While My Sister Sleeps (13 page)

By dawn, she gave up on sleep. This was race day. She didn't care if Robin came in last, as long as she placed. The clock was ticking. The second EEG would be done tonight. One tiny blip. That was all they needed to redouble their efforts. Just one.

As soon as Charlie spelled her, she drove home to shower and change. She couldn't hide exhaustion, but when she returned to the hospital, at least she felt fresh. She was wearing her favorite blazer and slacks, perhaps overkill for a hospital room, but appearance mattered. If she looked like a somebody in the eyes of the hospital staff, Robin would benefit.

Charlie, bless him, didn't need to dress up. With gorgeous, so-blond-as-to-be-nearly-white hair, a straight back, and confident
hazel eyes, he was distinguished even in an open-collar shirt and slacks. But he was feeling the strain. As she entered the room he looked up unguarded. He was suffering too, she realized, and she wrapped her arms around him. She lingered there for her own benefit, gearing up for what came next, but found it didn't help. When she finally looked at Robin, she was hit in the gut.

She actually needed a minute to catch her breath. Then the words came out in a bewildered rush. “Why Robin? Why this? Why now? And why
us?
We did everything right raising Robin. Body, mind, heart—we nourished it all. She didn't want for
anything.
”

“We were blessed to be able to do those things, Kath. Not all parents can. Are they any less worthy?”

“No, but this is unfair. Robin is so close. She's on the … the cusp of greatness. What kind of God would take that away?”

“One who has something better in mind.”

“Like what?” Kathryn demanded. When Charlie didn't reply, she goaded, “You and my mother. Things happen for a reason. Tell me. I want to know what good can come of this.”

Quietly, he said, “We can't see it now. But we will.”

“
When?
Before the test? After the test? Next week? Next month?”

He drew her in and held her until she let the anger go in a sorrowful sigh. That was when she saw the vases on the windowsill. One held yellow roses, one green hydrangea, one a field mix of lavender and blue. “Who?”

“Robin's friends. The flower shop downstairs delivered them. We're just starting to get plant orders at Snow Hill. The calls are coming from New York and L.A.”

“How many arrangements will the nurses allow?” Kathryn
asked. As surprisingly liberal as the hospital's policy was regarding family involvement, this was still the ICU.

“As many as we want,” Charlie replied.

She met his gaze. The implication was clear. “It's about us now, not Robin.” When he didn't argue, she left his side and went to the bed. Staying positive was getting harder, but she dug deep inside and produced a bright, “Good morning, Robin!”

MOLLY
was up at dawn, putting her tote in the car and driving to Snow Hill. Her plants needed watering, and, yes, one of her staff could have done it. But the greenhouse fortified her. Strapping an apron around her waist, she worked her way from section to section. As the moisture added to the rich smell of earth, she grew calmer. Robin swore by aromatherapy. This was Molly's own brand.

Had she not been under its lingering effect, she might have been more upset when she took a break and saw the newspaper. Mention of Robin had won a spot totally separate from the police blotter. The piece wasn't long, but it was under Nick's byline. Even beyond personal disappointment, this created problems.

Unable to dwell on them, she headed for the hospital. Her parents were there when she reached Robin's room, but a respiratory therapist was working with the breathing tube. Crossing to the window, Molly read the notes on the flowers until he left. Then she turned back.

Her mother was as attractive as ever. Her brown hair had a healthy shine, her cheeks a subtle blush. Her slacks were neat,
her blazer trendy. But her eyes were filled with fear, which had the effect of aging her ten years.

Unsettled, Molly spoke gently. “These flowers are just the start. Robin has
the
best friends. I swear, half of them would hop on a plane and be here this afternoon if we gave the word. The e-mail just doesn't stop. I've told everyone that we're taking it one day at a time.” She paused, but knew it had to be said. “I've also told them that it doesn't look good.”

“Molly—” Kathryn started.

“Silence doesn't work,” Molly reasoned. She kept her voice soft, but if she was being forced into the role of spokesperson, she did have a say. “Take these flowers. They're from people I didn't talk with—Susie Hobbs, the San Diego running club. Robin's friends are calling each other, leaving messages, playing phone tag, and the story keeps getting wilder. If we want them to spread the truth, we have to give them the truth.”

