Between Friends

by Kiernan, Kristy

  “We have a positive ID on the guy on the porch. Gregory Haddon. Paroled from Starke two months ago.”

  “That was when Seth left,” Letty said.

  “Thing is, we got another guy in the house.”

  “What? I thought you said Benny was only there for a few minutes,” Ali said.

  “Yeah, this guy, we think he’s your friend’s father, he’s been dead awhile. A week maybe. Gunshot. Initial ID says he’s Darryl Caple. Found him in the back bedroom.”

  “Oh my God,” Letty breathed.

  “Did Seth ever mention anything about drugs to you?” he asked. “Marijuana?”

  Letty shook her head, pushing back in the chair as far as she could, disentangling her fingers from Ali’s.

  “Letty,” Ali said softly. “Tell him what you know. This was your father.”

  “He still is my father,” Letty shot back at her. “He’s not dead yet, you know. He’s in there—”

  “Okay,” Ali soothed her. “Of course, honey, it’s okay.”

  Letty covered her face with her hands, and Detective Hudson remained silent while she rocked back and forth. I felt like rocking back and forth myself, except I thought that any more movement might actually make me sick. I put my hand on Letty’s knee, and Ali reached over and placed hers over mine.

  “Letty?” Ali asked.

  “He never talked to me about it, he really didn’t, I swear,” Letty said without taking her hands away from her face. “But—I think he did sometimes sell a little, just some to kids at school, just for some extra money.”

  She dropped her hands to her lap and pushed my and Ali’s hands away fiercely.

  “He wasn’t a drug dealer,” she said.

  “Well, apparently his father and Haddon were,” Detective Hudson said. “They had a pretty big grow operation at the house. The plants were close to harvest. Looked like Haddon didn’t plan on splitting the profit with Caple.

  “We don’t think your friend was a drug dealer, Letty, and he’s not in trouble right now. He was just being held until they could track down an adult to take him. The kid he was with, the one who was actually arrested for intent to sell, he’s already free.”

  “What’s going to happen to Seth?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on whether we can find a mother, some family to claim him. I’ll keep you posted on what’s happening.”

  “Could I talk to him?” Letty asked.

  Detective Hudson looked pained. “We’re going to need to talk to him first.”

  “Well, can I talk to him after?”

  He looked at Ali.

  “I guess,” she said. “My God, does he even know about his father yet?”

  Detective Hudson held up his hand. “We don’t have a positive ID—”

  “But you know it’s him?” I interrupted.

  “We, well, yeah, we’re pretty sure.”

  “So who’s going to be with this boy when you tell him his father’s dead?” I asked.

  “He’ll have a child protective services caseworker with him.”

  “Mom,” Letty said. “We can’t just let him go through this alone.”

  “Letty, your father—”

  “Wanted to help him,” Letty said.

  “And it got him killed, Letty.”

  I gasped. Letty looked as if she’d been hit, and Detective Hudson looked vaguely satisfied, as if he agreed, though he’d managed to kindly keep it to himself.

  “Letty, is there anything else that you can tell them that might help? Anything you’ve kept from them? Kept from me? Because now’s the time to come clean about it.”

  Letty shook her head, speechless, the life appearing to seep from her body.

  “Then you’re done. Cora, could you please take Letty while I finish up here? Unless you have something specific you need to ask, Detective?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Ali said, nodding to me.

  I had nothing to respond with.

  The police seemed to have cleared the floor of reporters, and there were still two cops down at the end of the corridor, guarding the elevators. Tim remained outside Benny’s room and he pushed the door open for us. Drew was still there, and he looked relieved to see me, as if he’d been afraid I wouldn’t come back, and he didn’t know where to go if I didn’t.

  “Hey,” he said softly, catching sight of Letty’s face. She sat down in the chair on the other side of Benny without a word. “The nurse has your pills down at their station,” he started, but I stopped him with a look and turned to Letty.

  “Letty, you know your mom didn’t mean that,” I said. “This is not your fault. It had nothing to do with you—”

  “But it did,” she said, looking at me with something like wonder on her face. “She is right. He was there because of me. I asked him to go. This is, I mean, it really is my fault. It’s my fault.”

  “No,” I said sharply, making her jump. “And if your father could hear you, it would break his heart.”

  But she didn’t seem to hear me; instead she clapped her hand over her mouth and stumbled toward the bathroom, unable to get the door closed before she fell on her knees and threw up in the toilet.

  Drew looked at me in horror.

  “Go get Ali,” I said over my shoulder as I crouched beside her, rubbing her back as she retched again and again.

  14

  ALI

  I’d made all the calls I was going to make. I had called Benny’s brother, and he was on his way down from Ocala. I’d talked to my parents, and they were on standby, ready to come as soon as I gave them the go-ahead. And soon the phone calls from friends began.

  I finally turned off my cell phone. The only people I needed to talk to right now were there already.

