“Neither Mom’s or my blood type was compatible…but hers was. The nurse with the chess board cut my lesson short to donate blood for my best friend. There was no fanfare or big show of it. She simply stood up, threw her bag over her shoulder, grabbed both of our hands and said, ‘Don’t lose hope.’ She was gone before we could even get her name.”
Tears stream down my face. Mom and Bri dab at the corners of their eyes with their napkins. Lydia’s head rests on Richard’s shoulder, his hand running long strokes over her arm.
“Maddy succumbed to her injuries that night,” Hannah says, the words final but with a tenderness that only comes after years of healing.
“I, um…” She falters, takes a steadying breath. “I know you might be wondering why I’m sharing such a sad story with you all tonight. Because the truth is, we’re all here with one common goal: to support Boulder Children’s Hospital in their mission to help and heal every child. But there’s another truth, a more painful one. One that haunts so many of us. The truth that not every life can be saved.
“But behind every innocent life lost is a team of selfless people who tried their damned hardest to save it. Doctors with magic tricks. Surgeons who run out of family events, straight into an operating room because a child needs them. Nurses with chess boards who carry light into the darkest places. When and where it matters most, the people of Boulder Children’s show up. And their impact carries well beyond the four walls of the hospital.
“I’d give anything to find that nurse and thank her for my first chess lesson. You see, two years later, my mother called me with thedevastating news of her cancer diagnosis. I was a poor college student with no car and very little money in my bank account. But I had just enough to pay the registration fee for a local chess tournament.” A smug grin pulls at her mouth as she scans the room. “Turns out she was right—I was a natural. I won the tournament and used my winnings to fly home to be with Mom for her first round of chemo.
“If I could talk to that nurse, I’d thank her for donating blood, without hesitation and without pay, when the call came through. She may not have saved my best friend’s life, but she tried. Her company in the waiting room may not have rid us entirely of our grief, but it helped. Her presence—the hand she extended—for however brief it might have been, was the glue that held us together through one of the scariest moments of our lives. This woman has lived as a hero in my heart alongside Dr. Adelson and countless other BCH staff in the eleven years since Maddy passed.”
Hannah’s gaze finds mine, holding it firm. “And if I could talk to that nurse again, I’d tell her all about how the universe has worked in odd and mysterious ways since that fateful night.”
She averts her eyes, panning the room. Lydia swats at a tear, attention lifting to me briefly through the flicker of candlelight across the table as her daughter goes on.
“If she were here, I’d tell her the story of the ni—” Her voice breaks and she squeezes her eyes shut, opens them, and begins again. “I’d tell her the story of the night, six years later, when forces beyond anything I could ever begin to comprehend, threw me into the path of her grandson.” My jaw sinks, breath caught in my chest. “How he introduced me to her husband who became a dear friend and chess buddy.” Mom gasps quietly beside me, wraps an arm around my shoulders.
Hannah looks at me again, her tears falling as relentlessly as mine.
“She never told us her name back then, and neither my mom or I thought to ask. But I know it now. Her name was Margaret Shaw.”
Bigger.Everything between us has always been bigger, and my heart’s known it all along, though I’ve never been able to define it, to explain it. This whole time, it was Nana.
“Sadly, Maggie Shaw passed away five years ago. I never got the chance to thank her personally for what she did for us. But her family ishere this evening.” Hannah directs the room’s attention to our table. “To her grandson and her daughter-in-law: on behalf of Gwyn, Maddy, my mother, and myself…words could never be enough, but thank you.”
An uproar of applause floods the room, everyone standing to their feet again. Eyes drill into my back, my profile, from every direction, but mine stay on Hannah. And when she tilts those lips my way, cheeks streaked from tears, I’ve never been more certain of anything or anyone in my life. My heart knows it, so does my head. And my bones all the way down to my soul.
I was always meant to love her.
50
the no sense of it all
Hannah
I’m swarmedthe moment I step off the stage. Board members thanking me, hospital staff with their condolences for my loss but followed quickly by gratitude for sharing my story. And Dottie, yanking me into a sternum-crushing hug without a word then disappearing into a sea of people.
Towering over the crowd in the distance is Rowan. When he’s not interrupted by a guest wanting to shake the hand of the grandson of the belovedNurse Nana, as she was affectionately called, his eyes remain laser-focused on mine.
Until finally, the crowd clears and he’s in front of me.
I fist my skirt to hide the tremor in my hands. “I swear I didn’t know until this morning. I mean, I suspected but only recently, and I didn’t wanna say anything unless I was sure.”
Rowan’s forehead kisses mine, presses in—the weight of him knocks me back a step. He grabs my hands to steady me.
“Come here,” he mutters, so soft I almost miss it. He pulls me across the room, past throngs of people. We exit through the main doors into the cocktail space. His head swivels, noting the few guests milling about before tugging me around the corner into an empty hallway.
His lips are on mine the second we’re alone.
It’s not overly passionate or filthy with need. It’s two people heaving sighs of relief as they surrender to the mystifying events that brought them together. Nobody could make heads or tails of any of it—none of it makes sense. Yet it’s theno senseof it all that makes the most sense now.
Against all logic, nothing in my life has ever made more sense thanmewithhim.
Our mouths sweep slowly, dragging out every taste to make this moment of blissful solitude last a bit longer.
We pull back and Rowan cups my face. “You met her?” There’s so much wonder in his question my heart wants to explode.