While My Sister Sleeps (30 page)

“You accept who Robin is.”

“Do I? I didn't allow her to think about much else.” Her eyes found Molly's. “Maybe I didn't love her enough.”

“Omigod, Mom. You did.”

“She said I didn't trust her. Maybe I didn't.”

“You wanted her to do what she did best.”

“Maybe I just couldn't let go.”

“Would she have done anything differently if you had?”

“Maybe not, but she should have had that chance. I gushed over her running, but I should have gushed over
her.
I should have let go and loved her for
everything
she did.”

“Well, that's how I feel about Nana,” Molly burst out. Kathryn looked at her in alarm, but the comparison was too strong to ignore. “She is who she is, which is a different person from who she was. When I let go of who I want her to be and love her for who she is, I feel calm.”

“Nana is a whole other can of worms.”

Molly
hated
that expression. “She is the sweetest person in the world, and she's stuck somewhere between this life and the next. You sit with Robin for hours, even though the tests show she's not here. But what about Nana? She
is
here. She's still your mother. Why do you visit Robin and not her?”

Releasing Molly's hand, Kathryn folded her arms. “I can't talk about this now.”

Back off
, one part of Molly cried, but the other didn't listen. A window was open. “Then when? Nana has lucid moments. Do we wait until they're gone too? Her brain isn't totally dead yet, Mom.”

Kathryn seemed ready to argue when Peter emerged. Straightening, she turned. Molly couldn't see her face, but she saw Peter's. He looked upset.

“Did you tell her?” Kathryn asked.

He nodded. “I don't know what she heard.”

“It doesn't matter. At least you told her.”

He nodded. He looked at Kathryn for a minute, then at Molly.

Kathryn kept her arms folded. “You know my daughter.” She hitched her chin toward Charlie and Chris, who were approaching. “My husband. My son.”

The men shook hands.

Then they stood there, all of them, in awkward silence. What to do next? Feeling responsible, Molly said to Peter, “Would you like a tour of my sister's life?”

He seemed relieved. “Yeah. I would.”

MOLLY
was pleased with herself. Robin
would
want to show Peter around.

Leaving her parents at the hospital, she began at their house. From there, she showed him the schools Robin attended, the club where she worked out, the track where she trained. She drove him around the perimeter of Snow Hill but didn't take him inside. “Too many questions about Robin,” she explained quietly. He seemed to understand.

Then she drove to the cottage. When they turned off the road, she waited for a
wow, this is nice;
but if he noticed the roses, the hydrangea, or the oak, he made no mention. He was pensive. An emotional time for him, perhaps?

Inside, she showed him around. She saved Robin's room for last, but by the time they reached it, he was sneezing. Turned out, he was allergic to cats.

Not so perfect after all
, Molly thought, though she apologized profusely. Still he seemed determined to look around the room, and she felt guilty that so many of Robin's things were boxed up. Guessing that he might want to take something of her with him, she pointed him to a box of tissues and went into the kitchen. On the counter beside Robin's BlackBerry was the fanny pack that Robin had been wearing Monday night, home after its time on the floor in the ICU. Her wallet was inside.

Its contents were mainly plastic—a VISA, two store charges, a health insurance card. There were also her USATF membership card and her driver's license. Both had photos. The one on the license was barely a year old and flattering, as most pictures of Robin were. This one captured her looking carefree, definitely an expression Peter might like.

Molly was about to follow the sound of his sneezes when she spotted the small heart that designated Robin as an organ donor.

An organ donor.
By self-request.

Pulse racing, Molly slid the license into her pocket. Taking the USATF membership card, she gave it to Peter instead. He studied it, seeming genuinely touched, and thanked her. Moments later, they were out at the Jeep again.

“That's really it,” Molly said. “Did you …want to see Robin again?”

Kathryn might not like that, but Molly didn't know what else to say. She had invited him here. For what? A one-hour visit?

He sneezed a final time and blew his nose. “No. I'm okay. But I thought I'd hang around town for a couple days. Since I'm here anyway.” Stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket, he seemed cautious. “How long…. Has your mother said what she'll do?”

“She won't discuss it.” But Kathryn hadn't seen Robin's license. She had been adamant against organ donation when the doctors mentioned it Thursday morning. Once she knew Robin's feeling, that might change.

“I've booked a room at the Hanover Inn,” he said in a voice that was still vaguely nasal. “Think you could drop me there?”

Molly gestured him toward the car and drove the short distance. Once there, though acutely aware of the license in her pocket, she was reluctant to let him go. Guessing that the reluctance was what Robin would have felt, she suggested lunch.

Peter ordered a thick, home-cooked burger. Robin might have challenged him on it and spent a while arguing. Molly? She couldn't think of a thing to say, but she wasn't sure Peter noticed. He seemed lost in thought. It was a quiet meal.

When they finished, he took out a card and jotted a number on its back. “Here's my cell. Will you call if anything happens?”

She took the card and studied the number. Her mother might be upset. She might feel Peter had no right to any continued contact. But Robin would have taken the card.

