Free Second Hand Heart by Catherine Ryan Hyde

against the wishes of the person. When you have a child lying in a hospital bed, with only maybe a few days to live, it’s unbelievably frustrating. I can’t even tell you how frustrating it is. It kept me up for days at a time, because I’d get so angry I couldn’t sleep.”
    “I guess it’s a form of not being able to let go,” I said.
    “Why did you decide to donate?”
    I sipped my coffee. Made a show of buying time to think. Truthfully, I’d never had to put it into words before.
    “I guess so the whole thing wouldn’t be so damned futile.”
    Abigail nodded and said nothing.
    “No, wait,” I said. “I know. I just got it now. I know why I donated. I wanted people to never forget her. As many as possible. This way I knew you would never forget her, and neither would Vida. And anybody who loved Vida. And the woman in Tiburon who got her corneas, she’ll never forget Lorrie, and neither will her family and everybody who loves her. And I could go on with the other organs, but … I wanted as big a group of people as possible to think about Lorrie on an ongoing basis. Not just get over it and forget.”
    Abigail squirmed in her tall chair.
    “I’ll certainly never forget her,” she said.
    “Is that a bad reason?”
    “There is no bad reason. Whatever gets people to donate is great.”
    Then we fell into an awkward silence. Abigail was finished with her tea, and I was just about to make noises about moving on.
    “Vida would really love to see you again,” she said. “I don’t know how you feel about another visit.”
    “I don’t know how I feel about another visit, either.”
    “She may come home as soon as tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Maybe I’ll visit in the morning. On one condition. If you’ll be there the whole time.”
    She tried to look into my face for answers, but I refused to give any away. You don’t want to know, I was thinking.
    “Sometimes I find her challenging,” I said. To my surprise, Abigail burst out laughing.
    “Most people do,” she said.
    “Oh. OK. She just has an energy that’s … sort of …”
    “She’s very intense.”
    “Yes. I guess that’s it. Intense.”
    “I’ll be there the whole time.”
    I agreed that I would make an effort to visit. I definitely didn’t promise.
    From:
Richard Bailey
To:
Myra Buckner
    Dear Myra,
    Was Lorrie a shy child? Why is she looking down at the floor in so many of these photos? She was so confident when I knew her. So calm. And steady. So the opposite of me. I was all over the map and she always brought me home safely.
    I think that’s part of what I loved so much about her. I think I felt welcome to relax in her presence, because she had everything so under control.
    That’s a bit of a role reversal, I guess. But I don’t really care. I’m not hung up on gender stereotypes.
    Speaking of role reversals, here’s another one.
    I never told this to anybody before. Not for any special reason. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not one of those things you talk about. It’s one of those things you just do.
    Lorrie was a very heavy sleeper, and she always slept straight through the night. I woke up at regular intervals, but even if I got up to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water or milk, it never woke her.
    So sometimes I used to lie with my head on her chest and listen to her heart beating. She always slept on her back, and the weight of my head never seemed to cause problems for her. So I would just listen.
    I’m not even really sure why. There was just something comforting about it.
    Now that I think about it, I don’t even think Lorrie knew I used to do that.
    Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is … What am I saying?
    I guess I’m saying I had a long-standing personal relationship with Lorrie’s heart.
    Does that help explain any of this? I hope so.
    Something has to.
    Much love,
    Richard
    PS:
I was rereading our old emails today. And I realized I’d ducked a question. I didn’t do it on purpose, I