Page 113 of When Lemons Give You Life

“But you have. And you’ve been doing it for years. You ran out on your dying mother and never looked back. You ghosted your own sister because you couldn’t handle the mess.”

A familiar defensiveness rises in my chest before I can stop it. “Well, she got her own back, didn’t she? I assume she told you what happened at our engagement party. With Beau.”

“She did. And it’s gutted her for years. But withholding your forgiveness? That’s what’s tortured her.”

I shift in my chair.

“That’s not the only thing you’ve lied about. Lisa told me—” Frank’s phone vibrates on the table; he snatches it up. “It’s the hospital. I have to take this.” He stands and heads outside.

I stare at him through the glass like I’m watching a giant TV, a viewer who is powerless to change the narrative unfolding before him. Is it a feel-good story where everything turns out okay in the end? Or is this a tragic drama where the leading lady is too late to receive a transplant and dies?

Frank’s face crumples. His shoulders cave in as he bursts into tears, letting out a sound I feel in my chest.

The hope I’ve been clutching slips through my fingers.

He comes back in, slower this time, and sits opposite me. His cheeks are wet, but he is smiling. “They found her a match.”

I nod with relief. “I know. You’re looking at him.”

74

Griff

Through the glass panel in the door, I can just make her out: Lisa, asleep in the hospital bed, her face soft against the stark white sheets. It’s nearly 11 p.m., well past visiting hours, but I asked Frank to bring me. I just needed to lay eyes on her once more, to say goodbye.

She’s in her early fifties, but she looks like a young adult again—the weak, scared, lonely girl who needed me when Mum died. Not just to protect her, but to see her and love her too. A woman who lost her best friend to early-onset Alzheimer’s, then stood by her ratbag of a brother as he succumbed to the same fate. Even when he’d pushed her away and withheld forgiveness.

Turns out food is love. And Lisa has been feeding it to me—quietly, fiercely, one Anzac biscuit at a time. “Ratbag” is too nice a word.

The light in the room has been dimmed, yet I’ve never seen her so clearly. I look at her face, and for the first time, I feel no resentment and see no trace of her father, or my mistake. Only our beautiful mother.

“You should tell her, Griff,” pleads Frank.

I shake my head. “It wouldn’t help her.”

He glances at the nurse. “Can it really be anonymous?”

She hesitates. “I’ll admit, it’s highly irregular and not our usual recommendation. But with the recently revised guidelines in light of the national donor shortage and her agreeing to anonymous donation, the ethics committee has signed off.”

Frank folds his arms. “You’re asking a lot. For me to conceal this.”

“I know.” My chest heaves. “And I hate that. You weren’t supposed to be dragged into it. I didn’t expect to bump into you. Please, Frank, I’m not going to force you—but if you can let her have this without knowing where it came from, then I’ll be forever grateful.”

“I don’t know how I can, it’s too big.”

“I wish I was a better man, Frank, and there was some other solution, but this is the only way I can do it. The thing is, I’m afraid that if she finds out she may not even accept my kidney.”

His face softens. For the first time, I think he sees it—not just the lie, but the fear underneath. “Yeah.” The pushback has dropped from his voice. “You may be right about that. But she’s stronger than you assume. Don’t you think she’d want to know, that she deserves to know?”

“I think she shouldn’t have to carry it. Not the truth, not me. She’s finally starting to live without all of it. I don’t deserve her in my life.”

He exhales. Doesn’t agree but doesn’t walk away either. And that’s enough.

The nurse checks her watch. “A member of the transplant team will be in touch tomorrow to get things started.”

Frank grabs my shoulder. “Thank you, Griff. I can’t say I agree with your methods, but you’re a lifesaver—literally. And for that I won’t say anything.”

No one has ever called me a lifesaver before. For most of my life, I’ve believed the opposite—that I wreck things just by existing.