My Sister's Prayer (4 page)

“Don't get me wrong,” she
added, seeing the expression on my face. “You look impeccable, as usual. I just didn't realize blue jeans were suitable for—”

“They're not, Nana. I went home and changed first.”

“Oh, good. And at least everything else is perfect, as always. Well, almost.” She patted down some imaginary loose strand on the side of my head and then took my elbow, leading me across the solarium toward the study. “Speaking of hair, wait till you see your sister. You won't recognize her.” Lowering her voice, she added, “That hideous bleached-blond disaster is gone forever, thank goodness.”

Poor Nicole. How she had managed to stick it out even this long was beyond me.

I held my tongue as we reached the door and gave it a quick knock. My late grandfather's study, which hadn't been used much since his death almost a year ago, was currently serving as Nicole's temporary bedroom. Fortunately, it was large enough to accommodate her massive hospital bed as well as her wheelchair and other medical devices.

Our knock was answered by Inez Valero, the aide who cared for Nicole each day. She handled everything from dressing to feeding to bathing and more, and I could only hope Nana would let her continue in that role once we'd shifted things to my house.

Inez greeted me warmly before leaving the room to give us some privacy. I looked to Nicole, who was pale and thin but had a definite sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there last Sunday when I'd visited after church. This was the glow of
relief
, no doubt.

I moved over to the bed and gave her a hug, careful not to jostle her healing ribs. I resisted the urge to smooth her gown and tuck in her blanket and otherwise mother her. She would always be my baby sister, but at twenty-five she was no baby and hated being treated like one.

“Hey, you,” I said softly.

“Hey back,” she replied. “Is it time for our racquetball game already?”

I laughed.

“Well?” Nana exclaimed, stretching the word outward and upward. “What do you think?”

It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about Nicole's
hair. I hated to admit it, but there was no denying she looked a thousand times better. The two-toned dye job had been replaced by carefully foiled and highlighted blondish-brown locks. The style was cute too, a shoulder-length bob with long layers that curved in at the bottom.

“She looks amazing,” I said.

“Thanks,” Nicole replied. “I think this shade of blond is the perfect complement to my orange-and-yellow legs.”

With a huff, Nana turned and left the room, no doubt the very response my sister had been going for. Nicole's vibrantly colored fiberglass casts had been a source of embarrassment to our grandmother since she first saw them at the hospital. “What's wrong with good old plaster of paris?” Nana had cried. “At least it's white, unlike this ridiculous pair of oversized Popsicles.”

“Oh, Mom, it's what all the kids are doing these days,” my father had said, trying to calm her down but causing a quick jab to my gut. How many times had he uttered that sentiment?

“She's drunk? Oh, well. It's what all the kids are doing these days.”

“Moving in with some guy? I suppose that's the way kids are these days.”

“Arrested for possession? It's okay, honey. I think it happens to a lot of kids these days.”

Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the girl in front of me. “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Think you'll be up to making the big shift by Saturday?”

To my surprise, Nicole's face fell. “Saturday?” she whimpered, and in that moment I realized she'd thought I would be taking her back with me tonight. How very much like my sister to expect the thing she wanted without giving any thought to the complicated logistics involved.

Trying not to sound aggravated, I explained I needed time to shift stuff around in my apartment and make room for her, plus we'd have to get a bed delivered, plus Nana and I needed to work out the details of her care.

She huffed. “Fine. Just don't leave me here any longer than that.”

“I won't, I promise—as long as you're sure you still want to come once you hear my ground rules.”

A
hardness passed across her eyes, but she was in no position to refuse. If she really wanted out of here, this was the price she'd have to pay.

“Go ahead,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“I just have three rules, but they're nonnegotiable. First, no visitors or phone calls except those preapproved by me—and I'm not approving anyone who might come in and slip you some drugs, so don't even ask.”

“How am I going to call anyone anyway?” she retorted. “My phone got busted up in the crash.”

“You have the burner phone Nana gave you.”

“Yeah, but without my contacts, what good does it do?”

I hesitated, realizing she'd never bothered to memorize her friends' numbers. I would check the activity on her device periodically just to make sure, but I had a feeling rule one was probably a nonissue for now. Deeply relieved, I continued with my list.

“Second, you'll do thirty meetings in thirty days. Between Narcotics Anonymous and Celebrate Recovery, I've found plenty to choose from. You can start next week.”

“Next
week
? My casts don't come off for another month.”

“Doesn't matter. Nana said the doctor just cleared you for moderate activity.”

“Yeah, but he meant like physical therapy. Not trudging down to some church basement to talk about my feelings and sing ‘Kumbaya' with a bunch of other losers.”

She was trying to be funny, but her words broke my heart. “You're no loser, Nicole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “What's the third rule?”

“As soon as your casts come off, you'll get a job—preferably with me. I talked to my supervisor this afternoon and lined one up for you if you want it. It's just clerical-type stuff, but you can work from a seated position, it pays hourly, and the schedule would be flexible enough to accommodate your meetings, physical therapy, and endurance level.”

