and belabored Cindy looked in her bed, I actually wondered if I could commit murder. If it had been anyone but Cindy, I might have carried through. God might forgive me; Cindy would forgive me, but she'd never continue with me and I couldn't face that.

Through all this time Cindy's friends were there. The hospital had to set strict limits on how many visitors she could have a day and the rotation list was pages long. The only ones who were allowed to see her every day were me and her immediate family.

Oh, I suppose I should talk about when I met them. It was right after she was hospitalized. Cindy had listed her parents as her next of kin, but was surprised when they showed up. She hadn't understood that the hospital would call them when she was admitted.

I'd never done the "meet the parents" thing. I guess it could have gone better but I don't know how. I was at the nurse's station checking on something when this handsome old couple approached me. The old man, he was 65, his wife was 62, held out his hand and said, "I'm Steve, Cindy's Dad. I've been so anxious to meet the man who's so important to my little angel."

Before I could answer, the woman hugged me and "whispered, Cindy didn't really want us to meet you yet, she didn't think you were ready for that sort of thing, but I'm sure you understand that at a time like this we just can't stay away."

I blinked hard, Cindy, with all that she had going on was putting my feelings above even those of her parents. I was the most important person in her life and I think that was the bit of knowledge that broke the last of the chains I welded around my heart. I knew in that instant that I loved her. I wasn't ready for marriage, but I loved her.

I met her big sister and her family a day later. I could see where Cindy got her gracious nature. Not only did they accept me as if I'd been a family member for years, but they were prepared to defer to my opinions on matters that concerned Cindy. In short they were treating me as they would her husband and it made me begin to seriously contemplate becoming that.

I raised the question the next time we were alone, and Cindy cried but shook her head the whole time. "Oh Chris, you know I want you as my husband more than I than I want anything on this Earth. I love you so much I have a hard time keeping Christ first in my life, but I won't get married like this. There's just too much emotional drama."

Her hands were puffy and unnaturally cold when she pulled mine to her and caressed them with her cheek. "I want you to be the father of my babies, but that's too important a decision for you to make now, or if it's God's will to let me come home now, for you to make without me. Sandy has promised to think about carrying one of my babies, but I don't want you to volunteer for the daddy role if I'm not here. At least not until all the dust has settled and you know, not think, but know you're ready willing and able to be a single father.

"Believe me, that's not something I'd wish on anyone, and I'll be fine if you don't think you can. The only thing that would disappoint me is if you make a decision like that out of some sort of misguided obligation or emotionalism. Promise me you won't do that, please Chris, promise."

I didn't, couldn't, say a thing. I'd already made up my mind that I'd do whatever I could to see that Cindy had children, my children. I'd daydreamed about what being a single father would be like. I imagined myself as a noble/tragic figure ... the sort you might catch in the "movies for menses" that play constantly on women's cable movie channels.

My reaction at the time was resentment that Cindy was going to try to deny me my noble gesture. Now, I shudder to think how I would have coped with all the demands of a newborn without a spouse to share the load. I sometimes think that that my face must be especially expressive, because Cindy read me like a book.

"Don't worry, I'm okay with being called home, but I'm also sure that my jobs aren't finished here yet. I'm also not going to hold you to your 'deathbed promises.' Facing death doesn't scare me, but it has effectively cured me of any coquettish tendencies I might have had. No matter what happens, I don't think I'll ever have the stomach for all the little games couples play while they're trying to decide on each other. I want you, and I know you're not ready yet. You might never be ready, but when I get you, I want all of you. ..." She paused then said something that I'll never forget. She modified what she'd said to, "I want all that your heart has to give! I won't settle for anything less. Marriage takes complete commitment. Ours will take more than most. It won't work if you won't give everything you have to give me."

It wasn't until years later that I realized what she was saying, and just how true it was. My heart was damaged too, and it couldn't be fixed with a transplant, it would never be whole again. I've never met anyone who has the sort of insight that Cindy displayed on a regular basis. If it wasn't what I shared with Lorelei, it was as close as I think normal people could come ... except it was one-way. Choose your cliché: I was as transparent as glass, she could read me like a book. Those were all true, but her thinking was on a different plane than mine. I could love her, but her understanding of me didn't seem natural somehow.

I'll never forget the night we got the call that she had a heart. I was still in her room, getting ready to leave for the night when a doctor practically burst through the door, "We have a match in New York! It'll be here in about an hour and we need to start to get you ready. The team's on its way and if you want to call anyone you'd better do it now!"

In the gentlest voice Cindy asked, "Do we know anything about my donor?"

The doctor swallowed hard, "A student at NYU, she was shot in the head in what appears to be a robbery. She was declared brain-dead twenty minutes ago. She'd filled out a donor card, and her family was adamant that her organs be donated."

I tried not to let it show on my face but I was nervous, for unknown reasons, patients are more likely to reject a heart from a female donor than a male. It wasn't a huge thing but I do remember wishing it had been a male student ... and I remember not really caring that much about the donor.

I saw a look of compassion on her face and Cindy asked, "Will I be able to contact them, before ... just so they know I share the pain of their loss and how grateful I am for the sacrifice their family is making?"

"Uh, we don't encourage contact between donor and recipients, it's a very emotional time and ..."

"I'm going to write a note, Chris, I want you to make sure the family gets this, no matter what."

While Cindy wrote her note, I called her mother and the two people I was supposed to notify for the now "official Cindy support team" telephone chain.

After waiting so long, it was like someone hit the fast forward on the DVD. In a little over an hour, they were ready to wheel Cindy out of her room. I panicked! The reality that that this might be the last time I saw her alive struck me with the physical force of a city bus. My legs wouldn't support me and I crumpled into the chair beside her bed, holding her hand in a true death grip.

Cindy on the other hand was absolutely serene. Her Bishop was already on his way to the special waiting room. Everyone had bowed while he said a prayer, including several of the surgeons on the team. The only ones in the room were Cindy's parents, the nurses who were going to transport the gurney and me. Cindy smiled and asked if she could have a minute alone with me. You could feel the reluctance of the nurses but they left without saying a word. Cindy's parents kissed her, told her they loved her and left with unshed tears brimming in both sets of eyes.

Cindy squeezed my hand and raised herself on one elbow. "Chris, you have to know that I'm fine with whatever happens. My real concern is you. If I don't come back, I know where I'll be, and you need to be OK with that. But I also know that you're not ready to be alone again yet.