When Crickets Cry Read online

  With Charlie's help, Annie-wearing a hat, the yellow ribbon trailing behind her-had walked down the hill. They stood on the bank, focused on her cricket box. After the surgery, Charlie and Termite had transported it and placed it on the porch just outside her window. Given the pain of her surgery and the strangeness of a new house and bed, we thought maybe it'd help her sleep better.

  Now, at Annie's request, Cindy and Charlie had moved the box down to the bank. Annie stood next to the box while Charlie leaned it on its side. Slowly at first, then all at once, the crickets started hopping and crawling out. Pretty soon the box was empty, and around us the earth moved like drops of water on a sizzling stove as fifty thousand crickets headed for the safety of the trees.

  I listened closely, as did Annie. She looked at me, smiled, and whispered, "Shhhh."

  In seconds, the crickets had ascended the trees and were singing. Annie closed her eyes, smiled, then danced like a ballerina, being careful where she stepped. When I looked down on the beach, I saw the imprint of her small foot alongside mine.

  Charlie stood and headed for the Suburban. "Last one to the truck buys dinner!"

  Annie looped her arm around Cindy's as the three of them made their way to the Suburban. That meant I was buying dinner-five Transplants. I said five because I was pretty sure Termite would show about the time we put in our orders.

  Charlie shouted out the driver's-side window, "Come on, Stitch! Hurry up, or I'm driving!"

  I stood looking out over the lake, not wanting to say good-bye. A moment later, I felt a tug on my arm. It was Annie. "Reese? You coming?"

  I nodded. For a minute, we stood watching the water ripple beneath the wind.

  Then she arched her back, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered in my ear, "You said you'd tell me today. You promised."

  I nodded again, and hollered to Charlie and Cindy that we'd be there in a minute.

  Annie pulled on my hand, and we sat down on the bulkhead and dangled our legs.

  "The trick to transplanting hearts," I said, "is getting them going again." I paused, trying to figure out how to say what I needed to say.

  Annie tapped me on the thigh. "It's okay, you can tell me. I'm a big girl now. I turn eight next week."

  Tiger's heart in a china-doll body.

  "No matter how much I studied, how much I prepared, or how good a doctor folks say I am, the difficult part is knowing that, in truth, I am powerless to get it going again. It is ... a miracle ... that I do not understand."

  Annie leaned against me and listened. The sunlight reflected off the water, lit the blonde fuzz on her legs and the smile on her face.

  I pointed over my shoulder, toward Rabun County Hospital. "That night ... I couldn't get your heart going. We had done everything, medically speaking, that we knew to do. Royer, that big crying teddy bear, shook his head and recorded the time as 11:11 p.m."

  Annie nodded, remembering her mother's dream.

  "He was waiting for me to agree with him. It's something doctors do when somebody dies. But I couldn't. Or wouldn't. I just knew you weren't supposed to die on that table. I'd die first." I tapped Annie gently on the chest. "I leaned over and whispered to your heart, speaking aloud the one thing I had not said in a long, long time. And, when I did, your heart heard me."

  Annie smiled and pressed her hands to her heart.

  "It was as if it'd been waiting for me to simply speak the words, and remind it. Because when I did, for reasons I cannot and never will explain, it filled like a balloon, swelled a bright, healthy red, and then, as if it had never stopped, it beat. Hard, powerful, and rhythmic."

  Annie looked out across the lake, her whole life before her. "Do you think it'll stop again?"

  I nodded. "Yes ... but not until you're finished here. All hearts stop, Annie. What matters is what you do with it while it's still pumping."

  Annie wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek to my chest. Her arms had strengthened, giving greater expression to the bubbling inside her.

  "How long do I have?"

  I looked at her, her big round eyes, her melting smile, the tender shoots of hope showing beneath the surface. I brushed the now-growing and healthy hair out of her face and said, "Long enough to turn gray."

  Annie looked over her shoulder at the Suburban, then tugged gently on my arm. "Reese? What did you whisper?"

  It was time. I lifted Emma's medallion over my head, watched it spin, dangle, and mirror the sun's reflection off the water. I held it in my palm and ran my fingers along the worn engraving. When the tear finally broke from the corner of my eye and sped down my face, I spread the chain, hung it around Annie's neck, and watched it come to rest just above the scar on her chest.