While My Sister Sleeps, page 24
“They didn't. She hears what she wants to hear. You know she has a problem.”
He hesitated. But Donna appeared to want the truth. So he said a quiet, “Yes.”
“Well, I appreciate that. You've been tactful. I doubt it's been easy.” It was the closest she would come to criticizing her husband. “There isn't a quick fix to this problem. Alexis will likely spend a couple of weeks there, with ongoing therapy after that. But she likes you, David. You're her link to school. She'll need your support.”
“Anything,” David said.
“Anything? Okay. How do I break it to her?” the woman asked bluntly. “I've raised four boys. Never had this kind of problem. You know how to deal with teenagers. She doesn't have a clue what's coming.”
“She may,” David cautioned. “What she told me may have been pure bravado. Kids this age are conflicted. I've heard Alexis use the word anorexia once too often. I'd be direct. She's too bright for anything else.”
Donna was quiet. Then she sighed. “I was afraid you'd say that,” she said and, pursing her lips again, headed in to see her daughter.
THE instant Molly entered Robin's room, she knew she wouldn't be discussing organ donation. Kathryn was clearly upset. She was watching Robin from the window, hands braced on the sill behind. Her eyes flew to Molly. She moved one hand but quickly put it back, seeming to need the support. Her eyes returned to the bed.
Frightened, Molly looked there, too. “Did something happen?”
“No,” Kathryn croaked and cleared her throat. “No. She's the same.”
“Are you sick, Mom?”
Kathryn brought her arms forward and folded them tightly over her middle. “Just emotional.”
She had been crying. Molly could see. Between her reddened eyes and marked lines of fatigue, her mother looked fragile.
“I shouldn't have brought Peter,” Molly said. “That caused more strain.”
“It's not him, it's this,” Kathryn said without shifting her gaze. “I'm okay one minute and panicky the next. I feel like time's running out.”
“They'll keep the machines on—”
“Time's running out,” Kathryn repeated.
Molly was worried. “Where's Dad?”
“I sent him home. He was exhausted.”
“So are you. Go home, Mom, please? Nothing's changing. Robin will be here like this tomorrow morning.”
“Every night is precious.”
Molly tried a different approach. “Did Robin live at home? No, she didn't want to be sleeping under your nose. Maybe she wants to sleep alone now.”
Kathryn's eyes filled. “Enough of what Robin would want,” she cried and pressed a finger over her lips. After a minute, she refolded her arms. “This is what I want, Molly. Besides,” she added, “I don't think I could drive right now.”
“I'll drive you,” Molly offered, feeling worse at that moment for Kathryn than for Robin. “Dad can drive you back tomorrow.”
For a minute, Molly saw a small softening and thought her mother was relenting. But Kathryn only shook her head. “No. I need to do this.”
MINUTES after Molly left the room, though, Kathryn changed her mind. No, I don't need to do this, she thought. This isn't what I want. I want my mother.
The thought startled her, but she couldn't shake it. She wanted Marjorie—wanted to pour out her heart and cry in the arms of the one person whose job it was to listen. It didn't matter how old or how independent Kathryn was. She needed her mother.
Taking her purse from the chair, she fumbled inside for her keys. Her comb fell out. In the process of picking it up, she stumbled against the IV pole. Grabbing it, she steadied herself, and, mercifully, the IV continued to drip.
Keys finally in hand, she kissed Robin's cheek. “I'll be back. I'm going to see Nana.” It was okay to leave to do that.
She stopped at the nurse's station, theorizing that if they knew Robin was alone, they would check her more often. As the elevator descended, though, Kathryn wished she had a video cam in the room. For all she knew, they never came in. They could monitor the machines from their station.
The elevator opened. She was about to press the button and go back up, when she thought of Marjorie again. She needed her mother. It was irrational, of course. Marjorie wouldn't say anything that would help. She wouldn't know what Kathryn was talking about. She wouldn't know Kathryn, period.
Still she continued on to the parking lot. Night had fallen, but large overhead lights pinpointed the cars. There weren't many left. Still it was a minute before she found hers, parked where she had left it that morning. Fumbling, she dropped her keys and had to pick them up from the pavement before she finally got the door open, and once inside the car she could barely breathe. The air was stifling.
She was upset. She was tired. She was frightened.
Rolling down the window, she took a deep breath and started the engine. She backed out of the space and left the parking lot. The main road was dark. Only when a passing car honked and passed, plunging her into darkness again, did she realize she hadn't turned on her headlights.
The omission shook her. Her mother had Alzheimer's disease. She wondered if this was an early sign of it in herself. But it couldn't be, not with everything else that had happened this week. No God could be so cruel.
Bereft, she began to cry. When her vision blurred, she drove more slowly, hands tight on the wheel, but even then she came within inches of hitting a large flower-shaped mailbox. Pull over, said a little voice, but she swung too quickly and sharply. The car careened off the road into a meadow. Foot still on the gas, she tried to correct the error. Instead, she lost her bearings completely and ran into a tree.
