While My Sister Sleeps (29 page)

“Did she ever try to convert you?”

“Of course. Runners are missionaries. She just never succeeded.”

“What else did she do besides run?”

“Ate yogurt and drank herb tea,” Molly said fondly. “And gave speeches. She inspired girls who wanted to run competitively. She helped raise millions of dollars for charity. You have my mom to thank for that. She taught Robin good values.”

He seemed pensive. Then he looked at her. “Tell me about your mom.”

“She is deeply in love with my dad,” Molly said, just so he'd know.

“She's been happy, then?”

“Very. Until now. This has thrown her.”

“Will I see her?”

Molly shot him a look and, for an instant, they were conspirators. “That's anyone's guess. We'll know soon. Almost there.”

KATHRYN
had no desire to see Peter. If there was physical fault to be found in what had happened to Robin, he bore it. But Robin had collapsed on her watch. That was a mark against her, and it went beyond pride. Facing Peter meant facing her guilt for missing signs that had to have been there.

The alternative, though, was letting him visit Robin alone. Oh, one of the others could sit in, but it wasn't the same. Kathryn had shepherded Robin through everything else in her life. She couldn't quit now.

That thought made for another night of sporadic sleep. She awoke groggy, and even a long shower and three cups of coffee barely helped.

Arriving early at the hospital, she put Robin's arms and legs through range-of-motion exercises—not caring that the doctors had stopped suggesting it—but her eyes kept returning to her daughter's face. Robin had always had beautiful skin, and that hadn't changed in four days. Kathryn wondered if it would after a week. She wondered if it would after a year. Other things would definitely change, such as muscle tone. She couldn't remember a time when Robin hadn't been lean and strong. Watching her run was like watching a thoroughbred.

Her heart ached at the paradox—the same sport that had made Robin the picture of health had been her undoing.

The door opened, and despite twelve hours of dread, she thought at first that Peter was just another hospital employee.
Robin might have seen recent pictures, but Kathryn had not. Thirty-two years later, he looked different.

She must have been staring blankly, because he gave her a wry smile. “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked. His voice, with its seductive West Texas drawl, compressed the years.

She rose. “No. It's just that the hospital sends so many people in here.”

He closed the door. “Have I changed that much?”

His body hadn't. He was as tall and lean-muscled as he had been when they first met, and exuded the same athleticism. He'd had few wrinkles on his face then but there were plenty now. Conversely, he'd had plenty of hair then but little now.

“I pictured you the way you were,” she said.

“You haven't seen me since?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. I'm still in the news sometimes, and my face is all over my Web site.”

But Kathryn was at a loss. The last time she had seen Peter Santorum, he had been stark naked. They had just had sex, and she was dressing to leave. She tried to think of what else they had said or done during their twenty-four hours together. But sex was all she could recall.

Focus
, she thought, and turned to Robin. “You wanted to see him, so he's come,” she said softly, then to Peter, “Isn't she beautiful?” So beautiful. So still. The tragedy of it made her emotions raw.

He hadn't moved from the door. “I could see it from her pictures. She takes after her mom. You look good, Kathryn.”

“I can't. It's been a week from hell. I've barely slept.”

“Still you look good. The years have been kind to you.”

Angry, because this wasn't a party and flattery was
absurd
, she said, “I'd give up every one of those kind years if I could
turn back the clock. I'd sell my soul to the
devil
if it would spark Robin's brain back to life.”

His eyes did shift to Robin then, but they seemed tentative, as if they might skitter away at the slightest provocation. It struck her that he was frightened. Oddly, that made him less of a threat.

“You can come closer,” she dared.

Cautiously, he came to Robin's side. “This is not how I imagined meeting my daughter.”

“No. I wish you'd seen her in action.”

“I did,” he said to Kathryn's surprise. “A couple months after I called, she ran San Francisco. I watched from the Embarcadero just past Pier 39.” He smiled. “My luck, she was in the first wave of runners. I had to get up at dawn for a four-second glimpse. I'd call that devotion.”

Kathryn would call it curiosity
—cowardly
curiosity. Robin had run a personal best that day, placing second among women runners.

Devotion? Not quite. “Did you
never
think of her all those years before?” she asked in dismay.

He didn't flinch. “What would have been the point?”

“She was
your child.
How could you
not?
”

He held up a hand. “I'm not you, Kathryn. I didn't carry her for nine months. I gave up my parental rights before she was even viable. Besides, would you have wanted me involved?”

“No.”

“Enough said.”

Kathryn made a guttural sound. “You sound like my son.”

“Molly told me that.”

“She tends to run at the mouth. What else did she tell you?”

“That you have a great marriage, that your husband has been a wonderful father to Robin, that you've been happy.”

“I have. I've been lucky.”

He waved his hand. “We make our luck. It's about making smart decisions.”

But Kathryn had learned too much about herself in the last few days to agree. “I don't know if the decisions I made were always smart. When something like this happens, you start second-guessing your life.”

“What's to second-guess? You raised a wonder with this one. Her sister's pretty sharp too, and I haven't even met your boy.”

You haven't even met Charlie
, Kathryn thought, because at that moment, he seemed a far more stable parent than she. “Molly's heart's in the right place,” she said quietly. “She's hellbent on doing what Robin wants, hence her call to you.”

Leaving her side, Peter walked around the bed. He put his elbows on the far rail and studied Robin. “Part of me wishes she hadn't. This isn't fun.”

Kathryn shot him a withering look.

