While My Sister Sleeps (21 page)

David admired the quilt, then looked around, seeming curious but appropriately so. He wasn't rushing to touch Robin's things. He wasn't going ga-ga over the laurel wreath she had won in Boston. He wasn't fixated on the bed.

Molly tried to view it all through his eyes. Had he not known Robin before, he would now. This room had a single focus.

That heightened the qualm Molly already felt. “If my sister is anywhere, it's here. Taking this room apart feels like I'm rushing her to the grave.”

“Can you postpone the move?”

With a frustrated tug, she removed the band from her hair and re-gathered it. “I've called my landlord twice. He's a nice guy, but he isn't giving an inch.” She had a sudden thought. Running back to the kitchen, she thumbed through the local phone book. She put through the call as she returned to Robin's room.

The line rang once on the other end before the realtor picked up. “This is Dorie.”

“It's Molly Snow.”

There was a low gasp. “Oh my gosh, Molly. I'm so glad you called. No one seems to be able to get through to your mother. I understand things are bad.”

“They are,” Molly admitted, “and in the middle of it, I'm supposed to be packing. I've begged Terrance Field to give me an extra few days, but he insists I have to move out Monday so that his contractor can start Tuesday. I know you're his realtor, and I was thinking … I mean, maybe you could explain …”

“Hold on, sweetie. I'll call him on the other line.”

Molly quickly heard a click. “My landlord's realtor,” she explained to David. Clamping the phone to her ear, she reached for the quilt, thinking to fold it along with the rest of the bedding and use the mattress as a staging area for the closet junk. Then she noticed patches of amber fur on more than one spot. “Looks like my kitty really does like this.” She neatened the quilt. Then she paused. David had now seen Robin's room. If that was why he had come, he might conveniently remember something he had forgotten having to do.

That was what Nick had done. On the few occasions he had come to the house, he had wandered from room to room, remarking how much he loved it. Typically then, his phone had rung. He was the paper's best reporter and was in demand.

With the brilliance of hindsight, Molly realized the truth. He had seen what he needed to see—namely, no Robin—and was ready to leave.

Accepting this now, she didn't feel angry or hurt. She was actually relieved to be of one mind with her mother and sister.

Lighter of heart, she led David to the cartons in the front hall. That was when a voice came from the phone at her ear.

“Molly. The man is impossible. I told him that a few days wouldn't make a difference. I offered to call Mike DeLay— that's his contractor—but Terrance says no. He argues that you should have been packed two weeks ago. Should I give Mike a call anyway?”

But Molly was resigned. “No. Thanks, Dorie. The truth is, this won't be any easier in a month.”

And here was David, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, assembling cartons without her having to ask. If Nana was to be believed, the reason for
that
was that Molly was meant to move.

They returned to Robin's room and worked their way around the periphery, packing books from the night table, notes from the corkboard, race hats from hooks. They packed two bookshelves’ worth of mementos before Molly opened the closet door, at which point David sucked in a breath.

“I heard that,” she said quietly.

“Where do you
start?
”

She had asked herself the same thing more than once, but she was suddenly motivated. “Get more cartons. This is Robin's war chest. I'll just pack it all up. My mother can go through it once it's home.”

There was no “just” about packing it all up. Memories were crammed in right along with the things. While David untangled headsets, MP3 players, and iPods, Molly folded clothes; but each tee shirt recalled a story, so she discussed those, and told more stories about the plaques and trophies that were unearthed once the clothing was gone. When Molly warned David about mice, he searched the back of the closet for droppings but found none. More comfortable then, Molly dug armfuls of CDs from the far corners. They talked about Robin's musical taste, even played a U2 CD of hers while they worked.
When David said he was hungry, Molly realized she was starved.

She thanked him over bowls of Ok Dol Bibim Bop at a nearby Korean restaurant. “I needed this break. You're very soothing.” He was also very good-looking, with his gray eyes and chestnut hair. On the tail of that thought, her smile faded. “What kind of person has a good time while her sister is dying?”

“One who is still alive,” he said gently. “Hey, it's not like you're partying. You've been working. You have to eat. Besides, it's hard to sustain grief 24/7. And is it necessary? You've been there for Robin. Even what we just did was for her.”

That was the bottom line right now, Molly realized. “Tell me what you learned.”

“About Robin? Or you?”

“Robin.” Even though the final decision on what to do lay with Kathryn, it would help if Molly found clues. All the while they were packing, she had been looking for them. She wondered if she was too close to the forest to see the trees, hence her question to David.

He was thoughtful. Tentatively, he said, “I learned that she wins a lot. I hadn't realized how much until I saw all those trophies.”

No clues there. Molly waited.

“I learned how much she inspired others,” he went on. “The notes on the board were good, but there were all those others stuffed into trophies. Their sheer number is impressive. And she kept most of the trophies in the closet. What does that say?”

“That she already had too many on display.”

“Maybe it says she was embarrassed by the glut?”

Molly felt a pang of amusement. “Robin embarrassed? Not a
chance. She loved winning. She loved knowing those trophies were there. She called that closet her war chest for a reason. It held what she needed to conquer the world.”

“Well, that's the last thing I learned. Running is her life. There isn't much else.”

“Does that disappoint you?”

