The Ambassador

The caressing fingers of chocolate icing drip down the sides of the golden, fluffy doughnut. Like so many other things in his life, Jack Toll can’t resist it. Looking from left to right he moves like a bandit, snatches it from its box, and wraps his lips around it. He preens the chocolate residue from his fingers with cat-like precision.

The last bit of morsel clenched between his teeth, he makes his way to his office and slams the door using his foot. As Jack wedges his way into his desk chair, he knows the seat has either gotten smaller, or he has gotten larger. One hundred pounds or thereabouts. He pinches the roll of belly that now extends over the belt that has also been extended. Too many bacon cheeseburgers, fries, beers, and Netflix binges.

Just beyond the monitor on his desk, he glimpses a photo of his wedding day. The smiling couple seems long ago strangers, especially him. Jack is not sure what happened to the muscular, jovial man with an insatiable thirst for life. He lays the photo face-down trying to eschew its accusatory stare.

The stack of papers has doubled since he left for lunch. He grabs a sheet off the top and feels a sting in his neck. Instinctively, he smacks it suspecting an insect. The sting travels rapidly down his neck entering his chest. The walls begin to oscillate as sweat rolls down his face. His shirt is cellophane, sticking to his skin. A searing pain plunges into his heart. His mouth flaps open and shut with shallow panting. One pinprick of light giving way to total darkness.

“Jack,” a woman’s voice whispers. Jack’s eyes flutter.

A hushed, “beep…beep,” echo like drops of water.

“Jack,” she whispers again.

Jack tries to open his eyes, but his lids are weighed down. “I’m dead.” His panic rises. Coins left on the dead’s eye. To bribe Charon, the ferryman to take his soul across the river that divides the living world from the dead.

The intermittent “beep…beep…beep,” is accelerating.

“Mr. Toll,” a man’s commanding voice says. “Mr. Toll,” he repeats.

Jack’s eyes flutter open straining against the undertow of exhaustion. His throat is raw, constricting around something large. His eyes try to focus through a gauzy haze.

“Mr. Toll,” the commanding voice again. “I’m Doctor Peterson. You suffered a massive heart attack. You’re coming out of sedation now.”

Jack tries to sit up. The doctor’s words pelting his mind. He tries to open his mouth, but his lips are taped shut around this tube. He thinks he’s going to vomit.

“Jack.” His wife places her cool hand on his. “It’s okay.” She’s sniffling as if it’s not.

As his mind gains clarity, Jack sees Charlotte. Her fuzzy hair and red-rimmed eyes tell of her worry and exhaustion. Though his mouth won’t comply, Jack’s lips twitch in an attempted smile. He feels good that she’s worried about him. In some perverse way, it gives him comfort.

The doctor brings Jack’s mind to attention. “You are a very luck man.” He looks at a clipboard. “Very lucky.” He repeats as though he wasn’t heard the first time. “Less than 6% of people with a heart attack such as yours survives.” The doctor moves closer to the bed displacing Charlotte. “We’ll be running a battery of tests and will most likely keep you here for about five days.” He looks down at his chart again. “Obviously,” his eyes point accusatory at Jack’s girth. “You’re going to have to make a few lifestyle changes, Mr. Toll.” He turned and with one eyebrow raised accuses Charlotte as an accomplice in her husband’s state. “The first 24-48 hours after a heart attack is critical. You could have another. The atheroma build-up in a coronary artery caused restricted blood flow and…”

Jack’s mind wanders as the doctor’s quacking continues. He glances over the man’s shoulder at Charlotte. She is twisting her wedding band, wringing her hands. He wants to tell her it will be okay but the tube in his throat digs deeper.

“Mr. Toll,” a nurse stands beside the bed. “We’re going to remove your breathing tube. I’ll need you to hug your pillow and cough.” The nurse bends over Jack and as he begins to cough the tube slithers from his throat. She pulls a wand device and suctions his mouth. With a ballerina’s fluidity, she elevates his bed, fluffs pillow, and smiles with the confidence of having done these maneuvers hundreds of times. “Now say hello.”

Thick tongue, dry mouth, and sore throat, Jack’s “Hello” is barely audible.

“Good.” The nurse responds and glances at her watch. “Now let’s get some rest. You’ve had a pretty big day.” She winks conspiratorially at Charlotte as if Jack’s had a night on the town. “Go home, Mrs. Toll and get some rest yourself.” She tucks the corner of the bedcovers. “He’s in good hands.”

