Page 4 of Near Miss

The whole thing just feels significantly more fragile to me. If you’re a living donor, you’re trusting me with a part of yourself that you’ve given up—you’ve given me or someone like me permission to excise from your body—so that someone else might live a little easier. Get to make mistakes and fix them and love and laugh and see sunsets and sunrises.

And if you’re a deceased donor, you’re going to live on with this beautiful, insurmountable legacy and someone is going to hear your heart in the chest of someone they love and they’re going to love you, too.

I can’t think of anything more serious or more beautiful than that.

Even if sometimes, it hurts me.

Dr. Davis clears his throat again; his voice low, tentative, and hopeful—I know he understands—that he thinks it was a serious, beautiful thing we just did in there, too. He repeats himself. “Thank you.”

I hit the tap with my elbow, and water splashes into the basin, droplets peppering my scrubs. “I was just doing my job.”

He nods, considering, when he starts doffing his gloves and gown.

It wasn’t the answer he was expecting—maybe he wanted the whole soliloquy about the gift of life. How I’m not really mean. I’m only hard on residents because this is just so important. And it is—but I’m just me.

The water hits my hands, and I can see my reflection in the window looking into the operating theatre when I start scrubbing.

I think of my sister, Stella. She tells me I need to be friendlier, so I clear my throat and try again. “And I’m happy to do it.”

He glances at me before lathering his hands and arms. “You really didn’t know who my brother was?”

“Your brother?” I ask, moving the soap up my forearms, but when I look at him, I remember. “Oh, the other day. Beckett. You two look alike.”

He drops the scrub brush, and it clatters loudly against the bottom of the basin.

I wince, but I squeeze my eyes shut, and the feeling passes.

“We look alike? I look like him? The man with the endorsements who once modelled for Saxx and regularly gets named one of the sexiest athletes of the year by every magazine in North America?”

They do look alike. Same eyes—bright and green. Dr. Davis has lighter hair. Golden to the messy mop of chocolate hair his brother hid under a hat. The same straight nose. Sharp cheekbones and defined jawbone covered in stubble. But as far as I can tell, the brother is the only one with a singular dimple.

I nod, looking back at my hands and flexing my fingers. “Very all-American.”

“We live in Canada.”

“Figure of speech.” I attack my nails with the bristles of the scrub brush.

“Well, thank you ... for that, too.”

“For not knowing who your brother was?” I ask, inspecting my nail beds.

Dr. Davis snorts, and I see him take the brush from the basin, throw it out, grab a new one, and start the process over. “He’s had a rough few months. He probably appreciated the anonymity. He uh ... missed a record-breaking kick that would have won us the championship last season. First one in franchise history.”

“Us,” I repeat, moving the bristles over to my left hand. “That’s the thing about sports. Fans think they have all this entitlement to people who’re just out there trying to do their jobs. I’m sure your brother feels worse than anyone else.”

Dr. Davis nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re probably right about that.”

We finish scrubbing in silence, and I peer up when I hear muffled clapping. Dr. Ihnat just stepped back from the table—it’s the first time she’s closed solo.

I smile—and it’s big and bright and wonderful. My cheeks hurt. I remember what that felt like for the first time.

“Do you always let residents close?”

I glance at Dr. Davis. “I let anyone who deserves it practice.”

“And you let people who’ve been suffering from public humiliation for months, like my brother, off the mat.” He grins at me, backing up to hold the door open for me. “I’m not sure why I was so scared of you.”

“It’s hardly letting your brother off the mat if I had no idea.” I give him a pointed look as I walk past. “Now, if your brother starts showing up and improperly rounding on my patients or giving unsound medical advice, I’m sure I’ll hop on the bandwagon. I’ll be by to check on your patient before I leave tonight.”

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