  After Detective Hudson left, Drew looked at me significantly and offered to get us all lunch, asking Letty if she wouldn’t mind helping him. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t smooth, and we all knew why Cora and I were being left alone. We sipped our lukewarm coffee, listening to the sounds of the machines keeping Benny’s body alive.

  “The transplant coordinator will be here soon,” I said, figuring I would just plunge right in.

  She looked at me over the rim of her cup and said nothing.

  “We have to talk about this.”

  “I’ll talk about it when the coordinator gets here,” she said matter-of-factly. “In the meantime, what can I do?”

  “You can talk to me about this.”

  “What’s to talk about? I said I’d talk when the coordinator gets here. What else can we do? Do you know the process? Because I don’t. This was just the start of things for me. I don’t even have to be on dialysis yet. You know, yesterday, hell, the past few months have been pretty scary, thinking about all this, trying to get my job under control, trying to figure out what might happen at some point. But right now? I’m feeling thankful to be here. Things just don’t seem that bad for me right now.”

  “But if you have this opportunity—” I started.

  “This isn’t an opportunity,” she said. “This is a tragedy. This is, I know, the worst thing that will likely ever happen to you. And I think you’re using this as an opportunity to have something else to think about. And that’s okay.”

  She stopped for a minute, gazing at Benny.

  “It’s sweet,” she finally said. “Thank you. But let’s see what the coordinator has to say, before you get me anesthetized, okay? There are larger things to consider. Like Letty.”

  I had been mellowing for a moment, buying into her calm and sensible argument that she was merely waiting on more information, but the line about Letty smacked of diversionary criticism.

  And I bit.

  “Excuse me? Are you trying to say that I’ve been hard on her somehow? Jesus, Cora,” I said, and my voice dropped to a whisper, “she’s all I have left . . .”

  “I know,” Cora said, and her voice broke, shattering the illus
ion of calm. “You’re going to be okay, Ali. And Letty’s going to be okay. And I’m going to be here to make sure. We’re all going to be okay.”

  For the first time in our friendship, I couldn’t bring myself to believe a word she said.

  “I’m Gladys Browne. Thank you for meeting with me,” the woman introduced herself, a faint, musical accent I couldn’t place coming through.

  We were back in the small waiting room down the hall. After discussing it with Drew and Letty, we decided that just Cora and I should meet with her, though Letty had some questions she wanted to ask afterward.

  “Thank you,” I said. “We understand that this isn’t exactly the way these things usually happen.”

  Gladys nodded. “It’s a very unusual circumstance all around, though, isn’t it? I am very sorry for your tragedy, Mrs. Gutierrez. Your husband was a very brave man. My father was a police officer in Brazil. A very difficult job in any country.”

  “Thank you,” I said, suddenly realizing that I was going to start hearing this a lot, the condolences. This will be my life now, I thought in amazement and dismay. This is what life will be like without Benny.

  “I would also like to commend you and your husband for being willing to save lives with the gift of donation. Our physicians have gone over the records, and Officer Gutierrez is a very good candidate, if Dr. Tulley does agree that he meets the proper criteria.”

  Her words were so careful, but we all understood what she was saying.

  “And you are our friend with the PKD?” she asked, shaking hands with Cora.

  “I—” Cora stuttered. “Yes, I’m your friend with the PKD. That would be me.”

  “And the way I understand the situation from Dr. Young is that you would like to direct donate a kidney to her?” Gladys asked me.

  “That’s right.”

  “And you? You seemed to not be so sure this is something you are comfortable with?”

  “That’s right,” Cora said, matching my tone.

  “I have looked at your file and spoken with your nephrologist. You’ve started the registry process, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You have not yet started dialysis?”

  “No. I just”—Cora held her bandaged arm up—“had my access put in yesterday.”

  “And what are your thoughts about the fact that your friend does not seem ready to move forward?” Gladys asked, turning toward me.

  “My thoughts? I can’t imagine why this is even a question. The only thing I need to know is if it’s possible or not.”

  “That depends upon many things, but none of them matter if your friend isn’t ready.”

  “I thought you were willing to listen?” I asked Cora, forcing the words at her as though I could push through her inexplicable and frustrating reticence.

  “I am listening. But nothing I’m hearing changes my mind.”

  I realized my hands were clenched into fists and struggled to relax them. “What are the things that need to be done?” I asked, making a concerted effort to keep my voice soft.

  “Hang on,” Cora said. “I do have a question. You’ve already done a lot of the work for this situation, right?”

  “I am up to date, yes,” Gladys said carefully.

  “Then do you already know which organs might be transplanted?”

  “No.”

  “Have you thought about that yet?” Cora asked me.

  I hadn’t, actually.

  “Well, I guess whatever can be . . . used,” I said, stumbling over the word, over the sudden clarity of what I was doing.

  “So if we assume kidneys?” Cora asked. “If there are two kidneys donated, and I don’t take one, do you already know who would get them?”

  Gladys was silent for a long moment, as if debating whether she wanted to answer.

  “There are always many patients waiting.”

