Chapter 22: Poppy

Annabel's POV

Poppy was sitting up in room four-ten with a crossword on her knees and a pen she was not using.

Her skin had a gray cast I had not seen at the gala.

A nurse had already taken tubes of my blood in the hallway, and I had a cotton ball taped inside my elbow.

"Don't," Poppy said, before I had closed the door.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you came to say. I know your face. It's the face you wore when you decided to go to the funeral alone."

"You have a kidney offer on the table, and I'm the only family left."

"You're not giving me a kidney."

"I haven't offered yet."

"You were going to," Poppy said. "You came in with your coat on."

I sat on the end of her bed.

"You've been sick for six years," I said. "I was a prisoner in that house, and I couldn't do anything."

"Now I can."

"You had a procedure a month ago," Poppy said, and her voice cracked on the last word. "Surgery is surgery."

"I'm not scared of the clinic. I'm scared of the knife."

"I ended that pregnancy, Poppy, and I'd end it again. It was mine to end."

"I know. I heard you say it, with the whole ballroom listening."

"I'm not mad at you. I'm just scared of cutting you open."

"It's not your decision."

"It's my body they're putting it in."

"It's my body they're taking it from," I said, "and I say yes."

Her chin shook.

She put the crossword down on the blanket and looked out at the river.

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