Chapter 11 - The kidney inside him
Victor was rushed back to the hospital.
Rejection?
No.
The kidney was functioning.
He had suffered a cardiac event triggered by stress and underlying disease.
I did not go.
That surprised everyone, including me.
Twenty-two years had trained my body to move toward his emergencies automatically.
That reflex was finally breaking.
Rita went.
For Lucas.
Not for Victor.
Later she called me.
“He keeps asking for you.”
“I’m not coming.”
“He says he has to tell you something.”
“He has lawyers.”
“He says it isn’t about the case.”
I almost hung up.
Then Rita said:
“It’s about your cancer.”
That brought me to the hospital.
Not his bedside.
A conference room.
Victor was brought in by wheelchair.
Pale.
Weak.
Still wearing the body that now contained part of mine.
For a moment, I hated biology.
Then he spoke.
“I knew.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He knew the mass was likely malignant before the transplant.
Not confirmed.
But more suspicious than I had been told.
My hands turned cold.
“How?”
Dr. West had obtained an informal radiology review.
The reviewer thought cancer was possible.
Victor panicked.
“If the transplant board delayed, I might lose my chance.”
“So you altered my file.”
“I told West to make sure nothing unnecessary stopped surgery.”
Unnecessary.
“My cancer was unnecessary?”
His eyes filled.
“I was dying.”
“So you decided maybe I could instead?”
“No!”
He cried out.
Then clutched his chest.
A nurse stepped forward.
He waved her away.
“I thought they could treat yours later.”
There it was.
Not murder.
Something uglier in a quieter way.
He had weighed my risk against his need.
And chosen himself without letting me vote.
“What about the insurance?”
He closed his eyes.
“Debt.”
“The house?”
“Debt.”
“Rita?”
Silence.
“Lucas?”
Tears appeared.
“I wanted him provided for.”
“And me?”
Victor looked at my scarred incision area beneath my blouse.
For perhaps the first time, he had no answer.
I removed nothing.
There was no ring left to remove.
I stood carefully.
“Sarah.”
I stopped.
“I loved you.”
I looked back.
“I believe you.”
He looked surprised.
“That’s not forgiveness.”
Love had existed.
So had betrayal.
Both could be true.
Then he whispered:
“West started the fire.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“He was supposed to destroy the medical records.”
“Did you order him?”
Victor shook his head.
“Kline told him the police were closing in. West panicked.”
Maybe.
Or maybe Victor was still redirecting blame.
Before I could decide, police entered.
Not for Victor.
For me.
The detective looked apologetic.
“Mrs. Vance, we need to talk about your manila envelope.”
“What about it?”
“It contained something you never mentioned.”
I frowned.
Then remembered.
May you like
Beneath the oncology report had been an old handwritten letter from my mother.
And investigators believed that letter changed who legally owned the Brookline house.
