Page 79 of When I'm Gone

“Yes. A sister and two brothers who adore you, who are worried sick about you. And your grandma Terry, she’s your donor.”

“Oh my God, I ... it’s so much to take in.” She blinked away the tears since her arms were too weak to wipe them off. Luke grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box on the nightstand and wiped her face. “This is a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, I knowIthink it’s a good thing.”

“I just wish I knew before Natalie died. I wish I could’ve hugged her just once knowing she was my mom.”

“I know. I agree.” Luke refolded the tissues and soaked up the last few rogue tears. Jessie’s eyes were drooping shut, reminding him of Clayton on the brink of a nap, wanting sleep but resisting it too. Maybe the letters would have to wait. “You just go in there and be strong. When you get out and your brand-new, slightly used kidney starts working then we can fill in all the blanks, okay?”

“Okay,” Jessie whispered, leaning her forehead against his hand. “Mr. Richardson?”

Luke chuckled. “Jessie, now youreallyhave to call me Luke.”

A smile flitted over her chapped lips. “Luke,” she said, starting again. He could almost hear her mother’s voice in the layers of her whisper. “If I don’t come back ... do you think she’s waiting for me? In heaven, I mean.”

“I don’t really know. I’m not sure ...” Luke stumbled through his reply. He should lie, like he did to Natalie. He should give his child the comfort she was seeking.

There was a knock at the door and a flood of people came through without waiting for permission. Neal was the last one through the door. Time was up.

Luke opened his mouth, unsure what to say to the daughter he may never speak to again. He didn’t believe—not in heaven, maybe not even in God. But then again when he thought of Natalie and of her letters he wondered how she could be gone forever. Natalie had found their daughter once. Maybe she could do it again.

He leaned over the bedrail, his cheek grazing Jessie’s damp hair. “If there is any way to find you—she will. I know it.” Luke stood up, blinking away the tears in his eyes before Neal could see them.

“It’s time.” He stood beside Luke and they both watched as a crew of hospital staff unplugged wires, lowered her bed, and pulled up bedrails. “Did you say what you needed to?”

“I think so.” Luke smoothed down a piece of Jessie’s hair with the same gentle pressure he used on the other kids when they were babies and then stood back so the team could get in position. “I didn’t tell her about the letters.” He looked over at Jessie, who was struggling to stay awake even with all of the activity in the room. She’d make it through. He knew it. She had to. “I’ll give them to her tomorrow.”

Luke stood back and let the nurses, doctors, and Neal exit before he grabbed the shoebox and tucked it under his arm. After a few wrong turns and dead ends, Luke finally navigated his way out of the maze of patients’ rooms into the waiting room.

His seat was still open, and Luke reclaimed it and placed the box on his lap. Sitting in the barren, chair-lined room gave him a sense of déjà vu. It felt like he’d been in a waiting room since Natalie’s death—waiting for a letter, waiting for instructions, waiting to feel something other than sorrow, waiting for May to smile without guilt, for Will to feel like he belonged in their family, Clayton to sleep without a phone in his hands, for Annie to find peace.

Luke settled down lower in his seat and closed his eyes. There wouldn’t be news for a few hours. For now, he’d rest. After today there would be no more waiting. Tomorrow they would start living again.