While My Sister Sleeps (20 page)

“Oh no,” she wailed feebly, “not the nurse. She'll tell my father.” When she tried to roll away, David did hold her shoulder as a matter of safety. He couldn't have her standing up. “You don't understand.” Her eyes were dark and woeful. “I'm a good dancer. There is nothing wrong. Maybe I overdid yesterday. Or maybe it's school. Wearing me out.”

“It wouldn't hurt to be checked out,” he suggested.

“It
would.
They'll take forever. I can't miss practice.”

“All right, Alexis,” said the nurse, swooping in and taking over.

But when David stood back, Alexis almost seemed to panic. “Don't leave, Mr. Harris,” she begged him. “You can tell them. I was fine in class. Wasn't I? Then something hit me. Maybe the flu?” she asked the nurse, but the woman was taking her pulse.

“Weak,” she said worriedly. “You're going to the hospital.”

“Nooo—”

“Your dad is in Concord, your mom is in court. I left messages. One of them will meet us at Dickenson-May.” Looking at David as the EMTs arrived, she muttered under her breath, “A disaster waiting to happen.”

David went in the ambulance. He had lunch period anyway, and nothing scheduled for the afternoon except monitoring a study hall, which a sub could do. Not that he was eager to run into Wayne Ackerman at the hospital, but when the nurse started to climb in, Alexis pointed at David. “
You.
Please.” He might have come up with an excuse had it not been for Robin Snow. He regretted having sent her off alone. If there had been any brain activity during that ride, he should have been there. Yes, it was a matter of basic human warmth.

With two EMTs flanking the girl during the ride, he sat by her feet. He smiled reassuringly when she looked his way, though her eyes were closed most of the time. When his phone vibrated, he pulled it out, checked the panel, put it back. He didn't know a Dukette, Nicholas. The man had tried earlier, but left no message.

When the ambulance pulled up at Dickenson-May, David was the first one out; but with the eyes of a frightened child, Alexis checked to make sure he was there, so he walked alongside
as they wheeled her in. Filling in for her parents, neither of whom had arrived, he told the doctor what had happened yesterday and today.

Then he sat in the waiting room. There were only two other patients; Dickenson-May was known for its efficiency. As relieved as he was that Alexis was getting help, he worried that he had overreacted. If it was only the flu, he was in trouble. Well,
more
trouble than he already was in. Wayne Ackerman wouldn't be pleased.

The doctor emerged from Alexis's cubicle and approached him. “Parents not here yet?”

“No. How is she?”

The man gave a look that said more than his words. “You were right to worry. She needs to be admitted.”

“How do you treat her?”

“We feed her intravenously while we run more tests. If the parents prefer a private clinic—”

“Alexis Ackerman?” came a loud voice.

Alexis's mother wore power suits and exuded authority. David had met her at numerous school events, most recently at the open house on Monday night. She had sat in his classroom listening to him talk for ten minutes. Yet she made no sign of recognizing him when the doctor beckoned her over.

Dropping back, he went outside. He was scanning the parking lot to see if Alexis's father had come—the superintendent drove a dark blue BMW 335i with the top down—when he saw Molly Snow. She was just leaving the hospital.

Something inside him warmed. He liked Molly. Even in dark moments, she had a touch of brightness.

But just now she did seem grim.
Let her be
, a tiny voice said.
She's dealing with a family crisis, and you remind her of the

worst.
He jogged over anyway. “Molly?” he called when he was close enough.

She looked up and refocused. “Hey, David.”

“How's Robin?”

She lifted a shoulder. “The ICU can't do anything more. They've just moved her to a regular room. The respirator is all that's keeping her alive.”

A bad day all around. He had been hoping for a miracle. “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. My parents are faced with an awful decision. All of us, really. But my mother is the one who'll say when.”

David felt partly responsible. “It might have been better if I hadn't found her.”

Molly cleared her throat. “Well, that is one of the things my mother has said in the last few hours. She's depressed.”

“She has a right.”

“But the ICU has other patients in bad shape. Some will be handicapped for life. For Robin, that would have been devastating. So maybe this is a blessing—not that my mother wants to hear that. She didn't want it to happen at all.”

