“That’s exactly why I have to, sweetheart.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“I’m scared too, Sal.”
“I don’t know how to do this without you, Mark.”
“You don’t have to know yet.”
“What if I never know?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m scared too, Sal.”
“Then you’ll make it up as you go.”
I looked away.
“That’s a terrible plan.”
“It’s the only honest one I’ve got.”
I hated that answer.
“Then you’ll make it up as you go.”
***
By my eighth month, Mark had gotten weaker much faster than we’d expected.
One morning, I found him standing in front of the bedroom mirror, fighting with the buttons on his shirt.
“Give me that.”
“I’ve got it, Sally.”
“You’ve put the third button into the fourth hole.”
He looked down.
“Give me that.”
“Fashion.”
“You look like a confused accordion.”
That pulled a tired laugh out of him.
I stepped closer and fixed the buttons.
His hands had started shaking more often.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“You look like a confused accordion.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re memorizing me.”
I stopped.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
I finished the last button and smoothed his collar.
“Like you’re memorizing me.”
“I want to remember everything so I can tell our daughter who you really were.”
His expression changed, but before either of us could say more, he caught my wrist.
“My mom asked about the donation again.”
Violet had always been warm with me.
When morning sickness flattened me, she showed up with groceries and tiny yellow socks because, according to her, “That baby is going to drown in pink.”
“My mom asked about the donation again.”
“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.”
