Griff
The lamp throws a pool of light across the room. Beyond the door, the facility is dark and still. Scotty’s fork sinks into
the sponge cake, the crumb so soft it barely holds together. Today’s lesson is about desserts. His eyes drift to my notebook
on my bedside table. He runs a finger across the gold-embossed lettering. “My nan’s name was Lorraine too. She used to tell
everyone she invented quiche Lorraine! Swore it was named after her.”
I laugh. “My mum said that at a party once, if I recall.”
“It’s a lovely way to honor her,” he says, finishing the remaining bite of cake.
I nod and turn away, the old sadness settling in.
“How did she die?” Scotty asks.
I pause, watching the wind stir the trees outside. “A genetic kidney disease. Didn’t get a transplant in time.”
The old words chill the air: Please, Griff. Please do this for me.
“Oh. Sorry to hear that. Genetic? Does that mean you and your sister have it too?”
“Thankfully we didn’t develop it, and the risk has passed now.”
“So neither of you was a match for her? That must’ve been heartbreaking. Sorry, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t
want.”
My breathing hitches. I’m about to change the subject when a thought stops me cold: maybe I do want to talk about it.
It’s haunted me for all these years. I never even told Beau.
As he was Lisa’s best friend, I’d already forced him into that impossible space between us, keeping Brent’s truth hidden.
I couldn’t load him with any more. But Scotty is someone unrelated. Someone with just as much compassion.
So I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath and tell him everything.
That I was a match for Mum. And I lied about it.