“My granddaughter is here, love,” Ellie spoke sweetly. “Name’s Caroline Hunt?”

“Yes,” she said, “she’s with a doctor now.”

“May we see her?” she asked.

“Just a moment,” the nurse answered, standing up and heading through double doors.

I saw a row of seats near the desk and helped Ellie sit. She was so calm, so sweet, but she was leaning on me so heavily. I knew she was emotionally wrecked. My heart bled for her. I sat next to her and set her hands in my own.

We sat quietly, waiting for the nurse. It was taking forever. It always infuriated me when hospital staff took their time. I understood that this was the day-to-day of their jobs, but to us, to the family of the sick, it was a place where every minute, every second, felt like torment. I hated the casual “wait” attitude they possessed. It made me want to shake them. There was no sense of urgency when it came to their patients’ families, and I thought that cruel. At a time where compassion should be priority, it fell so quickly to the wayside with the humdrum of their work.

The nurse finally strolled in with a “They’re working on her now. I’ll let you know something when I do.”

“Is she conscious? Still breathing?” I demanded. “Can you give us anything?”

“I’m not sure,” she explained and walked away.

Ellie and I prayed together and waited...and waited and waited and waited.

Two hours passed and we hadn’t heard anything, making Ellie so nervous she was looking pale.

I stood and marched over to the nurse’s desk. “Anything?” I asked as nicely as I could.

“Let me check,” she said, incensing me.

I stood by the doors, my arms crossed, and waited, again.

She came back ten minutes later. “I’m sorry, but she was moved to the Critical Care Unit more than half an hour ago.”

“What the hell?! Ellie,” I said, turning toward her, “she’s in CCU.”

I ignored the nurse when she tried to give us directions.

“I’ll just follow the signs,” I told her.

I supported Ellie’s arm in the elevator and guided her down the hall toward the Critical Care Unit sign.

“Can I help you?” a nurse asked as we approached.

“Yes, we’re looking for a patient. Her name’s Caroline Hunt.”

“Oh yes, she’s in room seven.”

“Is she,” I swallowed, “okay?”

“I believe so,” she said, smiling.

Ellie fell a little bit against me in relief, breaking my heart. “Thank God,” I said.

“Thank God, indeed,” she smiled.

We approached the room slowly, hoping not to wake her if she was asleep, and slid the large glass door open. I slid the curtain back a little and took in Cricket.

She leaned forward a bit and smiled at the both of us, though she looked pale beyond belief and her hair was rustled.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully.

“Oh God, Cricket,” I nearly broke down, hugging her. I kissed the top of her head, side of her face and lips. “You scared us to death.”

“It’s okay,” she told us. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” I told her, gesturing to her bed.

She was hooked up to numerous machines, and it was overwhelming me.

I realized I had taken over Cricket when Ellie appeared at my side. “I’m so sorry, Ellie,” I told her, making way for her.

“Granddaughter,” she said softly, “which doctor have you spoken to?”

“Caldwell was here earlier but he left. He’ll be back soon though and explain it all.”

I’d forgotten that they probably knew the physicians there, that they’d been struggling with this for who knows how many years. I looked about the room and grabbed a chair for Ellie and she sat. I wheeled the doctor’s chair over to the side of Cricket’s bed and held her hand.

“I wish you’d told me,” I said.

A tear escaped. “If I had told you, you would have seen the sick me and not the real me. I loved so much that you saw me for me. I loved that you didn’t cut me slack or make excuses for me. I loved that you called me out.”

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, bringing her hand to my lips. “I am so sorry for the insensitive things I’ve done and said.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she laughed. “I liked that you treated me normally, Spencer. I loved it.”

A tall man with white hair approached the glass doors and knocked. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Come in, Dr. Caldwell,” Cricket instructed, waving him in. “Caldwell, this is Spencer Blackwell,” she said, introducing me. “Spencer, this is my nephrologist, Dr. Caldwell.”

I stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to finally put a name to a face,” he said.

I looked down at Cricket and she shrugged. “You came up a lot during dialysis.”

I smiled at her.

I gave the doctor his stool but he refused it. “No, no, sit. I won’t be long.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed, making my blood pressure spike. “Well, it’s happening, and frankly, sooner than I thought it would.”

Ellie and Cricket nodded but my blood ran cold. I didn’t understand.

“We ran a screen,” he continued, “and your levels were through the roof, Cricket.”

She nodded as if she expected this.

“I want to do an ultrasound within the hour or so.”

