Love's Secrets

Love's Secrets

         "Mom, are you about ready -- we're going to be late," I called up the staircase.

         "Coming right now, Brandi," my mother's voice called back, echoing slightly as she came down the stairs. She patted her gray-streaked, auburn hair and smoothed her dress down over still svelte hips.

         "You'd dress up to go to a mud-wrestling match," I said, grinning.

         "And where did my neat genes go? You certainly didn't get them in your dose of genetic soup." She eyed my ragged denim shorts, halter-top, and sandals with mock disdain.

         I shrugged. "Comfort above all things is my motto."

         She hugged me close and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Whatever. Let's go."

         Twenty minutes later she pulled into a familiar parking lot and found an empty space near the front door of a one-story, cream-colored building. So many times we had made this trip, I thought, wondering how many more were in my future.

         Cool air and the strong scent of disinfectant struck us as we entered the building. Two nurses, in sky-blue slacks and waist-length smocks, assisted by four technicians, were tending to the patients who had arrived before me. I waved to everyone I knew and they all smiled back. They couldn't return my wave because each had a needle in the artery of one arm and another needle in the vein of their other arm.

         Mary McElroy, a fiftyish redhead with kindly blue eyes met me at the reception desk. "How's our prettiest patient today?"

         I sighed heavily. "Not too good right now, Mary. Tired, as always"

         "Okay, dear, let's get you hooked up. You'll feel better in no time."

         Mom tapped my shoulder. "I have some shopping to do, honey. I'll be back before you finish." She kissed me lightly on the cheek and left me with my friends -- left me to become rejuvenated by the three times a week dialysis that had kept me alive for the past two of my twenty-four years.

         As the result of a childhood bout with a streptococcal infection, I had developed nephritis, an inflammation of the kidneys. Though most people with this condition recover completely, a few, such as I, develop chronic nephritis. In my case, the damage to my kidneys progressed over many years, during which time I was symptom free. Then, two years ago, I developed uremia -- a poisoning in the blood from the waste products not expelled by the kidneys --and then almost complete kidney failure.

         Mary led me to a bed and turned me over to one of the nurses, a black woman by the name of Rachel. In no time Rachel had the needle attached to a plastic tubing inserted into a vein in my left arm and another into the artery of my opposite arm. Since the waste products in my blood were not being eliminated through my barely functioning kidneys, it was necessary to pump blood from my artery, run it through the dialyzer, where it was filtered by diffusion to rid it of the poisons, then return it through the tubing back into my veins.

         The artery in my left arm had been used as much as possible. Then a temporary shunt that allows a needle and infusion tubing to be inserted into the carotid artery of the neck for repeated use was utilized for the effective maximum time of two months. Just recently a similar shunt in my chest, that tapped into the ascending aorta of my heart, had been removed after eighteen months, the maximum period of time for which it was useful.

         My options were running out, and no compatible donor kidney had become available. My life now revolved around these three hour sessions at the clinic three times a week.

         Before dialysis I felt great fatigue and generally sick from the poisons filling my body. Immediately after my treatment I felt good again, able to breath more easily and, except for a rushing noise in my ears for an hour or so, I was pretty spunky for a couple of days.

         I had finished college with a degree in education, despite the kidney failure, but I realized every day now that my chances of ever putting that degree to any useful purpose were growing increasingly slim.

         As the soft "shishing" noise of the dialyzer went about restoring my health, I fell into a fatigued slumber.

         At first I wasn't certain if I was dreaming or whether a blue-eyed, blonde- haired angel had come to take me to heaven. Then the angel spoke: "Ah, the beauty awakes. Hi, Brandi, I'm Scott Jennings, a new tech. How are you feeling?"

         "Fine," I said sleepily. "What time is it?"

         "Just past noon. You're all finished except for unhooking the needles," he said, flashing a brilliant smile.

         He went about his business in a highly professional manner, removing my IV's with a modicum of discomfort, and bandaging my arms at the puncture sites.

         I sat up and looked around for my mom. The nice angel, Scott, helped me to my feet. He was six or seven inches taller than my five- foot, five-inches. "Your mother called and said she was having car trouble. She said for you to take a cab -- but listen, I'm off for lunch in a few minutes -- could I drive you somewhere?"

         My face flushed heatedly. Was he flirting with me? "Uh, I wouldn't want to impose . . ."

