“From Mark.”
“They’ll only use what can be donated.”
“Did they take everything?”
She gripped the blanket.
“And you’re fine with that?”
“He wanted it.”
“I asked about you.”
“I’m not fine.”
“You’re acting fine.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I asked about you.”
She looked at me.
“His heart. His skin. His eyes. All of those things are going to strangers.”
“They don’t transplant someone’s whole eyes.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Corneal tissue can be donated.”
She laughed bitterly.
“All of those things are going to strangers.”
“Does the nicer phrase make it easier?”
“No.”
Her mouth trembled.
“How am I supposed to be okay knowing something that belonged to my son is walking around with strangers?”
“Because Mark was okay with it.”
“You agreed with this.”
“Does the nicer phrase make it easier?”
“Yes. That doesn’t mean it was easy, Violet.”
She looked at my stomach.
“You still get part of him.”
My hand moved over Cecelia without thinking.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t put her in this.”
“You still get part of him.”
Violet walked out without answering.
***
At Mark’s memorial, she went further.
An uncle hugged me near the flowers.
“Mark was helping people right until the end.”
His aunt nodded.
Violet walked out.
“You must be proud.”
“Proud?”
Violet had appeared behind us.
I turned.
“Violet.”
