“I don’t believe it. You’ve really got a dog there? What kind?”
“A greyhound.”
“Is she lying on your bed?”
“As a matter of fact, she is.”
He gave a short laugh. “Did she have to wipe her feet first?”
“Matt, why did Mercy drive out there?”
“She’s trying to sort some things out, Mom. She needs some time.”
“But why didn’t she come home?”
“She didn’t want to bother you. She knows you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”
“For God’s sake, Matt. What’s going on?” Libby heard the sharp tone enter her voice.
“I really don’t want to get into it, Mom. You need to talk to her about this.”
Twin loyalty in action. They wouldn’t rat on each other with a saber to their throats. “Have her call me first thing.”
“She will. And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“She’s had a rough time of it. Go easy on her.”
A rough time. That could mean anything. Was Mercy flunking a course? Boyfriend trouble? If it was Mr. Tongue Stud, good riddance to him. A breakup with him was nothing to be crossing the continent for.
“How are you doing?” Matt asked.
“I’m fine.”
“How is dialysis? Any infections? Are your numbers good?”
She had to smile. Matt, her scientist. Of course he would have researched the disease. She remembered how, the day after she told him about going on dialysis, he’d called and said he’d done some checking and that a donor only had to be eighteen and he was old enough. She’d told him they weren’t at that stage.
“I’m going to be fine, Matt. Really.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mom.”
“Do what?”
“Protect me. Or Mercy. We’re not little kids.”
Of course she had to protect them. That’s what parents did. “I know you’re not, dear. I just don’t want you worrying about me.”
“Do you think if you don’t tell us what’s going on, we won’t worry? The thing is, we probably worry more. Don’t you get it? We need to know what’s happening with you.”
“Is that why Mercy’s out there? So you two can talk about my disease?”
“She’ll call you tomorrow, Mom.”
She gave up. “Do you want to talk to your dad?”
“I’m pretty beat, Mom. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Everything else okay there?”
“Yes.” She looked across the room at Sam. “Oh, your aunt is here.”
“Aunt Sammy?”
“As far as I know she’s the only one you’ve got.”
“Aunt Sammy’s there? I thought you two weren’t speaking.”
“Well, now we are.”
The wire hummed. “And she’s there with you now?”
“Right here, even as we speak.”
“Mom?” he said in a ten-year-old’s voice.
“What?”
“You aren’t dying, are you?”
“No, Matt,” she said. “I’m not dying.”
“I just wondered. You know. You having a dog there and Aunt Sammy and everything. It weirded me out.”
“Everything’s fine. I promise.” You promise, she thought. Because they need you to. They need your certainty.
When Matt was eleven, he’d come home from school and marched straight up to Libby. “You and Dad will never get divorced, will you?” he’d asked. Billy Madison’s parents had just split. “But you and Dad,” he’d persisted. “You’ll never get divorced, will you?” And she had said no, absolutely. Because he didn’t want to hear that nothing in life was certain, no guarantees issued with birth certificates, or marriage licenses for that matter, and that even strong love can die. People, too. No matter what the question, that is not the answer they want.
“Mercy’s out in Pasadena,” she said when she hung up. “She drove across the country. Drove right through Illinois without even calling us. Matt says she’ll phone in the morning. What do you think it is? Oh, God, you don’t think she’s in trouble at school, do you?” Or something else? The image of Mercy with the punk boyfriend sprang again to mind, and with it a terrible thought. Could Mercy be pregnant? She pushed the idea aside. She couldn’t bear to consider it.
“Let’s wait and see,” Richard said, interrupting her musing. “At least she’s all right. We know where she is.”
Libby studied him with narrowed eyes. He couldn’t meet her gaze.
“You knew,” she said. “You knew.”
“I didn’t know she was with Matt. Only that she wasn’t at Brown.”
“How long exactly have you known this?”
“What does it matter?”
“How long, Richard?”
“Three days.”
“And yesterday morning, when I was going to call her and you told me you’d talked to her? You were lying then?”
“I was just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? I’m your wife. When one of our kids goes off somewhere, you tell me, you don’t protect me.”
Sam made a small sound. “I’m going to let you two sort this out.” She bent and gave Libby a kiss, patted the dog. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“This can wait until morning, too, Liz,” Richard said after she left.
“No,” Libby said. “It can’t. Do you know how it makes me feel when you say you lied to protect me? It feels like I’m a child.” She stopped, caught her breath. Was this what Matt meant when he said he didn’t want Libby withholding things? Was this how he felt?
Richard crossed to the bed. “How come you get to decide who gets handed what information and who gets shut out?”
“Who have I shut out?” Her voice rose. The greyhound whined, inched closer, laid her long muzzle on Libby’s leg. She softened her voice. “Who?”
“Our friends, for starters. Me.”
“I haven’t shut you out.”
“Yes, Liz, you have.”