         He waved me off with both palms and a shake of his head. "No imposition. I was going out to grab a burger or something anyhow. I'd like some company. Especially attractive company."

         Coming from anyone else it would have sounded phony and insincere, but from Scott it sounded like a guy who was really interested in knowing me.

         I hadn't thought much about dating since I became ill. Why get close to someone knowing that I was living on borrowed time and a dialysis machine? But something about Scott caught my imagination. I felt as though I knew him, and, I couldn't deny, I found him immediately and sexily masculine. What the heck, I decided, life is short. "Okay, but only if it's on your way," I told him.

         "I'm certain it is," he smiled, not asking where I lived. He continued to hold my arm to steady me as he led to the reception area. His strong hands were warm on my skin.

         Mary McElroy watched with a twinkle in her green, Irish eyes as Scott escorted me to the door. "Ah, saints preserve us, are ye lettin' the likes of this Jennings boy be seen with ye in public, dear?"

         I played along. "He's most persistent, Mary. And not so homely as to be ashamed of."

         Scott sighed good-naturedly. "It's jealous ye are, Mary McElroy, that a strappin' lad such as meself is goin' off with this sweet cherub instead of your ownself."

         Mary shook her head and cast her eyes toward the ceiling for a fraction of a second. "You take care of Brandi -- she's my favorite patient."

         Scott turned to look into my eyes -- deeply -- and I felt my heart flutter within my chest. "I'm sure she'll be my favorite, too."

         Moments later, comfortably ensconced in the passenger seat of Scott's nondescript brown sedan, with the air-conditioner roaring in a vain attempt to stave off the ninety degree May temperatures, Scott pulled out of the parking lot and into a gap in traffic.

         "Excuse me, blarney boy," I said, jacking my thumb over my right shoulder. "But I live in that direction."

         "Of course you do. But the very best fried chicken and biscuits joint in Austin, Texas is in this direction."

         Another few blocks and Scott pulled into a drive-thru chicken place called Mrs. Clucker's. He ordered a family box, consisting of eight pieces of chicken, thick-cut home fries, a pint of Cole slaw, and six thick, fragrant biscuits.

         I thought he was taking food back to someone at the dialysis center until he pulled out of the serving line and parked beneath the restaurant's green and yellow stripped awning. He set the box between us on the seat, opened it wide and tossed me a handful of paper napkins. "Dig in, but watch your fingers -- I'm starving!"

         My usually dull appetite was sparked by the smell coming from the box. A picky eater most of the time, I followed Scott's suggestion and dug in.

         Ambrosia!

         I ate with an energy that surprised me, matching Scott bite for bite until I thought I would burst. And, while we ate, we talked. Mouths half-full and grease dripping from our chins, we were as comfortable together as life-long friends.

         I discovered that Scott was a pre-med student at the University of Texas, and that he was born and raised within miles of where we sat. I told him about my plans to teach -- plans which seemed unlikely now, in the face of my kidney failure.

         "Bull! New advances are being made every day. Every day," he said, tearing the flesh from a chicken leg with his even teeth. "Think positively."

         I licked my fingers. "Can't. I'm a Capricorn. Pessimistic to the bitter end."

         "Hey! I'm a Capricorn, too!"

         Then, in one of those seemingly unusual, but actually frequent coincidences, we found that we shared the same birthday -- December 28, 1979.

         Gorged, but feeling better than I had in months, I gave Scott directions to the home my mom and I had shared alone since my dad passed away when I was seventeen. We were fortunate that he had provided for us very adequately with life insurance and a stock portfolio that made it unnecessary for us to have to worry about money.

         Mom's car was in the drive when we pulled up. She opened the front door and came out onto the porch as soon as I got out of Scott's car. She smiled and waved.

         Scott insisted on walking me to the door, despite my protests. "I'm fine, Scott. I feel pretty good right after dialysis."

         He squeezed my bare biceps. "Um, you do feel good! What won't modern medicine come up with next?"

         It wasn't that original or even that funny, but I found myself giggling like a teenager. I bumped my hip against Scott's playfully. "Scott Jennings, this is my mother, Elise Borden. Mom, Scott Jennings -- from the clinic," I said, introducing them.

         Scott shook Mom's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bordon."

         "So, you're the young man Mary said absconded with my daughter?"

