Second because rain threatened.
It did not arrive.
Third because roof repairs supposedly could not wait.
Eleanor packed his bag.
Caleb stared.
“You’ve become ruthless.”
“Yes.”
They left.
The journey took several days.
Caleb had not traveled so far from the mountain since he was thirteen.
Every town made him tense.
Every stranger who looked too long at his size seemed to awaken old fear.
Eleanor stayed beside him.
Not in front.
Not behind.
Beside.
They reached Denver on a bright afternoon.
To Caleb, it looked enormous.
Noise.
Wagons.
People.
Signs.
Businesses.
Children.
Nobody knew him.
That shocked him.
For decades he had imagined the world waiting specifically to discover his secret.
Instead the world barely noticed he existed.
Eleanor saw the realization.
“Disappointing?”
“What?”
“You spent nineteen years imagining yourself the center of civilization’s curiosity.”
Caleb smiled.
“Apparently civilization has errands.”
They found the physician.
Older now.
But alive.
He remembered the letter.
Not Caleb personally.
The father’s desperation.
The unusual description.
The doctor examined Caleb privately.
Eleanor remained only because Caleb asked.
No students.
No spectators.
No sketches without permission.
The physician listened to both areas.
Measured.
Asked about pain.
Reviewed the childhood scar.
Then sat.
Caleb looked terrified.
“Well?”
The doctor folded his spectacles.
“You have an unusual congenital remnant.”
“Is it alive?”
The physician considered the wording.
“It is living tissue because it receives blood.”
“But a person?”
“No.”
“A heart?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
The doctor explained that the separate rhythm likely came from vascular tissue and a malformed muscular structure associated with an incomplete conjoined twin. It contracted independently at times because of its unusual blood supply and muscle fibers.
“Could it kill me?”
“Anything can.”
Eleanor covered a laugh.
The doctor smiled.
“More usefully: it has not killed you in thirty-two years.”
“There are risks.”
“Infection.”
Internal bleeding if damaged.
Potential circulation problems.
“But you are otherwise remarkably healthy.”
Caleb stared.
“What should I do?”
“Stop climbing roofs in blizzards.”
Eleanor looked at Caleb.
Triumph.
He glared.
The doctor continued.
“I would not operate merely to make your chest look ordinary.”
Caleb's face changed.
The physician noticed.
“You were expecting me to recommend removal.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it's wrong.”
The doctor frowned.
“Unusual is not wrong.”
Silence.
Caleb looked toward Eleanor.
His eyes filled.
The doctor continued gently:
“If pain worsens, we reassess.”
“If new symptoms develop, you return.”
“But if you are asking whether you must be cut open again simply because your body makes people curious, my answer is no.”
Caleb bowed his head.
Eleanor took his hand.
The doctor looked away to grant them privacy.