Sensing her parents were listening, she pulled the morning paper from her tote. It was already folded with Nick's piece on top. She passed it to her father—who may or may not have had a heart defect. In her entire memory, he had been quiet and well-paced. She had assumed it was just his personality. Now she wondered if the discipline was deliberate.

Kathryn read the paper over his shoulder. Then, staring at Molly with reproach, she sank into a chair by the bed.

Molly was quickly defensive. “There was no avoiding it, Mom.”

“Nick is your friend. Couldn't you keep this from happening?”

“The paper would have printed something with or without him. This is news.”

“And he couldn't make them wait? Of course he could have, but he didn't want to. He is ruthless. He is also fixated on your sister. He's using you to get news of her.”

“No, Mom. We carry on whole conversations that have nothing to
do
with her.”

“Now? No, I didn't think so. How much are you telling him?”

“
Nothing.
Can't you tell from this article? I refuse to talk, and he can't get past the hospital's privacy laws, so he's printing gossip. But maybe we're taking the wrong tactic. We should use him to get out what
we
want in print.”

Kathryn glanced at Charlie, who raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the point.

Emboldened, Molly said, “Same with Snow Hill. We have to tell our employees something. Right now, they're just speculating. Tami came in early again today—”

“You were there?” Kathryn asked in surprise. “Dressed up like that?”

Molly was wearing a belted blouse and short skirt. “This isn't dressed up.”

“You usually wear jeans.”

“This is cooler. Besides, maybe I need to look authoritative if you want me to be your stand-in. Tami says rumors are flying. They range from Robin needing a transplant to something being wrong with you or Dad. I focused her on Robin by telling her about the coma; but if you want me to say something else, you need to tell me what.”

Neither of her parents spoke. And Molly didn't have the heart to badger. She understood why they couldn't deal with this. She didn't want to deal with it either.

But here was Robin, silent and inert. Discouraged, Molly studied her sister. “It's ridiculous to sugarcoat this. Even if she wakes up, her life will be changed.” Of course, she was daring her mother to argue.

But Kathryn simply said, “I know. I just can't go there yet.”

The admission helped. This was progress.

Charlie gave Kathryn's shoulder a squeeze and left the room. Molly's first instinct was to follow to ask about his heart, but she sensed a softening in her mother and wanted to take advantage of it.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I wish it was me in that bed.”

“I wish it was
me,
” Kathryn replied.

“But then, who would run Snow Hill?” Molly countered, only half in jest.

“You. What's in the bag?”

“I can't run Snow Hill. I was only joking about the skirt.”

“Of course you can run Snow Hill. You know it better than anyone else. What's in the bag?”

Loath to argue, Molly hoisted the tote to the bed. “The nurses said to personalize the room, so I brought things from home.”

“They haven't repeated it,” Kathryn told her with a frightened look. “Not since yesterday morning. That worries me.”

What worried her, Molly knew, was that the nurses had started thinking of Robin as beyond help; but that was where mothers and sisters came in. She began taking things from the tote. “We personalized Nana's room to help spark memories. If it works for her, it can work for Robin.”

“It doesn't work for Nana.”

“It does. She told me yesterday that you have a daughter named Robin.”

Kathryn sat back. “Oh Molly. You told her about this.”

“She didn't take in the bad part. Really, Mom, I didn't upset her. But I needed to talk with someone, and she needed a guest.”

Kathryn shot her a skeptical look.

“Besides,” Molly went on, “we don't know that it doesn't work.” Without looking at Kathryn again, she set up picture
frames and tacked letters to the bulletin board. She laid Robin's book on the bed stand, set her London hat on the ventilator, hung her sneakers from the IV pole.

She hesitated when it came to the wristband, looking for an appropriate spot, but there was only one. Carefully, she eased it over Robin's limp fingers and adjusted it on her wrist.

She was crying by then, but there was still the journal. Taking it from the tote, she hid behind it. “I'm sorry… I know you don't want crying … but how not to …with Robin lying here …and it's like every one of her motivational mantras is useless … and this journal is so
old it
doesn't
begin
to capture what she is now … so what
good
is it?”