“Well, if I have it’s because you like it that way. It fits your agenda.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think we should really wait until tomorrow to have this conversation. We’re both tired.”
“So you felt left out,” she said. “Is that why you . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“Why I what?”
“That girl. Because you felt ‘left out’?”
“What girl?”
She waited.
“Sarah?”
She stared at him.
“There’s nothing there, Liz.”
“I saw you, Richard. I saw you.”
“She’s a student, for God’s sake. She’s Mercy’s age. Do you seriously think I’d get involved with a girl our daughter’s age?”
“I saw you. You had your arms around her.”
“You saw me giving her a lesson.”
“With your arms around her? With your eyes closed?”
“I was showing her a passage, helping her with the bowing.”
She stared at him.
“I’m not going to do this, Libby. I’ll say it once. There was nothing there. I’ll swear on a Bible or my life or whatever you choose. And you can decide whether to believe me or not. I made one mistake years ago. There’s no excuse and I’m not offering one. But that was in the past and I’ve never done it again, no matter what you think. And I can’t go on paying for a mistake I made six years ago.”
“We both made mistakes,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You weren’t the only one.” She dropped her head, covered her face with her hands, too exhausted to go on.
“Liz? Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just tired. It’s nearly two. I’ve got dialysis in the morning.”
“I don’t have classes,” he said. “I’ll drive you.”
She started to say, no, that was all right, Sam could drive her, or she would do it herself, but sh
e stopped. You decide who gets shut out. “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like that.”
“We should leave by seven.”
“Yes.” Then, “Richard?”
“Yes.”
“Before Matt called, when Sam was in here, she told me she wants to be tested. She wants to be a donor.”
“God.” He exhaled a long breath. “That’s great, Liz.”
“But can I ask that of her? Can I really let her do that?”
“Yes,” he said, and reached for her hand. “Yes, you can.”
Sam and Libby
The flight into Providence was thirty minutes early, but when Sam arrived Lee was there, waiting. He stood at the bottom of the airport escalator holding a half-dozen Mylar balloons, a bouquet of roses, and a sign like the one limo drivers held to signal arriving passengers. It said: “Girl of My Dreams.” People smiled at him and several stopped to see who he was waiting for. When he greeted Sam with a kiss, they applauded.
“You make me feel like a star,” Sam whispered, only slightly embarrassed.
“Not too OTT?”
“I love it.”
“The champagne’s chilling at home,” he said. He kissed her, then handed her the flowers and took her bag. “Anything in baggage claim?”
“This is it,” Sam said.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
Once in the truck, he drew her to him. “The balloons were just a warm-up,” he said. He gave her a long kiss.
“Mmmm,” she sighed. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into turning in at the first motel we see.”
“You could, but you’d have to explain it to a couple of people who have dinner waiting for you.”
“Alice?”
“And Stacy. They’ve been cooking all day.”
“Your mother and Stace?”
“In action. The last I heard they were deciding whether to have four or five courses.”
“Sounds like they’ve become friends.”
“You don’t know the half of it. They’re inseparable. Peanut butter and jelly. Gin and tonic. Rock ’n’ roll.”
“Alice and Stacy,” she repeated. “I can’t imagine.”
He ran a finger down her cheek, kissed her again. “They’d kill me for telling you, but they’re planning an engagement shower.”
“They are?” Sam grinned. “A real shower? Sheet cake? Racy girl talk? Lots of lacy lingerie?”
“A guy can only hope.”
She laughed, delighted.
“And speaking of engagements,” Lee said. He reached over, unlatched the glove compartment, and handed her a small velvet box.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. She felt like she was sixteen. Lee made everything new.
“Are you going to open it or just hold it?”
She lifted the top. “Oh, Lee. It’s—it’s stunning.”
He took the ring, a single pear-cut diamond, slipped it on her finger.
“It’s beautiful.” She turned her hand so the stone caught the light. “And it fits perfectly. How did you know my size?”
“I have my spies,” he said.
“Libby,” she guessed.
“You got it.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the hollow of her palm.
“Lee?”
“Yes?”
“Can we talk about it now? I want to tell you more about what the doctor said, everything.”
He hugged her close. “I want to hear.”
The day before, at Carlotta’s office, Sam and Libby had waited for the results of the preliminary tests. The nurse had suggested that Libby wait in the outer office, but Sam insisted that her sister be there for the report. “We’re in this together,” she said.
The doctor looked up from the folder as they came in. “Step one accomplished,” she said.
The two sisters smiled at each other; both were nervous.
“Your blood type is A,” Carlotta said to Sam, “your HLA tissues are compatible, and the white cell cross-match was negative.”
Sam had forgotten what the last test was for.
“Your blood cells and Elizabeth’s are mixed to see if they’re compatible, that is, that Elizabeth does not make an antibody response to your antigens,” Carlotta explained.
“And the test was negative?”
“It was perfect. You and your sister are a six-of-six match.”