Jack lays in the darkness listening to the serenade of “whisps and beeps.” He stretches his arm but realizes it is hooked up to an IV, wires, and “who knows what.” He sighs. He is gripped by the reality that he almost died. Squeezing his eyes tight, Jack tries to contain the tears that roll down the side of his face. “How did it come to this?” At 38 years old, he wonders how he arrived here. He blushes embarrassed at his self-pity.

Jack and Charlotte Toll, happily married, the golden couple. Beautiful home, great jobs, beautiful life. He can’t isolate the moment when life began corkscrewing, but the descent was equally as stunning as his meteoric rise. Passed over for partnership at his firm, a malaise began. Not sudden but stealthy. Another disappointment. Drive replaced by ambivalence. Self-esteem by loathing and bit by bit Jack Toll is dismantled.

His chest tightens. Certain the fatal heart attack has arrived; he looks for the nurse call button. The door opens allowing a sliver of light into the room. Jack turns his head for the nurse but sees it’s a child. He moans, wondering how this child got into his room.

She’s wearing a red dress with a white ribbon sash as if ready to attend a party. Her auburn hair is styled in ringlets. Tiptoeing, she approaches Jack’s bed. “Hello.” Her smile is shy.

Jack is certain they used a wire brush on his throat. He mouths, “Hello.” His brain races wondering when the nurse is coming. He wants to tell this girl to go back to her parents, but his voice won’t comply.

“Your voice is scratchy.” She observes. The girl is no more than five and is scanning the room. “Does it hurt when you talk?”

Her hazel eyes remind Jack of a cat he had a lifetime ago. He nods his head.

“I see your cut,” she juts her chin towards the long incision peeking above the neck of his gown. “Was your heart broken?” She cocks her head to the side in a mix of curiosity and sympathy.

He feels his jaw clench. Jack wants to shout that she needs to leave but he’s just too tired and his throat too raw. “Her parents should keep a closer eye on her.” He thinks with annoyance.

Jack is ready to point at the door when the girl comes closer. “I’m sorry your heart is broke.” She rubs her hand along his arm. “You get better, okay.” With that, she turns, pulls the door open and the room turns dark once more.

A new nurse is checking Jack’s vitals the next morning “How are we feeling this morning, Mr. Toll?”

Jack wants to laugh at the word we, “because there’s no we in this.” Though his voice is still raspy, he whispers. “There was a little girl in here last night.”

The nurse gives him a look that suggests his pain meds need adjusting. “Hmm.” Her eyebrows furrow. “She probably wandered off.” Her nonchalance suggests this is a frequent occurrence. As she fills his glass with water and dips a straw into it, the door opens, and Charlotte enters. “His color and voice are back,” the nurse teases. “Dr. Peterson will be by later to check on you.” She leaves the couple.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Charlotte pulls a chair near the bed and sits. Her eyes betray her fear. She gingerly takes his hand navigating the protruding needle. “You gave us quite a scare, Jack,” she says wiping a stray hair from his forehead. “Thank God they found you quickly. Bill Thomas performed CPR until the EMTs arrived. If it weren’t for him...” her voice trails off as she shudders.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.” His voice whispers knowing the apology extends deeper than the heart attack scare. Sliding into this dark place, he realizes that the life he released includes his wife.

“Jack.” Her eyes as beautiful as the day they met. “Things have to change.” Her tone is soft and warm. She looks down at her hands and inhales deeply. “I know you were disappointed. About a lot of things.” She continues to study her hands as a source of fortitude. “I want more for us Jack.”

He is grateful that there still can be an us. “I do too, Charlotte. I guess self-pity doesn’t become me.” He winces as he chuckles.

Their conversation flows, returning to that comfortable state he remembers and wants. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” She bends and kisses his lips. “I love you, Jack Toll.”

His eyes mist. “I love you too.”

But for the whirring sounds of machinery, the room is still. Jack feels a weight on his chest like an uninvited dog jumping. The door opens. The little girl has returned.

“Hi,” her smile exposes a missing tooth. “Does your heart feel better today?”

Jack lifts his head from the pillow. “You don’t want to worry your mom and dad.” His tone sterner than he meant. “They might get worried. You better go back to them.”

She swishes her dress side to side, “It’s okay. They know where I am.”

Jack blinks unsure if he heard her correctly.

