The Law of Bound Hearts (28 page)

Libby swallowed against the bitterness. How had Hannah held on to hope when she knew she was dying? When all her hopes and dreams were already dead? How did one stand fast and hold on to that kind of faith?

The oppression of lost hope weighed in Libby's chest.

Promises were only a setup for disappointment. It was better not to wish for anything, not to hope.

Sam walked into Libby's den. She was filled with worry about her sister and could not stop wondering where Libby had gone and when she would return. It had occurred to her that Libby could be holed up in a motel, running off as she had earlier that fall. The thought left her limp, helpless. She wondered when Richard would be home. Or maybe Libby had gone to him. That wasn't out of the question. They had seemed closer in recent days, warmer toward each other.

Sam reached around and pressed a palm against her back, poked her fingers into the flesh on either side of her spine. It felt the same as it always had. It occurred to her then that she didn't even know which side of her body held her one kidney. She hadn't asked the doctor, nor had she looked at the sonogram he had pushed across the desk. Outside in the street, a car slowed, and she felt the catch of hope in her throat, but by the time she got to the window and looked out, the car had passed by.

She crossed to the leather chair that had once belonged to their father. She missed him terribly, more as the years went on, which seemed strange to her. She would have expected to feel the loss lessening by now. “We're orphans,” Libby had said to her during a call after the plane crash, and at the time it had sounded melodramatic, but the truth of it grew with each passing year, as if all that counted in her past was being gradually erased, leaving her at sea.

At last she dialed Lee. When she heard his voice, her brittle self-control shattered. Between sobs, she told him the news Dr. Forest had given her. He listened, and his voice reached across the miles to console her.

“It'll be all right,” he said. “Listen to me, Sam. It'll be all right.”

“How?” Sam cried. “How will it be all right? Do you know the odds of Libby getting a kidney? Do you know how long the list is? There are thousands and thousands of people waiting for a transplant. Nearly sixty thousand people are waiting for a kidney every year. Every year, Lee. Do you know how many donors there are? About eighteen thousand. And that's counting cadavers.”

“I know.”

“I was her only hope.”

“Not her only hope,” he said.

“God, Lee. I feel so terrible.”

“I know.”

“And I'm scared. What will happen to her now?”

“Have faith.” His voice was confident.

“I'm trying,” she said. She ran her fingers over the brass nail-heads on the chair arm.

“There's no try,” he said in his best Yoda imitation. “There is only do.”

How do you
do
faith, she wanted to ask.

After they hung up, as she waited for Libby to return, she kept picturing how her sister had looked when she learned Sam couldn't be a donor. Her face had crumpled and then hardened, set due north. It had made Sam's blood run backward. In that moment she knew Libby had given up.

Sam pressed her face against the leather wingback, smelled the scent of her father's cigar. After all these years, she was amazed it was still there. Have faith, Lee had said, so like something her father would have said. She wondered what her father would do. He certainly wouldn't give up. He would never give up. Just that knowledge gave her strength.

After several minutes, Sam picked up the phone again and dialed her brother's number.

“Josh,” she said when he answered. She couldn't believe she was actually getting through to him. Cynthia must be out. “It's Samantha.”

“Hey, Sam,” he said. “It's good to hear from you. How're you doing?” His voice sounded all Colorado health. “I just got back from a run.”

“I'm at Libby's,” she said.

“In Illinois?”

“Yes.” They hadn't informed Josh of her decision to be Libby's donor. On the advice of both Carlotta Hayes and Dr. Forest, she and Libby had agreed to wait until all the tests had been completed and the date for surgery set before saying anything to other family members and friends.

Now she told her brother everything, proud that her voice held steady and she did not cry.

He asked Josh-like questions about what the doctor had said. “God, what bad luck for Libby,” he said.

“That's why I'm calling, Josh,” she said.

“Why?” His voice was suddenly wary.

“Will you be tested, Josh? Just to see if it's even possible for you to be a donor for Libby?”

“Sam—”

“It doesn't mean that you're making any kind of commitment,” she said, cutting him off. “Just be tested.” If he would just agree to this, it would be the first tiny step in getting him to change his mind.

“Why?”

“To see if you are even a match.”

“Why?” he repeated. “There's no point if I'm not going to be a donor.”

She swallowed. “If you could just see her, Josh. It would break your heart.”

The wire hummed. “Listen, Sam,” he finally said. “I'll come out there, if that will help. I'll hold her hand. Hell, I'll hold both of your hands. I can send some money if that's a problem. But I'm firm on this. I can't be a donor.”

“Because Cynthia won't let you.” Her voice was flat, accusing.

“Don't blame this on Cynthia. It's my decision.”

Sam thought about what the social worker had told her. Choosing to be a donor was a deeply personal, complicated, and emotional decision. Some people couldn't do it, not even for a person they loved. It wasn't a question of being selfish, the social worker had said, although it had seemed so to Sam. Still seemed so.