Sam reached over and held Libby’s hand.
Carlotta flipped a page in the folder. She smiled at Sam. “You’re in good health. Your blood pressure’s normal and your diabetes test was negative. So far, you’re a textbook donor for Elizabeth.”
Sam squeezed Libby’s hand. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“That completes the initial screening test. Now we set you up with your own team.”
“My own team?” Sam said. “Won’t you be my doctor?”
“No. I’m heading Libby’s team. Each donor has to have a separate team consisting of a clinical transplant coordinator—that’s usually an RN trained specifically for transplantation—a transplant nephrologist, a urologist, and a transplant social worker.”
Sam chewed her lip. Libby had said Carlotta Hayes was wonderful. She trusted her. “But you can be on my team, can’t you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The hospital’s bioethics committee insists that the donor’s team be independent of the recipient’s.”
“Why do I need a social worker?” Sam asked.
“Again for ethical reasons.” Carlotta leaned forward toward Sam. “Organ donation is emotionally complicated. A social worker conducts screening to evaluate the donor’s motives and psychological state. They want to eliminate any possibility that you might feel pressured into donating. Now, Elizabeth tells me you’re from Massachusetts.”
“Yes.”
“What part?”
“Southeastern.”
“Have you given any thought to what hospital you want to use? Boston’s Beth Israel Deaconess is one of the best in that area.”
Libby spoke for the first time. “We want to be in the same hospital. If Sam chooses Beth Israel, can you go there?”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“No,” Sam said. “I’ll come here.” She spoke impulsively, regretting it almost immediately. She should have checked with Lee. She would need him there.
Carlotta gave her a steady gaze. “You don’t have to make that decision today. You will probably want to talk it over with your nephrologist, and with your family.”
Sam nodded. “Would you recommend a doctor?”
“I can give you some referrals.”
“Thanks. And what’s the next step?”
“You make an appointment.”
“Okay.” Sam swallowed.
Carlotta made a note. “In the meantime, why don’t you return to Massachusetts and clear your calendar. Depending on whether you have an open or a laparoscopic nephrectomy, recovery time ranges from two to four weeks. That is something you and your doctor will determine.”
“What’s the difference?”
“One is more invasive than the other. Both have pros and cons. As I said, you’ll want to make this decision with your own doctor. I imagine that, even if you choose to have the operation here in Chicago, some of the tests—the EKG, the twenty-four-hour urine collection to assess kidney function, chest X rays, sonogram—can be done at a hospital in your area before you return. Again, that’s something to discuss with your doctor.”
“Is there anything I need to do?”
Carlotta smiled. “Take good care of yourself. Get a dental checkup. Start exercising if you don’t already. We’ve found pre-op exercise shortens recovery time.”
“Exercise?” Sam turned to Libby. “You’ll owe me big-time for this.”
“Yes,” Libby said. “I will.”
Later, as they drove home, Sam had turned to Libby. “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
“In there,” Libby said,
“listening to Carlotta, it hit me what I’m asking you to do. Are you sure, Sam? Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“More than anything, Lib,” Sam said. “More than anything in the world.”
“Lee?” Sam said. They were still in the airport parking lot. Lee had held her while she told him about all Carlotta said. “I know when I asked, you said it was my decision and you’d support me no matter what I decided, but I need to know that it’s really all right with you about me being a donor.”
He drew a finger along her palm, tracing the lines that represented love and life and destiny.
“Because it affects us both,” she said.
He looked at her. “There were women before you, Sam. That’s no state secret. But no one like you. I fell for you the moment I met you and I’ve been falling ever since. I love the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, and the way your hair spreads out on your pillow when we’re in bed. I love the little birthmark on the small of your back, and the way you bite your lower lip when you’re concentrating.”
“Oh,” she said softly.
“Don’t interrupt,” he said. “I’m just getting warmed up. I love that you’re an artist.”
“I’m not. I just make cakes.”
He pressed a finger against her lips. “I love that you’re an artist,” he said again. “That reporter was right. Your cakes are art. I love the way you’re so sweet to every bride. I love your innate kindness. I love the way you don’t get mad at the chipmunks for eating the birdseed, you just put out extra for them. I love you for giving Stacy a job after a lot of people including her own mother had given up on her. I love the way you hum in the morning when you first wake up. I love the way your body feels next to mine, the way we fit. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. But this past week, watching you with Libby, I gave you a part of me I didn’t even know I was holding back. I knew I could trust you with my heart.”
She was crying and he wiped her tears. “Now I think we’d better head home before my mother has an APB out for us.”
“I want three,” Sam said, her face radiant.
“Three what?”
“Kids. Three kids. And a dog.”
They were on the highway when she took out her cell. “I promised Libby I’d let her know I got home okay.
“Hi,” she said when Libby answered. “It’s me. Just wanted to let you know our kidney landed safely in Providence.”
The Law of Bound Hearts Page 27