Griff
Scotty stares at me, unblinking. “So you never told Lisa you were a match?”
“Nope. I would have if she needed a kidney, but it never came to that.”
He frowns. “Geez. That’s a lot of secrets to keep. I’ve been worried about seeing Lisa again. Don’t think I could look her
in the eye, knowing what I know. I get now why you faked it, I do . . . but how could you put her through this? Make her believe
you’re sick? She seems like such a nice person. Always makes me a coffee when I come to walk the dogs.”
Something bitter curls in my gut, slow and sour. “Our relationship was over after Beau and I got engaged, and it was never
great to begin with. We had a messed-up childhood.”
“How so?”
“She’s my half-sister, thirteen years between us. Her dad was an abusive bastard who made me feel wrong for everything I am.
I spent most of my childhood trying to shield her from him and the rest of it trying to disappear. She doesn’t know what I
went through.”
Scotty’s face twists in sorrow. “Oh mate, that’s shit. I’m sorry. But why wouldn’t you tell her?”
“I promised our mother I wouldn’t. Lisa was so young, and Mum thought this was the best way.” A familiar unease passes through
me, and I quickly change the topic. “Anyway, she only came back into my life when Beau got diagnosed. I figured she’d stop
visiting after he died.”
“But she’s here all the time, thinking you’re as good as gone.”
“You don’t understand what she did.”
“What could be so bad that she deserves this?”
I tell him about the engagement party, the public humiliation, the kiss, the way she looked at Beau like every other straight
girl who thought he should’ve been hers. Like I was standing in the way of some fantasy she felt entitled to.
He shakes his head. “And you didn’t speak to her after that?”
“Not for the better part of two decades. Not until Beau got sick.”
“Did he forgive her?”
I sigh. “Eventually. They were never quite the same, but they’d meet every month or so for a meal or a movie. I didn’t like
it, but I dealt with it. Beau was the most forgiving person on the planet. He begged me to forgive her too, but I couldn’t.
It wasn’t as though it was just that one event; there was too much baggage.”
“And now you can’t?”
“Can’t what?”
“Forgive. Because that would mean fessing up, right?”
A weight presses on my chest. “It doesn’t matter. I’d already decided our relationship was a write-off on the day I got ‘diagnosed.’”
He stands, pacing the room. “I’ve been wanting to ask . . . how exactly did you fake something so big?”
“I created it, step by step. Just like a recipe.”