Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“She’s been waiting,” Susan went on quietly. “But there are so many people who need them. And the long-term…”
My head swam with questions. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
I thought back to sixteen. Living in the U.P., dreaming of one day getting out of Michigan altogether, working for prestigious publications, living a glamorous life.
Did this girl—
God, I didn’t even remember her name.
“What’s her name? I don’t remember from the…” I waved my hand so I wouldn’t have to say “obituary”, again. I didn’t want to bring it up, anymore. Suddenly, it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.
“Molly.”
Did Molly dream about her life in the future? Or was she just waiting to see if it was worth the bother?
I couldn’t stand to think of a kid in that situation. But was it so unbearable that I would just break off a piece of my body for a stranger?
Susan said, “My mom is beside herself. First losing Dad, then this. It would kill her to lose Molly, too. I know it would me, if she were my kid. I don’t know how people—”
A vision of Emma swam through my mind, and the haunted despair I caught in Neil’s eyes, still. It would always be there, a wound that would never heal.
Susan’s voice stuttered to a halt, whatever word she’d been about to say frozen in her throat. She blinked quickly and looked away. “My god. I should not be saying this stuff. Not to you.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. But it wasn’t her fault that she’d struck a nerve. Yes, she’d read my book. That didn’t necessarily mean that it felt real to her. I hadn’t even become real to her until lately.
Unless it did. Unless that’s why she’d started talking about her mom and losing a child. Maybe she hadn’t read the book on the plane at all. Maybe she’d read it then formulated this plan to come get my kidney.
“This is a lot, I know,” she said. “And I wouldn’t ask, but my little sister’s life is on the line.” Her eyes searched mine, pleading for something she should never have asked for.
What would I have done to spare Neil his pain? What lengths would I have gone to, to keep Emma alive?
Why had it taken something so dire to make Susan acknowledge my existence?
I didn’t look away. Not even to blink. “Would you have contacted me if it wasn’t?”
Her features, an eerie imitation of my own, froze in shock. I doubted she’d expected to be held accountable in her father’s place. A similar scene had almost certainly played out in her mind while she’d made up her decision to come here. It might have even have held her back at the door. But I had no doubt that she’d never thought, upon hearing her tale of woe, that I would remain unmoved enough to think about myself.
Being self-centered obviously ran in the family. But I was much better at it.
Finally, she admitted, “Never in a thousand years.”
I made a split decision. The only one I could in the moment. “I need time to think. How long are you staying in New York?”
“Until Sunday. That’s when the conference is over.”
A week-long construction business conference? Where the fuck do I sign up for that bore fest?
It made me feel a little better to be mean in my head.
“Give your number to Mel on the way out,” I instructed. “Maybe I’ll call you before you leave. If not…”
“Then, it’s a no.” Her jaw clenched visibly.
I shook my head. “No. It just means that I needed more than a week to figure out if I want to donate an organ to a stranger.”
Susan stood and hesitated in front of my desk for a moment, as though she expected me to say something else or stand and shake her hand. I just stared her down. Her spine straightened, and she smoothed her blouse. “Thank you for your time.”
Maybe that had been intentionally cruel, calling them strangers. I wasn’t sure. Of, like, anything at all. And the worst part was, if someone asked me if I wanted to donate an organ to a stranger, I probably would have said yes by now. This was for my own sister, and I was on the fence?
She left, closing the door behind her, and I sat in silence broken only by the buzzing of my pulse in my ears. What was I supposed to do, now? Think it over? Do more Facebook spying? How much information would it take to convince me to save a life for people who’d never cared about mine?
How much could I reasonably blame on them, and not on Joey Tangen? As far as I knew, he might have forbidden them from contacting me. Or maybe they’d wanted to but didn’t know how. Maybe they’d just given up.