“I’ll talk to her,” I said to my husband.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll listen to you.”
I frowned.
“That’s usually a good thing.”
“Not this time.”
“Because she’ll listen to you.”
“What happened?”
Mark sat on the edge of the bed.
“She thinks I shouldn’t donate.”
“She told you that?”
“More than once.”
“Did she say why?”
“She thinks I shouldn’t donate.”
He looked down at his hands.
“She can’t handle the idea that something of mine might belong to somebody else.”
I sat beside him.
“She’s losing her son, Mark. I can’t exactly be mad at her words…”
“I know.”
“Then maybe she needs time.”
“She’s losing her son, Mark.”
“She needs something to be angry at.”
His eyes met mine.
“And I don’t want that something to be you.”
I squeezed his hand.
“You’re asking me to stay out of it.”
“She needs something to be angry at.”
“I’m asking you not to make her grief your job.”
***
A few weeks later, Mark began asking to speak to Dr. Rivers alone.
The first time, I teased him about it.
The second time, I stayed by the door.
“What are you arranging?”
I teased him about it.
Mark leaned back against the pillows.
“Something I need to handle.”
“Without me?”
“Yes. But it’s for you.”
I stared at him.
“That’s somehow worse.”
“Something I need to handle.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Please trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then let me do this one thing myself.”
