Page 101 of When Lemons Give You Life

Another sniff. “Yes, the specialist confirmed it. I’m not well, Tommy.”

My grip tightens around the receiver, slippery with sweat. “How bad is it?”

“Bad. I had an infection. It shot my kidney function. I’m going to have to start dialysis. And I’m going on the transplant list.”

Transplant! I close my eyes, Mum’s hollow frame rising unbidden in my mind. Please, Griff. Please do this for me.

“What hospital?”

“St. Mary’s. I’m scared, Tom. There’s such a long wait, I’m exactly the same rare type as Mum, and you know how that ended . . .”

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“How?”

“Griff,” I blurt, without thinking.

“Gosh, I forgot how long it’s been since we spoke. There’s so much to catch up on.” She sighs. “You probably saw it in the papers—Griff has dementia, like Beau did.”

“Oh, yes, right, I—”

“I don’t have the energy to go into all of it now. The short version is even if he is a match, he can’t donate.”

“You think he wouldn’t want to?”

“I know he wouldn’t.”

The words land like a slap. “What, why?”

“You know what it was like for me growing up. And he never forgave me for Beau, and then there’s the stuff with Mum.”

My chest constricts. For all Lisa knows, I wasn’t a match for Mum and therefore won’t be a match for her.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” I can’t hide the urgency in my voice.

“Even if he did want to, he can’t legally consent because he’s been diagnosed with dementia. I spoke through all options with the transplant coordinator.”

“But he’s listed as an organ donor.”

“Yes, but . . . Wait, how do you know that?”

“You mentioned it once,” I say, too loud.

“It doesn’t help. Being a registered organ donor is only relevant after death.”

“Death?” A chill flushes over me. I glance over at Beau’s urn, The Death Menu flipping through my mind.

“Why did this have to happen? Why now, Tommy? You know I’m finally coming to peace with the real Lisa . . . ? I’m even beginning to like her. And I met a guy! His name is Frank, he plays guitar at the nursing home. He sees me. I don’t have to pretend with him. We’re in love, Tom, I want to spend my life with him. But I want a proper life, not one tied to a dialysis machine.”

My gut aches. I knew she was dating Frank, but I didn’t know it was serious. Why couldn’t she tell me this stuff instead of playing that damn ukulele? Oh god. Is that why she was asking about the size seventeen shoes? Now I can’t unsee it!

Her voice lifts into a giggle. “He’s so kind, like Beau.”

Her laugh feels like oxygen after I’ve been holding my breath for too long. “That’s . . . that’s wonderful,” I say. And it is. It really is.

“You know what’s ironic, Tommy? I found out that Griff actually—”