Chương 8
The nurse took it from him.
We watched through the glass as the doctors examined him.
My mother sat down again.
“What is happening?”
No one answered.
She stood.
“Why is nobody telling us anything?”
Dr. Shah came back out after several minutes.
“We are adjusting antibiotics because his fever is not responding the way we hoped.”
My mother gripped the back of a chair.
“Is that because of the leukemia?”
“His immune system is severely compromised.”
“Can he still transplant?”
“Not tonight.”
“I know not tonight.”
Her voice rose.
“I mean if Clara matches.”
Dr. Shah looked at her, then at me.
“We need to get him through induction and control the infection before we have that conversation.”
My mother’s face fell.
“So the test might not even matter?”
“It may matter very much.”
“But not yet.”
“Correct.”
She sat down.
The fact that medicine refused to arrange itself around her urgency seemed almost offensive to her.
I looked at my father.
“What happens to the thirty-seven thousand?”
He stared at me.
My mother said, “It’s yours.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“It’s in your name.”
“I can transfer it.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked confused.
“Because it was meant for you.”
“Three years late.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I know.”
“No, I’m asking why now.”
She rubbed her wrist where the bracelet rested.
“Because you know about it.”
I stared at her.
She seemed to hear herself.
Her face changed.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out accurate.”
My father sank into a chair.
My mother looked exhausted now.
Not transformed.
Not redeemed.
Just tired.
“I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“You could have called me.”
“I thought you would refuse.”
“I might have.”
“I thought you would think I was trying to buy forgiveness.”
“I would have.”
“So what was I supposed to do?”
I looked at her.
There were a hundred answers.
Send it anonymously to Lily’s foundation.
Use it for another child’s treatment.
Put it toward the medical debt I was still paying.
Write a check and accept that I might tear it up.
Tell the truth.
Mostly, tell the truth.
Instead, I said, “You were supposed to let me decide.”
She looked away.
That was the central theft, I realized.
Not the money.
Not even the house.
They had made choices for everyone.
They had decided Daniel needed security.
They had decided Lily’s treatment was too uncertain.
They had decided I was strong enough to survive.
They had decided Megan did not need to know what Daniel gave away.
They had decided guilt could be converted into accounts and donations and silence.
They had called it protection because control sounded uglier.
Dr. Shah’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Then he looked at me.
“The lab has your preliminary typing.”
My mother stood before I did.
“Already?”
“It was expedited.”
My pulse changed.
I hated that.
I had told myself the test was only information.
Information should not make your knees weak.
Dr. Shah’s expression gave nothing away.
“We need confirmatory testing.”
My mother clasped her hands.
“But?”
He looked directly at me.
“The preliminary result suggests you may be a full sibling match.”
My father inhaled sharply.
Megan covered her mouth.
My mother began crying before he finished speaking.
I stayed still.
Through the glass, Daniel was watching us.
He could not hear Dr. Shah from where he lay.
He saw our mother cry and looked terrified.
I picked up the hallway phone.
He answered after the first ring.
“What happened?”
My throat felt tight.
“The first test says I might match.”
He closed his eyes.
For half a second, relief crossed his face.
Then he opened them again.
“You don’t have to.”
My mother whispered, “Daniel.”
He could not hear her.
I could.
I turned my back on her.
Daniel said, “Clare, listen to me.”
“I am.”
“If you say no, I won’t ask again.”
I looked at him through the glass.
“You already said you want to live.”
“I do.”
“Then why say that?”
His voice went quiet.
“Because I finally understand that wanting something from you doesn’t make it mine.”
I had no answer.
Behind me, my mother was crying into my father’s shoulder.
Three years earlier, Lily had asked me whether people could be sorry and still be bad.
I had told her people were more complicated than that because I thought mothers were supposed to give wise answers.
The truth was I still did not know.
I touched the tape inside my elbow.
“I’m going home.”
Daniel nodded.
“Okay.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
His eyes filled again.
He looked away before I could.
Megan reached for her coat.
“I’ll walk you out.”
My mother stepped forward.
“Clara, before you go.”
I turned.
She wiped her face.
“The account.”
“What about it?”
“I’ll transfer it tonight.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I don’t want your money.”
“It is your money.”
“Then tomorrow you can bring me every statement from that account.”
Her face tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know where every dollar came from.”
My father looked at her.
She looked at him.
There it was again.
That small current between them.
I saw it now because I had learned to watch for it.
“What?” I asked.
Neither answered.
I stepped closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
My father looked sick.
My mother said his name.
He ignored her.
“The account wasn’t funded only by us and Daniel.”
I stared at him.
“Who else?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
When he lowered them, he looked ten years older.
“Lily.”
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.
“What do you mean, Lily?”
My father looked at the floor.
My mother sat down again.
Nobody reached for her this time.
“After she died,” he said, “there was money left in the fundraising account.”
My stomach turned.
The fundraiser had been started by Lily’s third-grade teacher when the Boston deposit became impossible.
May you like
Parents from her school donated.
People from my office donated.