She didn't reply.

“And that's it. Respect my home and my things, and in return I'll
happily share with you what I have. I'll take the best care of you I know how, and I'll do it without judgment or criticism or, uh, hairdressers. If you play your cards right,” I teased, “I might even teach you how to knit.”

“Why stop there?” she snapped. “We could plant some grass and watch it grow. Maybe hold turtle races down at the nursing home.”

Despite her sarcasm, I couldn't help but smile. “What do you think, sis? Do we have a deal?”

Nicole was quiet for a long moment, and though I couldn't read her expression, I had no doubt what was going through her mind. This line I had drawn in the sand made me both her dearest friend and her greatest enemy.

“Maybe,” she said at last. “But I want it on record that you're a big meanie.”

I chuckled. “I am. And I'm so sorry. But that's how it has to be for now, you know? Boundaries and all that?”

She shrugged, looking away.

“So is it a deal?” I cajoled, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. “I'll get you all your favorite foods. Pop-Tarts. Strawberry milk. Macaroni and cheese.” Leaning closer, I added, “You can pick the board games. You can control the remote. You can even eat the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms, and I won't say a word.”

Again she met my eyes, but this time I could see she was trying not to smile.

“Okay, I accept. I'll be a good girl,” she said.

And in the moment, at least, I believed her.

Convincing Nana to go along with the plan ended up being not nearly as difficult as I had expected. A part of her seemed relieved, and that made me nervous. If she felt overburdened by Nicole's care in a mansion this big with a full staff and everything, how much harder was it going to be for me in my tiny carriage house with just a single daytime aide for help?

Then again, Nana wasn't exactly a spring chicken. Perhaps at her age just the responsibility was burden enough—and that was something I felt fully equipped to handle. My new job as an individualized education program coordinator had turned out to be a lot less demanding than the one I'd held for the past year in my postdoctoral internship at a children's clinic. That internship had kept me running from morning to night. In comparison, this new job was a walk in the park, a true nine-to-fiver that had felt almost like a vacation thus far—which was something I sorely needed after the craziness of the past year. But I knew that once I finished catching my breath, this new job would likely grow less than satisfying. I wanted to work with children, but these days I spent most of my time with reports and papers and other adults. Eventually, if things didn't change, I would need to move on.

Right now, however, this current situation might prove to be a real blessing because it freed me up as much as possible to focus on my sister. This time a year ago, no way could I have taken care of her. But now, I would be available from five in the evening till nine in the morning and all day Saturdays and Sundays, no problem.

And wasn't that just how God worked? Here I'd been concerned about my employment not being challenging enough when, in fact, that was exactly what I needed in order to care for Nicole.

By the time Nana and I finished hammering out the details, including Inez's continued employment for the time being, I was feeling good about everything.

“One last matter,” Nana said as she settled comfortably into her chair. “Do you remember how much you girls enjoyed reading the journal of Catherine Talbot?”

“Of course.” The journal had been written by my eleven-greats grandmother in 1685 when she was just eighteen years old, during a time that Huguenots were being persecuted in France for their faith. It told of her courage and determination and had made for a fascinating and inspiring read.

“Well,” Nana continued, “it recently struck me that there's something else you really should see that is related to Catherine. Information about her daughters.”

“Her daughters?” I
thought for a moment. Though Catherine's journal only covered the span of a few months, we knew she'd gone on to have six children in her lifetime. Her son, Emmanuel Talbot, had been the first male in the family to come to America, though I seemed to recall hearing he'd been preceded here by two of his sisters.

“Some of their old letters have been preserved in the family archives,” Nana said. “I was reminded of them last summer when Renee was researching the pamphlet.”

Back in July, my cousin had solved a centuries' old family mystery involving a pamphlet—and met the man of her dreams in the process. I smiled now, thinking of Renee and her good fortune. Blake had recently moved to Seattle to be near her, and the two were happily dating and more than likely headed toward marriage.

“Last week I was thinking about the relationship between you and Nicole, and those old letters came to mind. I think the two of you ought to read them.”

“Sounds great. The letters were written by Catherine?”

“No,
to
her by her grown daughters once they emigrated to Virginia.”

I thought for a moment. “They're not in French are they, like the journal was?”

“No. Catherine and her husband fled from France to England, if you recall. Their children were born and raised there.” Nana sighed, and I could see how tired she was. “Anyway, once things settle down around here, I'll dig them up for you. Considering the story they tell of two sisters making their way in the New World, I think you and Nicole would enjoy reading them together.”

“That sounds wonderful, Nana. We'd love to.”

By the time she and I finished our conversation, Nicole was asleep and Inez had gone home, so I left without telling my sister good night. I drove away with a lightness in my heart I hadn't felt in a long while. I was intrigued by the ideas of the letters, yes, but mostly my thoughts were on my sister. Not only was the real Nicole back—for now, at least, I reminded myself—but it struck me how nice it was going to be to come home to someone at night, to not have to eat alone. To bond with her again.