Glenn glanced over at her, keeping her face a careful blank. Her feelings were not what mattered right now. Her anger at the random unfairness of life, something she was way too familiar with, didn’t matter. Her confusion at discovering a road she hadn’t thought she’d wanted to travel suddenly blocked to her didn’t matter. The disappointment she hadn’t expected to feel didn’t matter. Mari mattered. Mari had trusted her with a piece of herself, and that trust deserved to be honored. If she needed something and Glenn could give it to her, she would. “Yes.”
“Don’t tell anyone what I told you just now.”
Glenn stared back out to the road. Knowing someone, really knowing them, wasn’t always measured by a calendar or a clock—knowing was sometimes the recognition of shared pain or joy, the communion of spirit from struggling together, the connection born of similar experiences. She hadn’t been rejected by her family, but she knew what it was like to be without one. She had faced her own death countless times, not from disease but an enemy just as invisible and just as merciless. She had sealed away her pain and respected the walls Mari had built. “You don’t know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that.”
“I think I do, really, or I wouldn’t have been in a position to need to tell you. I wanted to tell you.” Mari leaned closer, touched Glenn’s bare forearm. “I needed to ask because I’ve kept the secret so long I feel exposed somehow.”
“You’re not. You’re safe. I won’t say anything.” Glenn let out a slow breath and looked at Mari, who sat half turned in the front seat, facing her. “Harper and Flann would understand more than you realize.”
Mari frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Their younger sister Kate died of fulminant leukemia. She was eleven or so, I think.”
“Oh God, that’s horrible,” Mari whispered. “I hated seeing all the children when I was getting treated.”
Glenn reached her hand. “Lots and lots make it.”
“I know,” Mari murmured, her fingers unconsciously twining with Glenn’s. “I kept telling myself that every time I looked at them.”
“And you made it,” Glenn said, gently disengaging her fingers. Mari’s hand was warm, soft. She would have been happy to keep holding it, but Mari probably wouldn’t be pleased when she realized what she’d done. She’d just asked for distance, after all. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Yes,” Mari said, not qualifying, instantly agreeing.
“Will you tell me if there’s a problem, any kind of problem?”
“Why?” Mari asked.
“If I know that you’ll tell me if you need your shifts adjusted—more time off between cycles or whatever—or if there’s a medical problem, I’m not going to be constantly wondering.” Glenn smiled, felt the cold brittleness of her own lips stretched thin. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m always watching, waiting for something bad to happen.”
“I like that you care,” Mari said, “but that’s exactly why I don’t want anything—anything beyond friendship—with anyone. I don’t want anyone to be watching and waiting. Something like that sucks all the joy out of life.”
“I’ll do my best not to do that,” Glenn said.
“I know you will, and I appreciate it.”
“You haven’t actually answered my question. Will you tell me if there’s a problem?”
“I promise I’ll let you know if I’m having a problem at work or if there’s a change in my condition that is going to affect my job.”
“Thanks.” Glenn didn’t miss the careful wording and the neat way Mari had sidestepped saying she’d let her know if her transplant failed, but she couldn’t ask for more, couldn’t ask for any confidence that went beyond their professional relationship. Mari had made herself very clear on the limits of anything personal between them. Nothing would stop her from being on guard. She couldn’t change the way she was made any more than she could change Mari’s desire to be independent, to avoid ties. But she could honor Mari’s request, could keep the distance Mari wanted. She’d already put up the walls. She was only surprised at how much she had wanted to breach them for Mari.
*
Carrie jogged over to the Jeep when Glenn pulled into a place in the second row of a line of pickup trucks and SUVs. Usually she parked right behind the backstop to unload the gear, but she was later than usual after their quick stop for a burger. Dinner had been quick and mostly quiet—they hadn’t mentioned their previous conversation, but she kept thinking there was more she should have said, wanted to say. She just wasn’t sure what, or why.
“I was wondering where you were,” Carrie called, opening the rear compartment as Glenn climbed out of the driver’s side. “Let me give you a hand with everything.”
“Sure,” Glenn said abruptly and caught Carrie giving her a look.
Carrie grinned as Mari joined them. “Hi. How’s it going?”