“Okay,” she said.

He squeezed her foot and waved to everyone else. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Hang tight.”

Ellie looked at Cricket and sighed. “I know,” Cricket said, smiling. “Everything will be okay,” she told Ellie, who began to cry. “Oh, Grandma, things are different now.”

“They feel the same,” she said, swiping beneath her eyes.

“Medicine has improved, Grandma. This is not a death sentence.”

Ellie reached forward and grabbed her other hand. Cricket squeezed her hand, then turned to me.

“This is how my mother died,” she said, shocking me to my core.

I swallowed, my mouth bone dry. “How old was your mother?” I rasped.

“My age when she was diagnosed,” she answered.

I nodded, my eyes burning. “And this?”

“Yes, she died of advanced kidney disease.” She squeezed my hand tightly. “Did you hear what I said?” she asked. “This is not a death sentence.”

“What does this all mean then?”

“Well,” she said, turning away from me, avoiding my eyes, “I’ll need a transplant more than likely.”

“And, uh, do you have one in mind?”

She looked at me but barely. “I’m on a list.”

Ellie stood when her cell phone rang. “It’s your Pop Pop. He’ll be downstairs with everyone and he brought clothing for me. Will you be okay?” she asked Cricket.

“Yes, I’ve got Spencer.”

Ellie smiled at me. “I’ll be right back.”

She left the room and slid the door shut.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in and took Cricket for an ultrasound, returning her in half an hour.

When they settled her back into place, I leaned up and pressed my face into Cricket’s neck. I smelled her, felt her warmth, listened to her inhale and exhale and kissed her throat then sat back down. I needed all my senses to recognize her.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, my voice shaking. “Was Ethan your living donor?”

Her body went still and she studied me for way too long.

“Cricket,” I pleaded.

She audibly sighed. “He was. No one matched me except Pop Pop, and he was denied because of his age. Ethan was willing.”

My eyes stung severely. “I caused that.”

“You didn’t,” she said, palming my face. She bent forward and kissed my mouth. “I chose to release him, Spencer. It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of him when I wasn’t in love with him the way he was in love with me.”

“Oh God,” I lamented, kissing her hand. “I’ve ruined your life.”

“Spencer,” she spoke quietly, “you haven’t ruined my life. You’ve awakened me.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t argue with me, Spencer. I know the truth when I see it.”

“How long does it take to get a kidney, and when do you need it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. It all depends on what Dr. Caldwell finds.”

I nodded, ready to hear the truth, and if push came to shove, I’d crawl on my hands and knees to Ethan and beg him to consider donating.

She turned silent, reflective. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I was just thinking about Eugie,” she said sadly.

“Cricket,” I sighed, “he was a good boy, a very good boy.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “He was old reliable.”

“Definitely,” I agreed.

She started telling me pleasing and hilarious stories of times she and Eugie got into mischief, how Ellie would punish her, which would indirectly punish Eugie, and how he would complain to her grandmother by whining at her door at night.

I laughed with my whole gut when she recalled a particular incident in which she had decided at eight that she wanted an ice cream. She said that Ellie told her they didn’t have any and that they’d have to go into town later to get some because she was busy.

Well, apparently Cricket figured it was not at all unreasonable to take Pop Pop’s truck out to drive into the town for her grandparents.

“You know, because they were busy and all.”

Anyway, she said she got to the top of the hill at the end of the drive and she had to come to a stop because she saw Eugie running alongside her, jumping at her window and barking.

Thinking he wanted to join her, she opened her door, and he dragged her by her britches out into the road.

“That breed,” she declared, “or rather, that particular mix,” she amended, “is entirely too smart for its own good.”

“I think that was half breeding, half Eugie,” I said, laughing so hard, tears were streaming down my face.

“I believe you’re right.”

We immediately calmed when Dr. Caldwell entered the room. The expression on his face made me want to hurl, and no matter how obvious it was that he tried to school it, it wasn’t happening. My hands began to tremble inside Cricket’s, but I stilled them almost at once.

“Give it to me straight, doc,” she said, squeezing my hand.

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “we can’t explain the rapid decline of the kidneys, but we recognize acute renal failure. You need a kidney, Cricket.”

She sighed. “Okay, how much time?”

“A few weeks?” he said, gutting me.

My heart began to hammer, to clobber my rib cage in overwhelming devastation.

“How,” I said, clearing my throat to keep from sobbing, “long does it take to get a transplant?” I asked.