“I’m compatible with somebody else.”
“What?”
“Different recipient.”
Rebecca frowned.
Raymond continued.
“They talked to me about paired exchange.”
Rebecca stared.
She knew term vaguely.
“If my kidney can go to someone who needs it, their donor—or another person in chain—might match Lily.”
Her heart began beating again.
“You’d still donate?”
He looked offended.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it wouldn’t go to Lily.”
Raymond stared at her.
Then shook his head.
“Rebecca.”
“What?”
“The point is she gets one.”
She covered her mouth.
He continued.
“They’re checking network.”
“No guarantees.”
“I know.”
“Could take time.”
“I know.”
“Could fall apart.”
“I know.”
Raymond leaned back.
“You say that a lot.”
“I live here.”
The paired exchange coordinator became part of their lives.
A possible three-way exchange appeared.
Then collapsed because one donor developed a medical issue.
A second possibility emerged.
Then recipient became too ill temporarily.
Every chain felt like watching bridges assembled over water while standing at the edge.
Mark’s testing continued somewhere in the background.
Rebecca eventually received a call.
Not from him.
From donor coordinator asking whether she was willing to discuss a directed donor who had completed early evaluation.
She immediately knew.
“Mark.”
The coordinator could not confirm without permission.
Then Mark called.
“I’m a match.”
Rebecca sat in her car outside hospital.
Her chest tightened.
“How sure?”
“They said compatible.”
“Full approval?”
“Not yet.”
“Then don't say match.”
“I’m trying.”
His voice cracked.
Rebecca went quiet.
Mark continued.
“I was wrong.”
She said nothing.
“I don't mean about scar.”
“I mean everything.”
“Okay.”
“I want to do it.”
“For her?”
“Yes.”
“Or because everybody knows?”
“Rebecca.”
“I need to ask.”
“For her.”
Silence.
Then:
“And because I hate who I was on that phone call.”
That was more honest.
Rebecca looked through windshield.
Rain.
Always rain.
“What does your fiancée think?”
Long pause.
“We’re not engaged anymore.”
Rebecca closed eyes.
She had predicted.
Still.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
He almost laughed.