Kathryn's arms came around her, and the comfort wasn't too different from the comfort Marjorie had unwittingly given. What was happening to Robin was shocking and new, but Kathryn's arms brought comfort from the past. Slowly Molly stopped crying.

“I'm sorry,” Kathryn finally said, sounding none too steady herself. “This is hard on you, and I haven't been able to help. There are times when I feel…stuck in the moment.”

“Like Robin.”

“Maybe.”

Molly wiped her eyes. “It's the waiting. You hope and you hope, and nothing happens, and now there's this second test.”

“I may ask them to postpone it.”

Molly caught her breath. “No, Mom. Don't do that. We need to know.”

“I'm not ready.”

“We need to
know.
”

Kathryn looked away.

“It's the
waiting that's
so bad,” Molly repeated. “How do we get through that?”

Kathryn was quiet. Then, in a measured way that said her brain knew the answer even if her heart did not, she declared, “We do our jobs.”

MOLLY
wanted to ask her father about his heart, but hated to leave Kathryn alone. So she waited for Charlie to return, but then couldn't raise the issue with her mother sitting there. Thwarted, she left them together and went down to the lounge. Chris and Erin were nursing coffee at a table.

She pulled up a chair and murmured, “Nightmare.”

“You've already said that,” Chris remarked. “So, do you think she'll wake up?”

“Science would say no, but I've had plants I thought were stone dead—I mean, so dried up and shriveled that I cut them off just shy of the root—and they've come back.”

Chris stared at her as if she was an imbecile. “Robin isn't a plant.”

“Okay.” Molly smiled, putting the onus on him. “
You
tell us something positive.”

He studied his coffee cup.

“You look nice,” Erin said, leaning around to look. “You have great legs. You should wear skirts more.”

“Maybe you can catch a doctor,” Chris put in.

Molly bristled. “You are sick. So I'm wearing a skirt. I don't need to look like I've been digging in dirt all the time.”

“That is what you do.”

“Chris,” Erin protested.

Molly could fight her own battles. “What's
with
you?” she asked her brother.

He frowned. “I'm upset about Robin.”

“And I'm
not?
” she cried. Struck by her own shrillness, she lowered her voice. “Let's not argue right now. I'm still hung up on the heart thing, Chris. Robin told her doctor that her father had a problem.”

Chris recoiled. “Her father? How do you know that?”

“I found a letter. Why would she say Dad had a problem if he didn't?”

“Better to blame someone else,” he said, unkind but true.

“Have you told your father about the letter?” Erin asked.

“I haven't had a chance. I wanted to stay with Mom. I worry about her.”

“What can we do?”

“To quote her, ‘We do our jobs.’ “

“Uh-huh,” Chris said acidly. “While Robin is on life support.”

“Snow Hill doesn't stop,” Molly reasoned. “I'm already doing my own work, and I'll cover for Mom. Someone has to cover for Dad.”

“I lost most of yesterday,” he said, “so I'm behind on payroll and bills, and quarterly estimates are due in a week.”

“I'm moving in five days,” Molly countered calmly, “but that doesn't mean I can let the garden club in Lebanon think Mom is still giving her speech. I'll talk with the people who need answers outside Snow Hill. You talk with people inside.”

Chris waved a hand
no.

“Okay,” she tried. “I'll talk with people inside. You talk with people outside.”

The look on his face said he found that thought even more distasteful.

“I know you don't want to, Chris. But we're all doing things we don't want to do.”

He turned the cup in his hands.

“Please,” Molly appealed, but he remained silent. “Fine.” She pushed herself up. “I'll do it myself.”

“SHE'S
right,” Erin said as soon as Molly was gone. “Everyone here is having to do things they don't want to do.”

But Chris was angry. “Do I need Molly telling me what to do?”

“It isn't her fault. She's only the messenger.”

“She's used to filling in for Mom. I'm not used to filling in for Dad. He can't do my work, and I can't do his.”

“No one's asking you to design a media campaign, just to make a few phone calls.”