         "Guilty. I kidnapped her, plied her with fried chicken, and tried to take advantage of her."

         "Tried?" Mom asked with a smirk.

         "Yes, ma'am. I failed because she was too greasy."

         "He's strange, Mom. Ignore him and he'll go away. As a matter of fact he's late already," I said, holding up Scott's wrist to look at his watch.

         "Yipes! You're right. Gotta get back to the clinic." Scott nodded toward Mom then turned to face me. "I get off at six. How about a movie?"

         "I don't know . . ." I began, not wanting the closeness I already felt for him to become any stronger.

         A small frown creased his forehead, ending between his eyebrows. "Please."

         Why shouldn't I? I asked myself. Maybe that was what my life was missing -- some fun -- some romance. "Okay. Seven sharp. I pick the movie and you pay for the popcorn."

         Scott hesitantly reached for and touched my fingertips with his own. "Done. See you at seven."

         I spent the afternoon napping, then showered and spent two hours primping and brushing my middle-of-the-back length chestnut brown hair until it shimmered.

         In my dressing table mirror I saw Mom enter my room. She stepped up behind me, placed her hands on my shoulders and massaged lightly. "You seem interested in this Scott boy, Brandi."

         "I am, Mom. There was a chemistry from the moment I first saw him. I think he feels it too."

         "Does he realize how . . . ill you are?"

         I exhaled heavily. "Mom . . ."

         "I'm sorry, Brandi. I just don't want you to be hurt any more than you already have been."

         I swiveled to face her and wrapped my arms around her waist. "It's going to be okay, Mom. I'm going to get better. Count on it."

         "I love you so much, Brandi."

         "No more than I love you, Mom," I said, hearing the shaky tremor in both of our voices. "Now, go away so I can get ready for Mr. Dialysis."

         That date went well, with just the right amount of touching and light kissing to take away the sharp edge of sexual desire. Scott was a gentleman and, when I drew a line, he didn't attempt to cross it.

         He had seen me at my best. Two days later he saw me at my worst. When I arrived at the clinic I felt as if the shadow of death was hanging over me like a dark shroud. Sick. Tired. My body was filled with poison created by the rich food I had been enjoying with Scott.

         He met me in the reception room and all but carried me to the couch for my treatment, concern dripping from his beautiful blue eyes.

         After a nurse got me hooked up and the dialyzer churned beside me, Scott rested his hip beside me and took my right hand in both of his. "This is my fault. The diet I've been feeding you -- I didn't even think . . ."

         "Hush," I whispered, my strength about gone. "I've had a ball the past three days. Thank you for making me happy."

         A single tear appeared in Scott's left eye, balanced for a moment on his lower lid, then slipped down his cheek like a raindrop on a window pane. He told me he loved me with his eyes as I fell into an exhausted sleep.

         Two days later we made love for the first time. Poets could not do our pairing justice. We joined our bodies, our minds, and our very souls, seemingly becoming one, in perfect sync physically and emotionally.

         In an act as mundane as sitting side-by-side watching television we could feel the connection, and when I caught Mom just watching us I thought her worried expression was concern for my health. I couldn't have been more wrong.

         "Where is he from, what do you really know about him?" She quizzed me when we were alone. "Are his parents living? What are your feelings toward him?"

         Bewildered at her questioning, I told her what I knew. "He's from here, Mom. He's a good man who has worked to put himself through school after his parents were killed in an automobile accident three years ago. And . . . I love him, Mom. Like I never dreamed love could be. He is the breath that fills my lungs."

         She swallowed hard, but asked no more questions.

         Weeks went by, during which Scott and I began planning our wedding. Mom was strangely quiet during this time.

         Then my kidneys failed completely.

         I stared up at Mom and Scott through the tangle of plastic tubes and monitor wires attached to my listless body. The dialyzer was in use every day now. "What does Dr. Crow say, Mom? Honestly."

         She straightened her back. "What we've known all along, Brandi. You have to have a transplant."

         "No matches yet?"

         She shook her head. "One that is close, but Dr. Crow says the chance for rejection is still too great -- even with massive doses of immunosuppressive drugs."

         Scott took my hand. "I'm going to be tested today just to put my mind at ease. The odds are phenomenally against me being a useful match, though, as you know."

         I tried on a weak smile for his benefit. "You are my perfect match, darling."