A telltale purr came from the parking lot as Wayne Acker-man cruised in. Parking the convertible, he was out in a flash and trotting toward the emergency room. There was a moment of clear recognition when his eyes touched David, but he didn't wave.

Molly watched him pass. “Do you know him?”

“That,” David said, “is my boss.”

She gasped. “The one whose daughter has a problem?”

“Uh-huh.” He told her what had happened.

“Good for you for speaking up,” Molly said. “If someone had told us about Robin's condition before this happened, she
might be okay. Did Ackerman really tell you to mind your own business?”

“That was the gist of it. But I'm not sorry about today. Based on what my doctor friend said Tuesday night, she's showing signs of malnutrition; and, if that's so, shame on her parents. ‘Course, I could still lose my job. Each time Dr. Ackerman looks at me he sees the guy who was right about his kid when he wasn't—like I know a secret that they don't want anyone else to know. It'll be interesting to see what he and his wife do. I'm guessing they'll whisk Alexis off to a private clinic in Massachusetts and tell the world she's with a ballet guru in St. Petersburg.” He snorted. “My class. Both times. Why was that?”

“Because she trusts you.”

“Oh, no. She thinks I betrayed her by going to her dad.” But she had wanted him in the ambulance. That was something.

“You did the right thing,” Molly said.

And that was something. But he was embarrassed. Molly was in the midst of her own crisis. “You were headed somewhere.” He took a step back. “I should let you go.”

She smiled sadly—she did that often, he realized, and guessed she was a chronic smiler who was simply now very sad. “I'm going home,” she said. “I have to pack. I'm moving Tuesday.” Her eyes filled. “
We're
moving Tuesday. I rent a place with my sister. We have to be out before the wrecker comes. We were moving back to our parents’ place until we found something else.” Again that sad smile. “Irony, of course. Going home. For Robin, forever.” Her voice cracked. She pressed a hand to her mouth and lowered her eyes.

He touched her shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

She nodded and sniffled.

He didn't have a tissue. But he did have strong arms. “Want some help with the packing?”

She brushed the heel of her hand against her nose. He was thinking that she didn't have a tissue either, which made her an unusual woman, when she looked at him with a sudden ferocity. “Not out of pity,” she declared. “I've been covering for Robin for years and can do it now. If you're feeling guilt about her, I don't want your help. I've had it with men who do things with me because of their feelings for her.”

“Whoa.” David held up his hands. “I have no feelings for her. I don't know her.”

As suddenly as it had come, her ferocity left. “No. You don't.”

“Helping you pack would be therapeutic for me. It'll balance out all the times lately when I've felt useless.”

“Don't you have to work?”

“No more today. Where do you live?”

She paused. “Are you
sure?
”

“Very,” he said.

He must have looked earnest enough because she said, “I'll lead,” and set off for her car.

MOLLY
felt the same lift she always did when she turned in at the cottage; but with only four nights left, the pleasure was bittersweet. That was one of the reasons she had taken David up on his offer. His presence would be a diversion that might keep her from dwelling on this place that she loved. But there was also the issue of discipline. If David was there to help, she couldn't put it off.

“It really is an adorable house,” she said, defending it as she
unlocked the door and led him inside. “I know it doesn't look like much with all these cartons, but before this, it was very sweet. I've tried to find another place like it, but nothing comes close.” Dropping her keys and the mail, she opened several windows. “My grandmother always said things happen for a reason. Maybe the reason I haven't found another place is because this was destined to happen to Robin, and her stuff would have to go home anyway.” She cocked her head, listened. “I have a cat. I don't hear it.”

“What's its name?”

“No name yet. I just got her.” She shot him a guilty look. “Monday. I was taking my time settling her in while Robin was fading away at the ER.”

“Would it have made a difference if you'd reached the hospital sooner?”

“No. Still…”

“Maybe you have to let that go,” he said kindly. “Like I have to let go of the fact that if I'd been running faster, I'd have gotten there sooner and saved her.”

“You did save her,” Molly said.

“For what?”

