Chapter 6

My place card was no longer beside my husband’s.

Blair’s was.

She sat at Rhys’s right hand beneath the warm light of the dining room chandelier, wearing a black dress and the modest smile of a woman embarrassed by too much attention.

My card waited halfway down the table.

In my own home, I had been rearranged into a guest.

“This is too much,” Blair said as Dean kissed her cheek. “Honestly, Rhys, I thought we were ordering pizza.”

“You deserve more than pizza.”

“I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t do for someone they loved.”

Her eyes rested on Rhys as she said it.

He didn’t look away.

The guests filled the remaining seats. Most greeted Blair first. Claire squeezed my arm as she passed, but she said nothing about the seating arrangement.

In the laundry room, the children’s books were still spread beneath two electric fans.

Here, the table gleamed with silverware, crystal and white roses.

Dean lifted his glass before the first course arrived.

“To Rhys’s guardian angel.”

Everyone drank.

Blair lowered her eyes. “Please don’t call me that.”

But she raised her glass with them.

One of Rhys’s friends smiled across the table.

“You’re a lucky man. The woman who saved your life on one side and the woman who takes care of it on the other.”

The guests laughed warmly.

No one noticed that I was no longer sitting beside him.

After dinner, Rhys stood and took a narrow velvet box from the sideboard.

Blair pressed a hand to her chest.

“Rhys, no. You’ve already done enough.”

“You haven’t even opened it.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

She held out her hand anyway.

Rhys opened the box. A silver bracelet rested against black velvet, its center engraved with a date.

The date of his transplant.

“Nothing I give you could equal what you gave me,” he said.

The room blurred for half a second.

I remembered white hospital lights. The chemical smell of antiseptic. Pain tearing through my side when I first tried to move.

Blair touched the engraving with one fingertip.

“You remembered the date.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

Her eyes shone as she handed the bracelet back to him.

“Put it on me?”

Rhys fastened it around her wrist. His fingers lingered against her pulse while the guests applauded.

Blair lifted her arm, admiring the inscription.

For the life you gave me.

I wrapped my hand around the stem of my water glass until the memory of hospital pain receded.

Dean tapped his spoon against his glass.

“We should hear from Mara.”

My head lifted.

Several guests murmured their agreement.

“She’s the one who benefits from Blair’s sacrifice every day,” he continued. “She should say something.”

Blair gave me a gentle smile.

“She doesn’t have to.”

The refusal was perfectly shaped. Soft enough to sound generous, confident enough to ensure everyone would insist.

Rhys rose again.

“Mara wanted to say a few words.”

I looked at him.

I had never agreed to speak.

He met my eyes across the flowers, calm and certain that I would protect him from an uncomfortable scene.

“I didn’t agree to this,” I said when he came close enough to hear.

His hand settled on the back of my chair.

“Without Blair, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to marry you. You owe her this toast.”

The sentence entered the same quiet place where he had placed suitable and She won’t leave.

Around us, his friends waited.

If I refused, I would be the jealous wife who could not thank the woman who saved her husband. If I walked away, Rhys would say I had humiliated Blair.

So I stood.

Blair watched me from the seat beside my husband.

“Rhys is right about one thing,” I began. “A living donation changes more than one life.”

The table grew quiet.

“It requires pain, recovery and years of follow-up. The donor carries that choice long after everyone else stops seeing it.”

Rhys’s expression softened. He thought I was finally giving him what he wanted.

Blair did not.

Her fingers closed around the new bracelet.

“I hope your donor follow-ups have gone well,” I said to her.

“They’ve been fine.” Her smile returned. “I’ve always been healthy.”

“That’s good. Which hospital handles them now that you’re back?”

A small pause followed.

“I’ve been traveling for years. I’ve seen doctors in different places.”

Claire lowered her wineglass. Dean glanced between us.

Rhys’s expression sharpened.

“Mara, what are you doing?”

“I’m honoring her.”

The answer sounded polite enough to pass, but Blair’s fingers tightened around her glass.

I kept my gaze on her.

“The transplant center would still keep in contact with you. Was it Portland? Boston?”

“It was a long time ago.” Blair laughed softly. “I don’t remember every doctor I met.”

“I didn’t ask for every doctor.”

The bracelet flashed beneath the chandelier as her hand moved.

Rhys stepped closer.

“Why are you interrogating her?”

“I’m asking about the sacrifice you invited me to celebrate.”

Silence spread around the table. Even Dean stopped smiling.

Blair lifted her glass, but she didn’t drink. A tremor disturbed the wine near its rim.

I remembered every voice from that week. Every form. Every person who had asked whether I understood what I was giving away.

A donor might forget a nurse.

She might forget a room number.

But not everyone.

I raised my water glass toward Blair.

“One simple question, then.”

Her smile was still in place, but fear had reached her eyes.

“What was the name of your transplant coordinator?”