Page 43 of It Happened In Paris

TO TELL THE TRUTH

RICHARD

Vivianand I had been building toward this moment all day, exchanging those silent glances that only occur when the stakes involve life, love, and illness. We’d steal whispered moments whenever we could away from Paris, finally reaching an agreement—not just about the surgery, but about something even larger and more frightening.

Telling Paris the truth.

As a grown man, there was nothing that scared me more. What if she wept over losing Adrien as her father? What if she pushed me away? What if she couldn’t understand, and her bright spirit began to fade?

But then again, what if the truth paved the way for something wonderful? Up close, I’d catch a spark of excitement in her eyes when I spun tales of adventures. When she said my name and giggled, her sweet little voice called to me.

I saw the truth in the way I watched her sleep, hoping she’d dream of faraway places I longed to show her someday. All this time, she had been a part of me—a piece of my heart—yet so far away.

And now, we were about to change everything.

Vivian stood by the window in Paris’ room, cradling a cup of decaf. Paris lay in bed with her favorite blanket—a pink one adorned with a pony, so worn it’d been lovingly mended by Vivian.

Paris’ legs jiggled under the covers as she tapped away on her tablet, working on assignments sent by her teacher at Holly Creek, trying to keep up with her class.

“Vivian,” I said softly as I approached her, “it’s almost dinner time. We should tell her.”

She set her mug down and nodded—half terrified, half ready.

Paris had been in good spirits, a little tired, but less pale. That small miracle alone fed hope into my heart that we’d all make it through this.

“Ma chérie,Richard and I want to talk to you about something. Have you finished what your teacher sent?” Vivian began, glancing at her work. From where I stood, I noticed she had picked out all the letter B’s from the alphabet soup picture on the screen—B for Buchanan, as if fortune were smiling on me.

Paris shrugged, setting her tablet aside and sitting a little straighter, her fingers neatly interlaced in her lap like a miniature adult.

Vivian settled at one side of the bed, gently running her fingers through Paris’s hair in slow, soothing strokes. I stood beside her, unified in our purpose.

It was Vivian who started, “We told you that the doctors are going to help you feel better soon, didn’t we?”

Paris nodded solemnly. “To fix my kidney?”

“Yes,” Vivian confirmed. “And we also explained that someone very special would give you a new kidney to help your body heal. That special someone is Richard.”

Looking at me, Paris furrowed her brows as she asked, “You’ll make me all better?”

“That’s right,” I replied, my throat thick with emotion. “I have two kidneys, so I’m going to give you one.”

“Will it hurt me?” she asked quietly, her voice suddenly small.

Vivian reached out, brushing her thumb softly across Paris’s cheek. “You’ll be asleep, darling. The doctors will make sure you don’t feel anything, and when you wake up, you’ll be stronger.”

Pausing, she asked, “Like a superhero?”

“Even better,” I said. “You’ll have my kidney, plus you’ve already got my Buchanan blood. You’ll heal quickly.”

Her wide eyes locked on mine. “Does it hurt you to give me your kidney?”

I couldn’t hide the truth from her. “It might hurt a bit, but you’re worth it. I’m brave and strong—and so are you. We’re going to be just fine.”

She sat quietly for a moment, like a tiny philosopher in a pink bathrobe, weighing every word. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

She picked her tablet up again, but Vivian’s gentle hand paused her motion.

“We have one more thing to tell you,ma chérie,” Vivian said, her voice trembling slightly as she smiled. I placed a supportive hand on her back.

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