Well, there was a reason. There had to be. “I'll let you know,” she said and set off for the kitchen. “This cat may be another of Nana's destined happenings. Robin wasn't wild about cats. The problem is that my mother isn't either, but this one'll have to come home with me—unless you want her?” she asked hopefully. David was a gentle person. She had sensed that from the first. “Do you have pets?”

He shook his head. “My condo has a no-pet clause. I grew up with dogs, though.”

“Where?” Molly asked, opening the fridge.

“Washington.”

She had good Washington memories. “Robin loved the Marine Corps Marathon. We had the best times on those weekends. Do you want a cold drink? I have plain water, fruit water, energy water, or soda.” She didn't offer the Scooby-Doo chocolate milk box. Too embarrassing.

“Soda, thanks,” he said.

She took out two Diet Cokes. “But I'm talking about DC. Are you from the District or the state?”

“The District. Everyone else in my family is still there. I'm the black sheep.”

“That makes two of us. Why you? Because they're in publishing and you teach?”

“It's more than that. They're newspaper people. I'm not.”

“And better for it,” she declared, thinking of Nick, then realized what she'd said. “Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that there's something wrong with your family.”

He popped his soda tab. “There is. They're driven in ways that I'm not. Being on the A-list is important to them. It isn't to me. But why are you the black sheep? You are in the family business.”

“I water plants. I cut off dried leaves. I pack dirt. I can't do PR like my dad, or balance the books like my brother, and Robin is a front person like my mom.” She felt a return of the weight on her heart. “Was. Robin was. And see, I'm the black sheep in this, too. My mother wants the machines on, my brother wants them off, my father wants what my mother wants. Me, I just want what Robin wants.” But how to know that? It was the same dead end. Needing to lighten up, she said, “Want to see my favorite spot?” She led him to the stairs at one end of the living room.

“This would be my favorite, too,” he said when they reached the loft. “What kind of plant is that?”

“Aphelandra squarrosa, fondly known as a zebra plant. It's native to Brazil. It was dying in my dad's office, so I brought it here. It doesn't love direct sun and needs shade when it's done blooming. After dormancy, though, it'll re-bloom if it gets a couple of months of strong light. In the meantime, we get to enjoy this beautiful striped foliage.”

David bent to study the pot underneath. “Beautiful earthenware, too.”

“That's from Rio,” she said, pleased that he'd noticed. “Robin bought it for me when she marathoned there. She always brought me gifts. This one's from Valencia,” she said, pointing to the pot holding a schefflera, then at one containing a palm, “and Helsinki.” She grew nostalgic. “I can say Robin was self-absorbed, but she never came back without a gift. I have a hair clip from Luxor and sweaters from New Zealand and Cornwall. She always knew what I wanted. So why don't I know what she wants now?”

He straightened. “Because knowing the gifts a person appreciates is easier than knowing how a person wants to die.”

Simply spoken, but true. She didn't even wince at the word “die.” She could say it. She had come that far. Robin was dying.

That said, she wasn't a rock. She didn't want to be packing Robin's room. That had
end
written all over it.

With only four nights left, though, it had to be done. And with David here to buffer her emotions, Robin's room was the place to start.

She led him down the stairs to the first bedroom. There, centered on Robin's bed, was the cat. She was sitting up, eyes unblinking, ears alert.

“She's very small,” David observed.

“And not a baby, but she's been abused. Poor thing. I haven't been much help.” She crept forward. When the cat didn't run,
she dared a little more. She held out a hand and bent over. “Come here, little sweetie,” she cooed. “I know you've been eating.” When she tried to bridge the final gap, the cat bolted off the bed and out the door.

David swiveled to watch. “Her color is striking. Will those cuts leave scars?”

“Her fur will cover them up. The scars inside? Time will tell. Right now, she's between two lives. She doesn't really know who she is.” Like her grandmother, Molly realized, and she felt a need to visit again. Despite what Kathryn said, Marjorie handled what she could and let the rest go. Alzheimer's disease notwithstanding, it was an enviable trait.

Sinking onto the bed, Molly ran a hand over the quilt. “People really did love Robin. This was made for her by the mother of a running friend. The woman lives on an island off the coast of Maine. Her work is exquisite.”