Your Heart Belongs to Me Read Online Free PDF

’40 Mercury convertible?”
    “Yeah. Just now. I’m gonna buy it.”
    “Edelbrock two-carb manifold? That right?”
    “Yeah. You should hear it.”
    “What’s it stand on?” Ryan asked.
    “Nineteen-sixty Imperials. Fifteen-inch.”
    “Chopped?”
    “Four inches.”
    “That must give it a cool windshield profile.”
    “Very cool,” Forry confirmed.
    “You gonna work on it?”
    “I’ve got some ideas.”
    “I think I’d like to have a ’32 deuce coupe,” Ryan said.
    “Five-window?”
    “Maybe a three-window highboy.”
    “I’ll help you find it. We’ll scout some shows.”
    “I’d like that.”
    “Me too.”
    They sat in silence for a moment.
    The examination room had a white acoustic-tile ceiling, pale-blue walls, a gray vinyl-tile floor.
    On one wall hung a print of a painting by Childe Hassam. Titled
The White Dory, Gloucester,
it was dated 1895.
    On pale water, in a white boat sat a fair woman. She wore a long white skirt, a pleated and ruffled pink blouse, and a straw boater.
    Delicate, desirable, she would have been a handsome wife in those days when marriages lasted a lifetime. Ryan was overcome with a strange yearning to have known her, to have heard her voice, to have tasted her kiss, but she was lost somewhere in time, as he might soon be, as well.
    “Shit,” he said.
    Forry said, “Ditto.”

SIX
    D r. Samar Gupta had a round brown face and eyes the color of molasses. His voice was lilting, his diction precise, his slender hands impeccably manicured.
    After reviewing the echocardiogram and examining Ryan, Gupta explained how a myocardial biopsy was performed. He made use of a large poster of the cardiovascular system.
    Confronted with a colorful depiction of the interior of the human heart, Ryan found his mind escaping to the painting of the woman in the white dory, in Forry Stafford’s examination room.
    Dr. Gupta seemed unnaturally calm, every movement efficient, every gesture economical. His resting pulse was probably a measured fifty beats per minute. Ryan envied the physician’s serenity and his health.
    “Please be at the hospital admissions desk at six o’clock tomorrow morning,” the cardiologist said. “Do not eat or drink anything after midnight.”
    Ryan said, “I don’t like sedation, the loss of control.”
    “You’ll be given a mild sedative to relax you, but you’ll remain awake to follow instructions during the procedure.”
    “The risks…”
    “Are as I explained. But none of my biopsies has ever involved…complications.”
    Ryan was surprised to hear himself say, “I trust your skill, Dr. Gupta, but I’m still afraid.”
    In business, Ryan had never expressed uncertainty, let alone fear. He allowed no one to see any weakness in him.
    “From the day we’re born, Ryan, we should all be afraid, but not of dying.”

    In the plush backseat of the Mercedes S608, on the way home, Ryan realized that he did not understand the cardiologist’s last comment.
    From the day we’re born, Ryan, we should all be afraid, but not of dying.
    In the office, in the moment, the words had seemed wise and appropriate. But Ryan’s fear and his desire to quell it had led him to hear that statement as a reassurance, when in fact it was not.
    Now the physician’s words seemed mysterious, even cryptic, and disturbing.
    Behind the wheel of the sedan, Lee Ting glanced repeatedly at the rearview mirror. Ryan pretended not to notice his houseman’s concern.
    Lee could not know which of the many physicians Ryan had visited in Dr. Gupta’s building, and he remained too discreet to ask. Yet he was an acutely perceptive man who sensed his employer’s solemnity.
    In the west, the phoenix palms and the rooftops were gilded with sunlight. The attenuated shadows of those trees and buildings, of lampposts and pedestrians, reached eastward, as if the entire coast yearned for nightfall.
    On those rare occasions when Lee previously served as chauffeur, he had driven sedately, as if he