“She's your sister, Josh. Don't you love her?”

“That's below the belt, Sam.”

No, it isn't, Sam thought. No matter what the social worker had said, if you loved someone, it wasn't about how could you think of giving a kidney, it was how could you not.

“I'm not going to defend myself on this, Sam,” Josh said.

“Okay,” she said. She heard the resolve in his voice and admitted defeat. What did Libby call him? Switzerland. The neutral nation.

“Any other news?” he asked, as if this were now an ordinary conversation.

“Not that you care,” she said. “But I'm getting married.”

“I care, Sam. Don't punish me because I can't do this thing you want.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. But she wasn't.

“Married, huh?” he continued. “Who's the lucky guy?”

“His name's Lee.” She couldn't go on. “I'll write you all the details.”

“And you'll let us know the big date?” he said. “You'll send us an invitation to the wedding?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, then. Well, give Libby my love.”

But not your kidney.
“I will,” she said.

Don't sit around waiting for an invitation, she thought after she hung up. I'd invite the ghost of Richard Nixon before I'd ask you to my wedding. But of course, she would. For better or worse, she was not a neutral nation.

Sam and Libby

Richard woke suddenly in the night and threw back the blankets.

“What is it?” Libby mumbled, surprised to find that she had fallen asleep after all. The strain of the previous evening—the three of them pretending everything would be all right—had brought on a bout of insomnia.

“Noises,” Richard said. He cocked his head, listening, then looked toward the ceiling. “I think it's coming from the attic.”

“Are you sure?” Libby held her breath, listened.

“There?” he said. “Did you hear that?” He got up and pulled on a robe.

From the space above her head came a faint scrabbling sound, barely discernible. How on earth could such a muted noise have woken Richard from sleep? She stayed in bed while he went to investigate, listened to his footsteps on the attic stairs, then the creaking of beams as he crossed directly overhead. What was up there? Mice? She shuddered at the idea.

“We've got a squirrel problem,” Richard announced when he returned minutes later.

“Terrific,” she said. “All we need now is vermin chewing up the attic.” It seemed the last straw. She suddenly remembered how Carlotta had told her that one crisis in a family would sometimes precipitate another one, often setting off a domino effect, with one calamity following another, until it felt like the trials of Job had befallen them—although she supposed a squirrel in the attic didn't qualify as a catastrophe. At the time of that conversation, she had been telling Carlotta about Mercedes leaving school. She had said she felt like she'd been dropped into the middle of a soap opera. In fact, if all this had been written into a script in one of the daytime soaps, Libby would have flicked the television off, impatient with the impossible drama of it all. And then Carlotta had said it wasn't completely unpredictable that Mercy should behave this way. “It is not at all unusual for a child to act out when a parent is seriously ill,” she'd said. “Wreck a car or get into drugs. Or for a spouse to have an affair.” On that scale, Libby supposed, Mercy's dropping out seemed relatively minor.

“Actually,” Richard was saying, “it looks like we've got a family of them.”

“A family?” Libby had lost track of the conversation.

“Of squirrels.”

“How long do you think they've been there?” Libby asked. She thought about the boxes stored up there. Christmas decorations, summer clothes. Odd furnishings. “How do you suppose they got in?” An accusatory tone crept into her voice, as if he were to blame. “Have they done any damage?”

“I don't know, Elizabeth,” Richard said. “It's the middle of the night. I didn't take an inventory.”

His tone was sharp, but she preferred it to the solicitous way he'd spoken to her lately, as if she would break if a breeze swept though the room.

“I'll take care of it in the morning,” he said, now contrite. “I'll get a Haveahart trap.”

“I don't care if you get a I-Don't-Give-a-Shit Trap. Just get them out of there.”

She slid out of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.”

“Now?”

“I won't be able to get back to sleep.”

“Want me to come with you? I could heat some milk.”

“There's no sense in both of us being up.”

“Are you sure?”

“I won't die if I go to the kitchen unescorted,” she said.

“Lib—,” he began, but she didn't wait for him to finish.

There was a ribbon of light beneath Sam's door, and for a minute Libby paused. Then she continued down to the kitchen. In the corner, Lulu lifted her head and gave a few halfhearted thwacks with her tail, but did not get up. Chin on crossed paws, the greyhound watched as Libby flicked on the lamp on the side table.

She couldn't believe how much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Had it been just yesterday morning when they'd sat at the table eating breakfast, too excited to do more than nibble on toast? Was it just yesterday that the future had seemed so promising? When they had talked about “our kidney” and joked about joint custody?

“Hey.” Sam entered the kitchen.

“Hi,” Libby said. “Did Richard wake you?”

“Richard?”

“I thought maybe he woke you when he went up to the attic.”

“No. I was awake. I couldn't sleep.”

“He heard noises up there. Squirrels. Would you like some tea? There's decaf and herbal.”

“I can get it.” Sam crossed to the range. “You don't have to wait on me.”