He got the message. “Y'know,” he said, sounding defensive, “some of us aren't good at the hard stuff. I play tennis. I teach kids. I run schools. I am not good at family. Any one of my wives—excuse me, my
ex-
wives—can attest to that. So I stick to the light stuff, and maybe that's a character flaw. But my father died when I was a kid. So I knew I could die young, too— even before I learned about my heart. We'll never know for sure whether my father had it, too, but he was a rancher. His work was as physical as any athlete's. But that isn't the point. I can't stress over stuff I'd fail at. I am who I am. I play tennis. That's what I do.”

Kathryn was pressing her heart. Substitute the word
run
for
play tennis
, and he could have been quoting Robin's journal. She had felt a sadness reading that, and now felt the same sadness hearing it from Peter.

“So I accept the reality of the thing,” he went on. “People have limitations.”

“But isn't it important to try to expand on them?”

“Yes. That's why I'm here.”

She had no retort.

“But it doesn't change who I am,” he insisted. “If I'd married you back then, sure, I'd have known Robin, but we'd have all been miserable. Instead, look at you. Married to the same guy all these years? Know how special that is?”

She did. Taking Robin's hand, she held it to her throat.

“I'm glad Molly called me,” he said, straightening. “Being here is right for me. If I'd learned about it afterward, I'd have felt worse.” He paused, looking from one machine to the next. “Mighty intimidating.”

“You get used to them. You get used to the whole situation. You go from numbness to tears and back.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asked with just enough gravity to explain what he meant.

She shook her head
—can't go there—
and clung to Robin's hand, her own lifeline. Then she cleared her throat. “So you still love playing tennis?”

“Yeah. I do it well.”

“Do you miss the high of competing?” she asked, because Robin had wondered that.

“I miss winning. I don't miss losing. When you start losing more than you win, you know it's time.”

“Did you feel like a failure when you quit?”

“If I let myself think about it, I would have; but I was already starting my school. Surround yourself with kids who think you hung the moon, and you don't feel like a failure.”

“Did you ever want to do anything else?” He made a
whome?
face.

“Did anyone ever suggest you do something else?” Kathryn asked, wondering if she should have suggested it to Robin.

“My wives did. Lotsa different ideas to make money.”

“What about your mother? Is she still alive?”

His face softened. “Sure is. She wants me happy.”

“I wanted Robin happy,” Kathryn mused. Robin's journal haunted her.

“Wasn't she?”

“When she was running. But it bothered her that running was the only thing she was good at—at least, that's what she wrote in her journal. She kept looking at the rest of us and thinking she should do more.”

“Did you pressure her?”

“No. But I always equated her with running. I never pushed her to do other things. Maybe that was the problem. She began thinking she couldn't
do
those other things and worrying about what would happen when she couldn't compete. If I'd known she worried about that, I'd have said I didn't care what she did, as long as she was happy.”

“That's a mother thing—happiness is.”

“I didn't get a chance to say it. She didn't share those thoughts.”

“I had a dozen years of therapy before I could share them.”

She should have talked with you
, Kathryn thought and, feeling responsible for the lack of contact, quietly said, “Maybe you could tell her some of what you learned from your therapist? She'll hear. It's really important.” Gently, she set down Robin's hand. “I'm going to leave you alone with her, Peter. Please tell her what you just said?”

MOLLY
was waiting outside the room. Charlie and Chris were there, but neither of them wanted to barge into Robin's room, either. Charlie looked worried when Kathryn came out, but Molly felt worse. She was the one who had brought Peter here.

Kathryn motioned briefly to let Charlie know she was all right, but Molly was the one she turned to. “I lost sleep over this,” she said with an edge.

Molly's heart fell. “I'm sorry. It's just that Robin was so insistent.”

Kathryn took a deep breath. Settling against the wall beside Molly, she folded her arms and asked, “So what do you think of him?”

The edge had softened. Relieved by that—and flattered to be asked—Molly said, “He seems nice. How was he with Robin?”

“He was okay. Do you think she'd like him?”

“Not like she loves Dad,” Molly said on a note of loyalty.

Charlie must have sensed their need for space because he quietly moved Chris down the hall. Molly was grateful. It was hard enough talking about Peter with Kathryn, but even harder with Charlie listening.

“Would she understand?” Kathryn asked.

Molly was a minute following. “Understand your having been with Peter? Omigod, yes. You may be hung up about having been with someone other than Dad, but my generation is not. He's really good-looking even now, and he does have charm. I don't fault you for being with him, Mom. It was a shock—the
secret
of it—especially because you've always been hard on us on the subject of men.”

“Do you understand why?” Kathryn asked beseechingly.

“Yes. Now. If we'd known about Peter, we might have understood sooner.”

“How could I tell you—and still try to keep you from doing what I did—without suggesting Robin was a mistake? She wasn't, Molly. I was raised on Nana's sprites, too. Robin's conception had a purpose. It gave me focus. It made me ready to love your father.”

Robin had certainly believed in those sprites. “So you read the CD?” Molly asked.

Kathryn nodded. “Not fun to read. But enlightening. I just never knew.”

“None of us did. You can't beat yourself about that.”

“Some of what she felt, he felt too.”

“Like competition sucks?”

Smiling, Kathryn reached for her hand. “Mmm. That, and the business about doing only one thing well. They were both insecure about that.”

Molly loved her mother's grip. It suggested forgiveness, even approval. Her selfish heart felt full in what should have been an impossibly grim situation. “How does he deal?”

“He lets go. He gives himself permission to be good at one thing and lousy at other things.” Linking their fingers, she frowned. “He accepts who he is.”