Page 92 of When Lemons Give You Life

The irony slaps me in the face. A compatible kidney—right there, inside the body of a man who couldn’t bring himself to help his own mother. So why on earth would he help me? And now, even if he wanted to, he can’t consent. Locked inside his own mind. Unable to say yes. Unable to say no.

A good kidney. Close enough to imagine. Too far to reach.

I press my forehead to my knees and scream until my throat burns.

Could Beau have known? The thought slices through me, sharp and unwelcome. He was Griff’s heart. If anyone knew the truth, it would’ve been him. And maybe he tried to tell me, back then, when the words were slipping from his reach.

59

Lisa (age 49)

January 2023

The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull into their drive. The carer’s hatchback is parked in the driveway; Griff must still be at the restaurant.

Through the kitchen window I see Beau pacing the room, his face crumpled in confusion. Julie stands close by in her white uniform, hands half raised as if to steady him.

“Please, I don’t know who you are,” he says, voice rough with panic. “You are scaring me. Please leave! Griff? Griff! Where are you?”

Julie glances up in relief as I step through the front door. “He’s been agitated all day; it’s getting worse, I’m afraid. He only wants Griff.”

I cross the room quickly and crouch beside Beau. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s me. Lisa. You’re safe.”

His eyes lift, darting from mine back to the carer. “Lisa? Yes . . . Lisa.”

I squeeze his arm gently, forcing calm into my voice. “Thanks, Julie. I’ll stay with him until Griff comes home. You can go now.”

She leaves with a grateful nod as Beau sits at the kitchen table. His eyes dance with joy, then flicker with confusion.

“Lisa? Hello, lovely. What are you doing here?”

My throat tightens, but I manage a smile as I take a seat opposite him.

“You asked me to come. We just spoke on the phone.”

He frowns.

“You said it was important,” I coax, recalling his frantic call to me less than an hour ago. “Something about . . . a dad. You said we needed to talk about it in person.”

The word lands, and for a second he brightens. He nods, almost relieved. “Dad . . . yes, yes. Yours. Or Griff’s. Or was it mine?” The words wobble out of him.

I lean over and rub his shoulder. “What about him?”

He stares at me with such effort, as though he’s chasing his thoughts down a dark corridor. His lips move, but nothing comes. Finally, his voice breaks. “I shouldn’t. Griff said . . . no. He says no to a lot of things. But I think maybe I’m going somewhere—or at least a part of me is—and I have to tell you before I leave.”

“Where are you going, Beau?”

“The same place as my dad.”

Beau’s dad had died of Alzheimer’s before we met. My mind drifts back to the phone call. Did he want to tell me more about him?

“There was a very, very bad man, Lisa.”

“Where was he—the bad man?”

“The bad man . . . he’s gone, but he’s still living in Griff’s head.”

Poor Beau. He must mean Griff, and be trying, in his muddled way, to explain my brother’s temper. Worn ragged from the restaurant, from being a caregiver, from everything pressing in on him. Still, the words cling like burrs. The bad man.