“Yes,” he said.
“You shouldn’t be,” she said.
“Good people rarely are.”
Part 4
He called her mother that evening.
From the hospital bed.
The girl sat in the corner.
Listening.
Not pretending not to.
The phone rang four times.
Five.
Then her mother’s voice.
Cautious.
Recognizing the number she had not seen in twelve years.
“Hello,” he said.
Silence.
“I know,” he said.
“I know it’s been—”
“Twelve years,” her mother said.
“Yes.”
“She’s there,” her mother said.
Not a question.
“Yes,” he said.
A long silence.
The kind that carries twelve years in it.
“Is she alright?” her mother said.
“She saved my life,” he said.
Another silence.
“She knew,” her mother said.
“About the blood type.”
“Yes,” he said.
“She tested herself two years ago.”