“Your wife is very pretty,” the girl walks closer to his bed. “She loves you a whole lot.” At this, she spreads her arms wide in a demonstration.

Now more curious than annoyed, Jack asks, “How do you know?”

“You can see her love.” She frowns as if he’s missing the obvious. “There are a lot of people who love you.” Her tone matter of fact.

“Well, that’s good to know.” His mood now lighter. Though he finds his little visitor quirky, she’s endearing. “So, what’s your name?”

“Bella. Isabella my sweetie.”

Jack is unsure if he heard her last name but doesn’t think to clarify. “Well, Bella. My name is Jack.” He smiles. A nimbus of light emanates from the girl. He shakes his head to clear his vision.

As if playing the piano, her tiny fingers run up and down the side of his bed. “Sometimes when you think you really want something but then it doesn’t happen, you feel it in your heart. Is that why yours hurts?” Her eyes are locked onto his.

Jack is about to dismiss this out of hand but catches himself. There were things he wanted that didn’t come to fruition. More than once. These disappointments became the steppingstones to his ambivalence, his depression. “Yes, I think that’s what happened.”

She places her tiny hand under his. “We might want thing so so much. But we’re not supposed to get them. Not everything we think we want is what we should get. Like too much candy.” Her cherubic smile is contagious.

“You are an incredibly wise girl. How old are you?” Jack asks sincerely impressed.

“You would say, almost five.” She looks at the floor. “Well, I have to go now.” Her voice is sad. She places her arms around Jack’s neck.

Startled, Jack returns the hug with his one freed arm. “Take care, Bella.”

There is a bone-chilling stillness in the room. Jack shivers trying to nestle beneath the blanket. The air is charged with electricity raising the hair on his body. He coughs and feels as if his body has been cleaved in half. He is weightless, rising, rising. Jack sees the man lying on the bed and recognizes his own face.

As if gazing into the sun, a light fills every cell within his being. The sense of tranquility is overwhelming, and he begins to cry. Like metal shavings drawn to a magnet, Jack is moving closer and closer to the source of this light. There are no words spoken, yet he hears a voice calling his name. Jack floats toward this light but his path is suddenly blocked. “Bella?” His throat constricts.

Bella holds his hand keeping him stationary. “Sometimes we want to go. But not everything we want is what we should get. Your time is there,” she points back away from the light. “Not here.”

His eardrums are ready to burst with the cacophony of shouting voices and screeching machines. His body is jostled from one side to the other, rolling, twisting, jolted, pricked. The pain sears through every part of his being. Jack looks for that light. That light of such peace.

“Jack. Jack.” The voice sounds like it’s coming from another universe.

He feels a pinch and then another and another.

“Jack stay with us!” The voice entreats.

His eyes open to Charlotte’s smiling face. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” his parched lips are sore.

“You had another heart attack, but they stabilized you. Don’t do that again, okay Jack.” She squeezes his hand.

“Okay.” He squeezes back.

Ten months later, Jack and Charlotte unpack boxes from their move. He places his hand on the swell of Charlotte’s belly. “We’re having a weight transference,” she smiles at a leaner Jack. “The doctor says that everything looks good. Well into my third trimester and she’s a feisty girl.”

“Just like her Mama,” Jack laughs. He pulls a stack of books from a box. A photo escapes one of the binders. Picking it up, he holds the photo between two fingers and studies the face that beams up at him.

Charlotte takes the photo. “Oh, mom is going to love this one.” She chuckles heartily.

Stunned, Jack asks. “Who is that?”

“It’s Mom when she was…” she flips the photo over. “Allison at age five.” She turns it over and hands it back to Jack. “Would you put it back in the photo album, Jack. I’ll bring these by to Mom later on.”

“That’s…” he stammers. “That’s your mother?” The hazel eyes and auburn ringlets are pronounced.

“Yes. God Jack are you okay? You’re pale.” Charlotte stands next to him fearing a relapse.

“That’s Bella.” He points and looks up at his wife. “The girl I told you about.”

Charlotte looks at Jack. “When I miscarried nearly seven years ago, I was thinking about names for a boy or a girl. I didn’t say anything because…I lost the baby at 12 weeks. At that stage, babies aren’t formally registered.” She pats her hand protectively over her belly. “I thought at the time if we had had a son, we’d call him John.” She touches Jack’s shoulder. “If it was a girl, I liked the name, Isabella. My sweetie.” She stares off fondly remembering the unborn child.