         The tremble in his full lower lip made my heart ache for him -- for us.

         When I awoke the next morning that angel was there again, smiling happily. "Hi," he said.

         "Hi, yourself. What's with the up-turned lips? You win the lottery?" I joked.

         "Better, baby, though the odds are about the same. My test came back. I'm the best potential donor they've found -- nearly perfect in fact. Dr. Crow says it's a miracle, and he may have to start believing in God."

         A frothing combination of joy and numbing fear filled me. One of Scott's kidneys would allow me to live a normal life. I wouldn't die. But, the danger to Scott was very real. There could be complications in surgery; infections after surgery. I could lose him and, should that happen, I wouldn't want to live. I told him how I felt.

         "Look, Brandi, I'm young, healthy and fit for surgery. I've already spoken to Dr. Crow and, despite his original objections, he consented to let me give you a kidney so long as I sign a liability release. Please let me do this, honey. For both of us."

         Mom appeared at Scott's side, looking a decade older than she had only days before. "Let him, Brandi. Let him give you a new life. He'll be fine. You'll both be fine. This could be your last chance. Take it."

         And I did.

         Luckily it was summer and Scott was out of school. The matter of his lost income while he was recuperating was settled by my mother, who offered him ten-thousand dollars for his expenses. He wouldn't think of that amount, however, insisting that half that amount would more than cover his missed income from working at the clinic.

         With everything arranged, on a fearful Monday morning both of my useless kidneys were removed and Scott's healthy right kidney became my new right kidney. Dr. Crow let Scott and I share a room during our convalescence, and we talked for hours when I wasn't sick. The immunosuppressive drugs I was given to prevent any possibility of my body rejecting Scott's kidney caused severe nausea.

         Three weeks after Scott was released from the hospital Dr. Crow made his announcement: The new kidney was functioning with no indication of infection or rejection. I was whole again! At long last I was released from the hospital. An early winter had slipped in on ice skates.

         Mother and Scott took me home, treating me as if I were made of ice as fragile as the icicles hanging from the roof eaves, and might shatter at the slightest bump.

         Trouble began the very first evening. Scott and I were again planning our wedding, talking gaily of our future, when Mom, obviously agitated, broke into the conversation. "You don't need to hurry this marriage business. You need time to recuperate, Brandi. And both of you need to think this over really well. Make sure you aren't just caught up in the romance of what you two have been through. What you think is love . . ."

         "Mom! What are you talking about! Scott gave me his kidney, for God's sake!"

         "I know, and I thank you for that, Scott. You have my eternal gratitude for saving Brandi's life. But marriage isn't to be taken lightly."

         I had never seen Scott angry, but he was angry now. "Mrs. Bordon, I love your daughter and she loves me. We share a closeness that is wonderful -- magical. We are going to be married . . . with or without your blessing!"

         Mom's eyebrows came together over her nose in a hateful grimace. She spun on her heel and, shoulders squared, walked heavily from my room. Brian shrugged, looking to me for an explanation of Mom's behavior. I had none. My only thought was that she might be jealous; feared losing the daughter she'd fought to keep alive for so many years to a stranger.

         Parted for so long by my hospital stay, however, as soon as we heard Mom's bedroom door close, Scott and I were at each other in a frenzy, to release the sexual yearnings throbbing within us. The night was as sweet as dew from a honeysuckle blossom.

         The next morning Mom called me down to breakfast early. I sat at the kitchen table in a comfortable old robe and stretched until my bones popped. Scott's gentle loving had been better than any sleeping tablet.

         She bustled about, pouring me orange juice and a cup of chocolate-flavored coffee that delighted my nostrils. With no mention of her inappropriate comments from the previous evening, Mom began to speak excitedly. "Brandi, I've had the best idea -- a cruise! We can sail away for six weeks, spend this terrible cold weather in the Caribbean, and shop until we drop! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

         It did have its appeal, but only for a moment. "Can't, Mom. Scott will be starting back to class in a few days, remember?"

         Her smile faded and her lips compressed into a thin line. "We can go without him. Just us girls."

         Then I understood. "You think that if you get me away from Scott for awhile I'll lose interest in him, don't you?"

         "Perhaps it would give you time to think things out . . ."

