They sat.
Hours.
No speeches.
Mark bought coffee.
Wrong order.
Rebecca drank anyway.
At 8:13, message arrived from Marlene.
Raymond out. Surgeon says doing well.
Rebecca cried.
At 10:27, transplant surgeon appeared.
Rebecca stood so fast chair fell.
“The kidney is in.”
She stopped breathing.
“Blood flow is excellent.”
Rebecca covered mouth.
Mark’s hands went to head.
The surgeon continued.
“There are no guarantees.”
“Early period matters.”
“But technically, procedure went as planned.”
Rebecca heard only one phrase.
The kidney is in.
Lily woke hours later.
Confused.
In pain.
She whispered:
“Did it work?”
Rebecca leaned close.
“It’s working right now.”
“Bear?”
“He’s okay.”
Lily closed eyes.
“Good.”
Then:
“Do I have Oregon kidney?”
Rebecca laughed.
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
She slept.
Recovery was not miraculous.
There were complications.
A fever that terrified everyone.
Medication adjustments.
Rejection scare that turned out manageable.
Pain.
Nausea.
A urinary catheter Lily hated more than almost anything.
Raymond’s recovery hurt too.
He later admitted he had underestimated it.
Marlene said:
“Of course you did.”
He walked hunched for weeks.
The club mocked him gently.
He threatened them.
Rebecca sent updates only with Lily’s permission.
Then one afternoon Raymond visited.
No vest.
Loose shirt.
Walking carefully.
Lily sat upright for first time in days.
Her skin had a little more color.
Raymond stopped at doorway.
She smiled.
“You look bad.”
He laughed, then grabbed his side.
“Don't make me laugh.”
“You gave away wrong kidney.”
“Apparently.”
He sat.
Lily held crossword book.
“You want this?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Kid.”
“You wrote in margins.”
“Those were notes.”
“You cheated.”
Raymond stared at Rebecca.
“She gets this from you.”
Rebecca smiled.
“Probably.”
Lily became serious.
“Does the person have your kidney?”
Raymond nodded.
“Yep.”
“Are they okay?”