Slipping it into her purse, Molly headed for the hospital. Kathryn was alone there. She looked like she had been crying again.

Molly hesitated, wondering whether the license would help or hurt. But she couldn't ignore it. Taking the small plastic card from her pocket, she handed it to Kathryn.

ATHRYN WAS A MINUTE FOCUSING. SHE HAD
seen Robin's license before. Puzzled, she glanced at Molly, who pointed to the small designation. As she grasped its meaning, Kathryn's heart began to pound.

Oddly frightened, she asked, “Did you know about this?”

“Not until today. I took it out because I thought Peter might want a small something of Robin's. Then I saw the notation.”

Kathryn studied the license again. “One more thing I didn't know,” she murmured and raised her eyes. “Wouldn't she have wanted to mention this to her family before she signed on?”

“It's not a big thing, Mom. Very PC right now. Her friends have probably done the same.”

“Have you?” Kathryn asked.

“No, but I'm not into yogurt and herb tea,” Molly said quietly. “But it's a good practice, like boycotting fur or refusing to
eat veal. I'm green when it comes to plants, but I don't do those other things. Don't ask me why.”

The answer was obvious to Kathryn. “You don't do them because Robin does.” She looked at the license again. “I wish she'd told me.”

“She figured she'd outlive you.”

“So did I,” Kathryn mused and again was hit with the unfairness of it. Angry at that, she said, “Were you really going to give this to Peter?”

“Robin won't need it, Mom.”

“But to give her things away so soon?”

“He's here now. He came all this way. And he's not staying long.”

“Did he say that?”

“No. But he knows he's not welcome.”

“It isn't that he isn't welcome,” Kathryn said, trying to figure out exactly what she felt. “I am glad that he came. You were right to call him. Robin did want it. Besides, it brings things full circle. I just don't want pressure.” Her eyes fell to the license again. She studied it, then looked at Robin. Still breathing. Still alive. Still here—her daughter, her child. How to end that? “I don't know what to do.”

“Maybe it would help if we knew more about it. Should I look into it?”

Kathryn's head came up fast. “Into what?”

“Organ donation. Find out what it entails.”

“It's too
soon.
”

“Not to actually do it, Mom. Just to find out.”

“No one will be able to use her heart.”

“There are other organs. Shouldn't we explore the options?”

But any option involved ending life support. Kathryn took a shuddering breath. “Thinking about this exhausts me.”

Molly was clearly upset. “I'm sorry. I thought it might help.”

“Because it tells us what Robin wants?”

“Because it would be doing something good.”

But Kathryn was so afraid of making a mistake. “What if Robin had something entirely different in mind when she signed on to be an organ donor? What if she was thinking of a sudden accident—like a car crash—where you're gone in an instant? Or, God forbid, a murder?” She let out a tired breath. “Listen to me—'God forbid, a murder?’ A car accident is bad enough. Every mother fears that, especially when her child first starts driving. But murder is every mother's greatest nightmare. Or so she thinks.” She looked at Molly. “This is worse. This decision. How does a mother
make
it?” She didn't expect Molly to know the answer, but was still surprised by her silence. “No argument?” she asked with a sad smile. “Where's that brashness?”

“It's hard to be brash in here.”

“Or is it the dress? You look very mature.”

“I feel very mature. Something like this happens, and it makes
everyone
feel old. I don't disagree with you, Mom. This
is
worse. I'm just trying to help.”

Kathryn studied her youngest—hazel eyes troubled, sandy hair escaped from its clip, wide mouth somber. She was every bit as attractive as Robin, if in a softer way. Her tongue, which could be tart, more than made up the difference. But Kathryn wasn't complaining. Taking Molly's hand, she said, “You
do
help. You and Robin are two sides of a coin. She tells me what I want to hear, you tell me what I don't. Both need to be said. Maybe it's just been easier to listen to her.”

“I have to learn to be quiet. I say things without thinking.”

“But they aren't stupid things. Like about your grandmother.” Rapping Molly's hand against her thigh, Kathryn
dropped her head back. Painful as it was, it had to be addressed. “You have a point. I just can't deal with it yet.”

“I was thinking that if you could reconnect with Nana, it would help make up for this loss.”

“In my mind, your grandmother stands for loss, too.”

“She still gives me comfort.”

“Does she? Or is it the memories?”

“Comfort is comfort.”

“Here with Robin, too,” Kathryn pointed out. Closing her eyes, she put her cheek on Robin's hand. It didn't smell like her child's anymore—no remnants of muscle cream or sweaty gloves, and Robin had long since stopped eating fluffernutters. She had loved them once, though. Welcoming the escape, Kathryn took refuge in memories of seesaws and swings.

CHRIS
was at the playground with Erin and Chloe. They often walked here on weekends, so that the baby could see other children, and there were plenty this Saturday afternoon. Chloe was intrigued. As he pushed her in the baby swing, her head swung back and forth following a little girl in the not-so-baby swing beside her.