Heart -CHAENNIE-

Chapter 4

"The heart, [scientists have found], is not just a pump but also an organ of great intelligence, with its own nervous system, decision-making powers, and connections to the brain. They found that the heart actually 'talks' with the brain, communicating with it in ways that affect how we perceive and react to the world."

— Dr. Mimi Guarneri, The Heart Speaks: A Cardiologist Reveals the Secret Language of Healing.

Rosé stands between the bumper of my car and the blue VW Car I ran into, taking in the damage. "It's really not that bad," she says, squatting down between the two bumpers. "I mean, you took the brunt of it." She looks at the clump of napkins I'm holding tight to my bottom lip. "That's gonna need stitches. We should get you to a doctor."

I try to ignore the "we" part. I need to get out of here even more than I did before, but I've just complicated things exponentially. "I can't just leave," I say. "I ran into someone's car. I have to make a report or something. Or at least call my insurance company. And my parents. Oh god." They were already gone when I left this morning and would probably expect me to be there when they came home for lunch because I have been there every day for the last few weeks, since graduation.

Rosé stands. "You can do all that later, you need to get yourself taken care of first. Just write a note. Leave your number. People are mellow around here. And you barely dented it. It's really not that big of a
deal."

I want to argue with her, but my lip throbs and the warm stickiness of the napkins I've got pressed to it is making me queasy.

"Really?"

"Really," she says, glancing over her shoulder. "Hang on. I'll be right back."

She turns and jogs easily across the street to the kayak rental shop, where a small crowd—presumably the family she mentioned in the café—mills around. The adults alternately eye their watches and glance around while a couple of teenagers lean against the window, absorbed in their phones, and the two youngest kids chase each other between the racks of kayaks. I should go right now. Leave a quick note on the bus and get out of here now, before this goes any further.

I hurry back to my car and duck into the driver's seat to grab my purse. The sudden movement causes a whole new wave of pain and stickiness to rush to my mouth, and I have to take a deep breath before I dig through my purse for a pen and something to write on.

I look across the street and watch as Rosé approaches the family of customers. She looks apologetic as she gestures back in my direction, likely explaining what happened. They nod, and she takes out her phone, makes a brief call, then shakes everyone's hand again before turning to come back. I pretend to be so deeply absorbed in writing my note that I don't look up when her feet stop right in front of me.

"I can take you to the hospital," she says.

I write my name and phone number at the bottom of the note. "Thank you, really, but it's okay. I can drive myself."