sight, right beside me. He did not know he had been there, I was sure. When the welfare stole me from Betty and I was alone in the whiteness, he held my hand, sat with me, and grieved. And now that I’d met his mother, I understood something more. In a small town people knew, after all, what she had done in abandoning me. She would have to have turned her fury at herself, her shame, on someone else—the child she’d chosen. She’d have blamed Linden, transferred her warped hatreds to him. I had felt the contempt and triumph in her touch. I was thankful for the way things had turned out. Before we were born, my twin had the compassion to crush against me, to perfect me by deforming me, so that I would be the one who was spared.
I’ll tell you what, said the doctor, an Iranian woman, who gave me the results of the tests and conducted the interview, you are a match, but I know your story. And so I think it only fair that you know Linden Lark’s kidney failure is his own fault. He’s had not one but two restraining orders taken out against him. He also tried to suicide with a massive dose of acetaminophen, aspirin, and alcohol. That’s why he is on dialysis. I think you should take that into account when making your decision.
Later that day, I sat with my twin brother, who said, You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be a Jesus.
I know what you did, I told him. I’m not religious.
Interesting, said Linden. He stared at me and said, We sure don’t look alike.
I understood this was not a compliment, because he was nice-looking. I thought he’d got the best of his mother’s features, but the deceitful eyes and sharky mouth, too. His eyes shifted around the room. He kept biting his lip, whistling, rolling his blanket between his fingers.
Are you a mail carrier? he asked.
I work behind the counter, mostly.
I had a good route, he said, yawning, a regular route. I could do it in my sleep. Every Christmas my people left me cards, money, cookies, that sort of thing. I knew their lives so well. Their habits. Every detail. I could have committed the perfect murder, you know?
That took me aback. I did not answer.
Lark pursed his lips and looked down.
Are you married? I asked.
Nooooh . . . but maybe a girlfriend.
He said this like, poor me, self-pity. He said, My girlfriend’s been avoiding me lately, because a certain highly placed government official has started paying her to be with him. Offering compensation for her favors. You get my drift?
I went speechless again. Linden told me that the girl he liked was young, working with the governor, that she got good grades and stood out, a model high-school sweetheart picked to intern. An Indian intern making the administration look good, he said, and I even helped her get the job. She’s really too young for me. I was waiting for her to grow up. But this highly placed official grew her up while I was stuck in the hospital. He’s been growing her up ever since.
I was uncomfortable and blurted out something to change the subject.
Did you ever think, I said, there was someone walking your route just beside you or just behind you? Someone there when you closed your eyes, gone when you opened them?
No, he said. Are you crazy?
That was me.
I picked up his hand and he let it go limp. We sat there together, silent. After a while, he pulled his hand out of mine and massaged it as though my grip had hurt him.
Nothing against you, he said. This was my mother’s idea. I don’t want your kidney. I have an aversion to ugly people. I don’t want a piece of you inside me. I’d rather get on a list. Frankly, you’re kind of a disgusting woman. I mean, I’m sorry, but you’ve probably heard this before.
I might not be a raving beauty queen, I said. But nobody’s ever told me I’m disgusting.
You probably have a cat, he said. Cats pretend to love whoever feeds them. I doubt you could get a husband, or whatever, unless you put a bag on your head. And even then it would have to come off at night. Oh dear, I’m sorry.
He put his fingers on his mouth and looked slyly guilty. He gave his face a mock slap. Why do I say