         "Mom, I don't want to hurt you. You know how much you mean to me. But if you persist in your attempts to break Scott and me up -- if you make me choose between the two of you -- you're going to lose me as surely as if I had died. He saved my life, Mom. How can you not love him as much as I do?"

         She covered her face with her palms and wept, her sobs muffled but anguished. I went to her, put my arm around her waist, and leaned my head against hers, smelling the sweet odor of apple-scented shampoo. "I know everything happened fast. Me falling in love, my surgery, my recovery, the realization that I'm going to live -- it's a shock to me, too. But think, Mom. Someday soon Scott and I will give you beautiful grandchildren. What could be better than that?"

         She surprised me by tearing herself away from my embrace and backing up against the sink. "No! Good God, No! No children!"

         Aghast, I tried to comfort her, thinking she must be having some kind of mental breakdown. "What's wrong, Mom . . . tell me. Talk to me."

         "I never wanted you to know. Saw no reason that you should know . . ."

         I felt a frown crease my forehead. "Know what?" I asked, filled with a sense of dread.

         Mom shook herself like a dog shaking off water, seeking to shake off whatever demons pursued her. "Let's go to the livingroom, dear," she said, regaining her composure.

         Once we were seated side-by-side on the expensive robin's-egg-blue, satin-covered sofa, Mom took my hand in hers and half turned toward me so that our knees touched. She took a deep breath before beginning. "You were adopted, Brandi. Your mother gave you up for adoption, then died in childbirth. No one knew who your real father was. I saw no reason for you to know these things. Neither did your adoptive Dad."

         She couldn't have stunned me any more if she had struck me with a baseball bat. My brain played back memory-pictures of Dad. The only Dad I'd ever known. I forced my breathing to calm. "I - I guess that doesn't even matter to me. You're my mother. I have no desire to know my real history," I told her, honestly.

         But then her agonized statement about me not having children crept into my brain and paralyzed me with stark fear. She knew something about my real mother -- about some hereditary defect that she was certain would be passed on to my children. Surely that was the cause for her emotional turmoil. I asked her outright.

         She shook her head. "No, Brandi. It's worse than that." She pointed to an antique oval mirror on the wall across the room from us. "Look in the mirror."

         Frowning, I did as she said. "What?"

         "Where have you seen that frown before, dear -- the way it furrows your brows?"

         "I don't know what . . ."

         "The shape of your chin, and the cleft -- who does that remind you of?"

         Then I saw it. Oh. My. God. Scott. Suddenly I saw what I'd never noticed before. Although our hair and eye color were different, Scott and I shared certain facial expressions. They were horrifyingly similar. My breath caught in my throat. "Mom . . ."

         "Your mother had twins, Brandi. Fraternal twins. Not identical, but the resemblance is unmistakable knowing what I knew. Your common birth dates added to my belief. I suspected, even before Scott proved to be a donor match for you, that he might be the one. The organ match proved it. You can't marry him, my darling -- he's your brother."

         The blood rushed from my brain and, mercifully, I fainted.

         When I came to, I was stretched out on the sofa. Mom sat beside me, holding a cool washcloth against my forehead. "I know this is an unbelievable shock, but you and Scott will still have each other's love -- as brother and sister. We can tell him tonight," Mom said, matter-of-factly, as soon as she saw my eyes flutter open.

         I couldn't seem to find words at first. Instead, I thought of the times I had lost myself in Scott's embrace, the times we had joined our bodies in sexual union, the bond between us. I thought of what it would be like never to fall asleep in his strong arms again or to feel his hands exploring my flesh. And I made my decision. "Mother -- if you mention one word of this to Scott I swear that you'll never see me again."

         Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious?"

         I stood up and paced the room. "I'm as serious as a person can be. I love Scott -- as a man -- not as a brother. He loves me as a woman. That's the way I want it, Mom," I said in a dry, no nonsense tone. "We've already had sex. We can't undo that. We will be married -- but childless. I'll take precautions for the rest of my life, and live the lie until I die. Just as I pray you will."

         She patted her silver-shot hair, unconsciously. "He really means that much to you?"

         "More."

         "And if it doesn't last . . ."

         "Then he loses only a wife," I said softly. "But I'll lose a husband and a brother."

         My mother and I looked deeply into each other's eyes -- for perhaps the first time as one woman to another -- and silently agreed to live with our dark secret.

The End