Libby sat at the table and watched as Sam moved about the kitchen, turned the gas on beneath the kettle.

“Lib?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do now?” Sam crossed to stand behind Libby's chair and began to massage her sister's neck.

Libby shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I think you should send Josh that book for organ donors,” Sam said after a minute. “Get him some information.”

“Forget about Josh, Sam. I'm not going to beg.”

“Well, someone should. He's your brother.”

“And he has a right to not want to do this.”

“I can't believe you can accept that so easily. You'd be there for him. You know you would.”

Libby reached a hand up and stroked Sam's fingers. “Not everyone has the same idea of family obligations,” she said. She wasn't sure she did herself. What, if anything, did a person owe other family members?

“Christ, every time some famous athlete or actor needs a kidney, people line up to donate one, but Josh won't even
consider
giving one to his own sister.” Sam spread her fingers over Libby's scalp, massaged her temples. “Maybe you should try and find someone willing to sell you one.”

“Great idea. Unfortunately, it's illegal.”

“Well, they should make it legal. They should let you be able to pay someone for an organ.”

Libby stayed silent. This thought had occurred to her.

“I mean, they let women rent their bodies for surrogate births, don't they? They let you sell your blood, for heaven's sake. Why not a kidney?”

The kettle was spewing steam and Sam went to get the tea. Libby started to laugh.

“What?” Sam said.

“I was just thinking of back when we were young. Remember how we were in search of the perfect orgasm?”

Sam turned, smiled. “Yeah. When two people making love come at exactly the same instant, right?”

“Yes.”

“God, we pursued that like it was the holy grail of sex.” Sam tilted her head in question. “What made you think of that now?”

“I was thinking that it was a waste of time.”

“Because it doesn't matter that much?”

“Because we could have spent the time forgetting the perfect orgasm and searching for the perfect organ.”

It wasn't that funny. Probably no one else would have laughed, but it set them off, made them helpless with laughter, until suddenly Libby was weeping and Sam could only hold her.

While Sam packed, Libby looked on. Sam knew her sister was resisting the impulse to take over the job herself. No one could pack a suitcase like Libby.

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay on for a few more days?” Sam said. “I could manage it. I don't have to go back. Honestly.”

Before Libby could answer, the phone rang. They both jumped. Libby grabbed it before the second ring; Sam stopped folding a pair of jeans. She held her breath.

“Hello?” Libby said, unable to keep an edge of eagerness from her voice.

Sam watched her sister's face, and although she knew it was improbable if not impossible, she prayed that it was Carlotta calling with the news that a match had been found. Then Sam wondered if that was the way it was going to be every time a call came into the house. The insurmountable, heartbreaking pull of hope.

“She's right here,” Libby was saying. She handed the receiver to Sam.

It was Lee.

“I'll give you some privacy,” Libby said and turned toward the door.

“That's okay,” Sam said, reaching out a hand to stop her, but Libby had already left.

Sam shoved the suitcase aside and sank down on the bed. “Hi,” she whispered, overcome with longing.

“Hey,” he said. “How's it going?”

“It's so sad, Lee,” she said. “It about breaks my heart.”

“I know.”

“And I'm so scared. What if she doesn't find a donor?” She waited for him to tell her to keep the faith.

“The very reason for my call,” he said.

“What?”

“Listen, don't say anything to Libby until we have more info, but we're getting tested.”

“Who's we?”

“My mother and me. To see if we're a match.”

“A match?” It took her another moment to take in what he was saying. And then the immensity of it stunned her. “Alice,” she said. “And you.”

“And Stacy.”

“Stacy?”

“Yes. We'll all getting tested.”

For one minute she let the beauty of what they were offering surround her. And then she let it go for the impossible dream that it was.

“Just hear me out, Sam,” Lee was saying. “This isn't a snap decision. We'd all talked about it earlier.”

“You did?”

“Well, at first it was just kind of a what-if scenario, like what if a sibling needed an organ, would you do it. And then it got more specific. Like what if Sam can't be a donor for Libby. Trust me, Sam, we've really thought about this.”

They didn't understand what they were offering. The hugeness of it. “You can't,” she said.

“Why can't we, Sam? Weren't you going to?”

“That's different. I'm her sister. I mean, your mother and Stacy don't even know Libby.”

Lee laughed. “Mom said that's exactly what you'd say. She said to tell you we're family. And that's what families do. They're there for each other.”

Sometimes
they are, Sam thought, thinking of Josh.

“And Stacy?” she asked. “What about her?”

“She says she's family, too. She says to tell you she's a water sign. She only needs one kidney. Sam? Are you there?”

“I'm here,” she said. “Tell her . . . tell her I'm grateful. She'll understand. Tell her I'm full of gratitude.”

And she was. She wept at the beauty of their offer, the magnificent generosity and wild love of it. For a minute, she let herself be cradled in the power of their love, even if the odds were surely against any one of them being a match for Libby.