He shot her a puzzled smile. “Should it?”

Molly hesitated for only a minute. “When I first met you, you said you recognized her name. You called her every runner's idol. Someone who idolized her would have offered to help pack just to be near her things.”

“Not me. I offered to help
you;
but I'm helping myself, too. I'll always wish I could have done more Monday night. You ask what I learned? Not much more than I already knew. I've known a lot of people like Robin, and their accomplishments are amazing. But sometimes there's a price to be paid. I'm sad that she didn't have other things.”

Looking at it that way, Molly realized it was true. She had always envied her sister. But viewing Robin's life through another's eyes provided a new perspective.

“Maybe the problem was time,” Molly mused. “Running consumed her. Maybe as she got older, she would have done other things, too.”

“Which makes the tragedy all the greater,” he said, pulling a phone from his pocket. He studied the panel.

She gestured that he should take it. She had kept him long enough. He did have a life, had tomorrow's class to prepare for, maybe even a call to make regarding the girl who was sick.

He frowned. “This guy keeps trying me, but I don't know a Dukette.”

Coughing on a last sip of tea, Molly held out a hand, took the phone, looked for herself. Furious, she opened it. “Why are
you calling this number?” The ensuing silence was long enough for her to say, “Don't you dare hang up, Nick. Why are you calling this man?”

“Molly?”

“Good ear,” she taunted. “Where did you get this number?”

“The school directory.”

“Why?”

“David Harris and I have something in common.”

“You do not. He's an honest person. You are not.”

“Molly—”

“I'm going to hang up now, Nick; and when I do, I'm going to tell this man exactly
why
I hung up.” She snapped the phone shut. David was looking startled. “I know Nick Dukette,” she explained. “He's a major writer for the local paper, and he's looking for a story,
always
looking for a story—except when he's scheming for ways to be with my sister. They dated for a while, and after she broke up with him, he used his friendship with me to stay near her. I thought he valued me as a friend. Robin saw him for what he was. So if you learn one thing today, it's that my sister is smarter than I am.”

She held out the phone.

He set it on the table. “Why is he calling me?”

Molly didn't know, but the possibilities made her squirm. “He must want information on Robin. He saw me talking with you the other night and wanted to know who you were. I gave him your first name but not your last, and I said you were visiting someone else. If he knows you're the Good Samaritan, he got it from the cops.”

“They don't know. You're the only one who does.”

“Then he doesn't know. He told me you looked familiar, and he's really,
really
good with faces. Are you sure you've never met him?”

David seemed wary. “Is he a dedicated journalist?”

“Dedicated?”

“Ambitious.”

“Definitely,” Molly confirmed, trying to be professional now. “New Hampshire is a stepping-stone. He says it's about connections. He'll be leaving here as soon as he has the clout.”

“Would he go to Washington?” David asked, sounding subdued.

“In a heartbeat. He knows everything about the papers there.”

“Then he knows about my family. My dad is the publisher to meet. Look at a picture of him, and you see me in thirty years. Our features are identical.”

Molly sat back. “He saw that then. I'm sorry. If he hadn't seen me talking with you, you'd be safe.”

“Hey, I don't regret it. Besides, chances are he won't call again.”

“You don't know Nick. Be careful. He's a user.”

David snorted. “I was weaned on those.” He handed the signed tab to their server. “Are we packing more?”

BUT
Molly was starting to worry about her mother. Returning to the hospital, she found Kathryn alone with Robin. With artwork and two comfortable chairs, the new room was more like a real bedroom. Though the ventilator made the same soughing sound, there was less sense of urgency. That frightened Molly.

“Where's Dad?”

“Home.”

“Did Chris come by?”

Kathryn nodded.

“Can I get you anything, Mom?”

She shook her head.

“If you want to go home to sleep, I'll stay here.” When Kathryn didn't respond, Molly said, “Nick and I are no longer friends.”

That won her a small glance.

“You were right. He was using me.”

“Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah. Actually relieved. I'm tired of fighting you.”

Kathryn simply turned back to Robin.

“I've done a lot of packing.” Molly told her about the war chest. She didn't mention David—didn't want to upset her mother, though Kathryn seemed half-comatose herself. Given the shadow hanging over everything she herself did, Molly could only begin to imagine the depth of Kathryn's grief.

Something had to help. Determined to search for whatever it was, Molly returned home and attacked the next layer of Robin's closet. With yet another armload of CDs off the floor and no sign of mice, she was starting to wonder about Robin's warning, when she hit pay dirt.

CD. IN HINDSIGHT, IT WAS OBVIOUS. AFTER SO
many years of keeping a journal, Robin wouldn't have suddenly stopped. She simply shifted format. Instead of using a book, she would use a computer—but not just any old folder, since she had Molly checking her e-mail all the time. If she wanted to record private thoughts, she would type them on a CD and lock it away.

This one wasn't exactly locked away, but was where Robin knew Molly wouldn't go snooping around if there was the possibility of mice. That said, the CD did look insignificant, sandwiched between Norah Jones and Alicia Keys, with hand-doodled cover art. Except that Molly knew Robin's doodles, and while another person might have missed the letters hidden in the art, she did not.
My Book
, she read, and her heart skipped a beat.