  “So you have two people, who are clearly far more advanced than I am, waiting for the call? People,” she said, looking at me instead of Gladys now, “who have been waiting for how many years? Who are they? Do you know? How old are they? How long have they been waiting?”

  “I’m sorry, there are confidentiality issues to consider,” Gladys said.

  “Can you tell us anything at all?” Cora asked.

  Gladys hesitated, then leaned forward. “I can give you examples of the type of people we have waiting. Locally, we have a forty-seven-year-old woman who teaches fourth grade and a seventeen-year-old boy who are in imminent danger of death if they don’t receive a transplant soon. That is all I can tell you, and it should not have been that much at this point. It doesn’t mean that they will be the recipient of one of your husband’s kidneys. There is much to do before that is decided.”

  “But it’s safe to say that these people are in a life-or-death situation?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand what you’re trying to do here, Cora,” I said. “But I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.”

  “The second neurological exam is this afternoon, right?” Cora asked. “After that, assuming that Ali wants to move forward with donation, whether it’s to me or not, what happens? What should she expect?”

  “Assuming the physicians are in agreement, we would need to do some paperwork, very simple. You and your loved ones would have as much time as you wanted with Officer Gutierrez, and then you would release him to us. We transport him to—”

  “Wait . . .” I asked, faltering. “You take him somewhere else?”

  “Yes. This hospital is not set up for organ transplant surgery. He would be moved to Ft. Myers, where we have a kidney transplant center, and the other organs would be shipped.”

  “But, how does that give time to—” I stopped again. I hadn’t thought about this part. Cora reached out for my hand, and, my frustration with her forgotten for the moment, I clutched it.

  Gladys nodded, as if she already knew what I was going to ask. “He will be kept on the life support system for transport.”

  “And I’d stay here? You mean I wouldn’t be with him when he . . . goes?” This had never crossed my mind. It was almost too much to bear.

  “You would be welcome to come to the facility in Ft. Myers, but no, you would not be with him.”

  “Why not?” I asked, my voice starting to shake, followed by my hands. “Why can’t I be with him?”

  “Because he will be in surgery. Afterward, his remains would be released back to you, to make whatever arrangements you wish. Also, his remains are intact, so there are no restrictions on your service. If you wish an open casket, that is not an issue.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling faint. “Oh, I see.”

  I did, I suddenly got it. I don’t know exactly how I thought it worked. Or no, I did, I did have a vision of how I thought things might go, but this wasn’t it.

  I thought they would do the exam and then let me and Letty say good-bye, and then everyone would leave except me. Then they would turn off the machines and I would hold his hand when he breathed his last. It would be peaceful. I would stay in there a moment, maybe say a prayer, kiss him, and then I would let the doctors know I was ready and they would come get him.

  A few hours later Letty and I would be there when Cora came out of surgery, and then it would all have meant something real and right, and if this wasn’t how it was going to work, then I didn’t even know if I wanted any of it.

  And then I realized the worst thing of all.

  None of it mattered.

  None of it.

  Because Benny was gone.

  Gladys and Cora were looking at me, waiting for me to speak, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t possibly make enough sense of my thoughts to explain them to them.

  “I have to find my daughter,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  Cora got up, “Okay, let’s go.”

  I followed her back to Benny’s room and found Letty and Drew there, Letty dispiritedly eating a small croissant and drinking a soda. Drew
stood hurriedly and offered me his chair, while Letty smiled wearily at me. Her face was puffy, her hair lank around her face. She looked older than her fifteen years, and if my beautiful girl looked like this, I could only imagine what I looked like.

  “So, how’d things go?” Drew asked.

  “I don’t think this is a conversation we need to have right now,” Cora said, flicking her gaze toward Letty.

  “What?” Letty asked. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” Cora said.

  “I don’t think that at this point we need to keep anything from her,” I said. “It’s just that things are a little different than what I expected, that’s all.”

  “Different how? What do you mean?” Letty looked back and forth between us.

  I dropped my head into my hands. I didn’t know how to explain this to her.

  “The process for organ donation is complicated,” Cora said, her voice stronger than I’d heard it in days. “And it presents some challenges your mom didn’t realize she would face.”

  “Like what?” Letty asked.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said, able to take over now that Cora had shown me the way. “Your dad wanted to be an organ donor, and that’s what we’re going to do. It means that we’ll have to say good-bye to him here, sometime tonight, I suppose, and then they’ll take him to the hospital where they do the transplants.”

  “Oh,” Letty said in a small voice. “What about Aunt Cora?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, realizing, at last, that Cora was beyond my control, that nearly everything was beyond my control. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  Dr. Tulley, of course, concurred with Dr. Young.

  Benny was gone, truly . . . gone.

  Cora said no.

  And I, while I couldn’t agree with Cora’s decision, did finally have to accept it.

  And then I said good-bye to my husband.

  15

  ALI

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  I heard the plane before I saw it and searched the sky over the Gulf of Mexico until it came into view.