Read Online Out of Left Field by Liza Ketchum - Free Book Online Page B

finally a voice tells me I’ve reached cardiology.
    Cardiology ? What the—?
    I tell them who I am. “Apparently I have an appointment with you—but there must be some mistake.”
    “Hold on.” Computer keys click on the other end. “Your father made the appointment,” she says. “He must have forgotten to tell you about it.”
    “No kidding.”
    She clears her throat. “Excuse me?”
    “My father’s dead ,” I tell her. “So he’s not making appointments for anyone. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
    The silence goes on for a while. “I—I’m terribly sorry,” she says. “Will you hold a minute? Please don’t hang up.”
    For once, I’m grateful for the bad music and the crummy recording about staying healthy. It gives me time to calm down, wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. A man’s voice startles me.
    “Mark Spivak, cardiology nurse,” he says. “I’m sorry about the confusion—but you do have an appointment.”
    “Since when do I have heart trouble?” My heart is in pieces , but no doctor can fix that.
    Now the nurse clears his throat. That office could use some lozenges. “Is—is your mother home?”
    “Nope.” I hang up on the guy and back away as if the phone is an IED. What the hell’s going on? It’s like a trig problem that’s beyond me. Even Marty the math whiz couldn’t figure this one out. Dad had one son in Canada. Supposedly. And another son here in Boston, for real—who needs to see a cardiologist.
    What else did Dad hide from us?
    *
    No way I’ll mention this to Mom. Luckily, she and I barely see each other until the next day. I’m at the pizzeria at the start of my shift, setting out fresh napkins and silverware, when the door sensor beeps and Mom rushes in, her face pinched. She whispers something to Frankie. He listens, nods, and waves me away. Puffs of flour make smoke around his hands. Mom pulls me toward the door. “Take off your apron—we’re leaving.”
    I toss the apron over a chair and follow her outside. “Mom, give me a break! Did you see the look on Frankie’s face? You want to get me fired?” A swarm of bad thoughts buzz through my head. “Did something happen to Pop?”
    She doesn’t answer. I hustle to keep up. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you at work?”
    The Honda sits in a No Parking zone with its flashers on. Mom starts the engine and grips the steering wheel, but we don’t move. “You didn’t tell me you canceled a doctor’s appointment,” she says.
    “I didn’t ‘cancel’ anything. That office had the wrong guy. Since when do I need a cardiologist?”
    Mom twists sideways in her seat to look at me. “I hope you don’t.” Her voice trembles. “The cardiologist called me at work this morning. He hadn’t heard—about Pat’s death.”
    “Am I missing something?”
    “Apparently we both are.” She’s so pale, even her lips are ashen. “Your father—” she gulps. “Had a very rare disease of the heart. It’s got a long name—I wrote it down. This doctor diagnosed it, right before…”
    “Wait.” I mash my knees against the dashboard to keep them from jumping. “That’s why he died?”
    “The doctor thinks so. He’s going to call the medical examiner, try to speed up the autopsy. They can do that if it’s an emergency.”
    “Jesus.” My thoughts whirl. Mom puts her head down on the steering wheel. “Mom, I don’t get it. What does this have to do with me?”
    “It’s—it’s congenital,” she says.
    Damn. I should have paid attention in bio. “Meaning?”
    “Don’t you see?” She stares at me like I’m a creature out of a zombie movie. “Pat made the appointment—to find out if you have it, too.” She crumples in the seat and wails . I swear. It takes everything I’ve got to stay in this metal shoebox.
    I grip her shoulder. “Mom, stop! I’m fine. The way Coach pushes me, I’d be dead by now if my heart were screwed up.” In fact, my ticker’s going like a jackhammer. I jerk my thumb