Page 115 of When Lemons Give You Life

Frank’s jaw drops. “He . . . he told you?”

“Yes.” Evan catches my eye as he walks past, still red in the face. “He told me. I understand why he thought he shouldn’t, but I’m glad he did. I’d hate to be kept in the dark.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize he’d come to!” Frank says slowly, puzzled.

I shrug. It doesn’t seem surprising that Evan came too, given this is a teaching hospital where students shadow nurses.

“That must’ve been a hard call to make,” Frank says, placing the flowers beside the phone. “Did he tell you everything?”

“Well, he told me he donated, and I . . . connected the dots.” The room tilts as I suck in a shaky breath. “I’m sure I’ll hear the full story later. I—I can’t think straight. My head’s all over the place.”

Frank nods, swallowing. “It must have been a huge shock. It was for me too.” His hand lingers before he presses a Kleenex into mine. “But I’m so relieved that you know, and that you’re taking the news so well. I was sworn to secrecy.”

My fingers tighten around the tissue until it’s nothing but a damp, crumpled ball. A sob wrenches from my chest. I press my hands to my face as the truth crashes over me. He’s gone. He’s gone. And I never got to tell him . . .

Frank’s hand is warm on my shoulder, grounding me even as my world splinters. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to sift through my torrent of emotions. All I know is the aching, gaping hole he left behind.

“You alright, love? Why don’t we ask the nurse for something?”

“Okay, that’d be good.” Hopefully whatever they give me will work on emotional pain too.

Frank ducks out.

“Oh, Ratbag,” I whisper into my oxygen mask. The grief that was so painfully stretched out over time has finally come to a head.

Frank returns with the nurse just as his phone rings. “Sorry, it’s my aunty calling. She wants to know how it went.” He steps outside the door to answer.

“Hi there, Lisa,” says Jane. “Frank’s been filling me in on all you’ve been told. You poor love. You must be in shock and in a bit of pain, are you, honey? I can give you something for that.”

I nod. “I can’t stop thinking about my brother.”

“I’m terribly sorry you found out like this. Evan has been reprimanded—he should have known better. And we’ll have to let Mr. Barlow know too, of course.”

I look out at Frank as she injects something into my drip. “Huh? Oh, he already knows, and he’s not my husband,” I mumble, a warm wave spreading through my body. The pain in my belly drops away, but it does nothing for the ache in my chest.

“Would you like to see him tomorrow?”

I hesitate. Dead bodies have always freaked me out, yet this might be my only chance to say goodbye. “Please let me see him now. I don’t want to wait.”

She looks me up and down, brows furrowed. “We’d usually want you to rest another day . . . Given the circumstances, though, we can take you there this afternoon in a wheelchair if you’re feeling okay.”

I know what this means: the morgue. I block out mental images of gray feet with toe tags and stainless-steel countertops.

Frank is back, his eyes full of sympathy. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No thank you. I need to do this alone.”

A few hours later, Jane returns and assists me into a chair, my knuckles white as I grip the cold armrests, doubting my decision to lay eyes upon my dead brother. But I’m already moving.

The nausea that has been niggling all day grows as we reach the lift. The nurse presses a button. I can’t see which one, but even in my groggy state, I swear we are going up not down. Although my knowledge of this is based on television, I assumed that morgues were always in the basement.

We stop, and the lift doors open. Machines hum. Monitors beep. The lights hurt my eyes, and I squint to make sense of the shapes around me. I’m wheeled past rooms with glass walls. If two decades of binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy have taught me anything, it’s that this isn’t the morgue, it’s the ICU. I guess he passed away here and hasn’t been moved yet.

“You ready, love?” the nurse asks.

I murmur something that sounds like yes, while everything in me screams no.

She wheels me into a glass room where he lies, pale and still, a myriad of tubes still stuck into him.