ATHRYN WAS SHORT OF BREATH. IT WAS A minute before she raised her head, another before she moved her limbs. Nothing hurt.
The car wasn't as lucky, to judge from the noise it was making. Wanting to silence it, she turned off the engine, but when she tried to restart it, it refused to turn over.
One headlight still burned. Climbing out under low branches, she used its light to see what she'd done. The front of the car was pleated in a dozen odd angles against the tree. There was no smoke, just an odd, sweet smell of antifreeze and grass.
Belatedly, her knees began to wobble. Stumbling back to the car, she sat for a minute regaining control. The damage might have been worse—to her, to a passenger, even to the car—but she had trouble feeling grateful. This was one thing too many on top of the rest.
And the grand purpose of an accident now, Charlie? she wondered. Your sprite, Mom?
At least, she wasn't crying. That was something.
She was pulling out her phone when she saw a car zip by without stopping—but of course, she was easily twenty feet from the road, with her one headlight aimed away. A passerby wouldn't see her. Nor, from where she sat, could she see any houses. But there was that flower mailbox.
She would need a tow. But who should she call? No one was hurt, no other car involved. But if the police came, there would be questions, and she wasn't in the mood. She started to call Charlie—but she wasn't up to telling him, either. The one she wanted, she realized, was Molly.
The girl picked up after a single ring. “Mom?”
“Where are you?”
“Just got home. What's wrong?”
Kathryn might have laughed hysterically. Where to start? “Think you can come pick me up?”
“Of course.”
“Not at the hospital. I had a little accident. You'll have to kind of look for me.”
“Accident?” Molly cried in alarm.
“I'm fine. I hit a tree.”
“Mom.”
“I'm fine, Molly. Really. I'm walking around. Nothing hurts.”
In the short silence, she pictured Molly composing herself. “Tell me where to look.” Her voice was bobbing, like she was already heading outside.
“I'm on South Street, maybe four minutes from the hospital. Know that flower mailbox?”
“Yes.”
“I passed it just before I went off the road. One of my headlights is still on. Park on the side of the road, and you'll see me.”
“I'm getting in my car right now. Are you sure you're okay? Have you called the police?”
“And start the whole world talking?”
“Okay,” Molly said. Her engine started. “Did you call Dad?”
“No. He'll be sleeping. He thinks I'm still at the hospital.” In the time it would have taken Charlie to get out of the house, Molly would be here. Besides, Molly was the one Kathryn needed.
She didn't tell Molly what she wanted, though—until Molly finished exclaiming over the car, turned off the lone headlight, and guided Kathryn to the Jeep—at which point Kathryn said directly, “Drive me to the nursing home to see Nana?”
The darkness couldn't hide Molly's surprise. “Now?”
“You've been wanting me to go.”
“Yes, but during the day. It's nearly eleven at night.”
“Are you worried she'll be in bed with that man?” Kathryn asked.
“I'm worried she'll be asleep,” Molly said with simple logic. “We'll go first thing in the morning. She really does sleep alone, Mom. Thomas has his own room at the other end of the floor.”
Kathryn was soothed by her voice. Feeling surprising calm, she said, “I just find it so hard to understand.”
“I know, Mom. Don't you think his family has trouble with it, too? But they're just like children meeting for the first time each day. They don't remember what's come before, and there is no after. They live in the here and now.”
“She gets so excited seeing him,” Kathryn remarked. Something about the dark made discussing this easier. Or maybe it was hitting a tree and freeing a gaggle of tied-up thoughts.
“That's how she shows pleasure. Whether it's him, me, you, a tea sandwich—it doesn't matter. She doesn't know the cause, only that something makes her smile.”
Simple logic again. Kathryn was considering it when Molly said, “Why don't I drive you home?”
“No. Not home.” She had left the hospital needing her mother, but if that was on hold, she wanted to do something. Being constructive was part of who she was. She had felt too helpless all week.
“Then my place,” Molly suggested. “Robin's place.”
Robin's place sounded right. Nodding her assent, Kathryn leaned back against the headrest. After a minute, she began to relax. It was nice to be driven, nice to yield responsibility for a short time.
Tired as she was, though, she didn't sleep. She raised her head when they turned off the main road. The path to the cottage was dark, but she could smell trees, flowers, rich earth. They were the sedative she needed.
MOLLY still thought of the cottage as it had been before packing—furnished simply, cozy and comfortable. Seeing it now as she opened the front door, she was apologetic. “I'm sorry everything's a mess.”
Kathryn barely seemed to notice. She wandered around the room, touching a windowsill, a bookshelf, the sofa. Watching her, Molly was frightened. She had felt her mother shaking when she helped her into the car. She looked steadier now, but that didn't mean she was okay. She could have a concussion. There could be internal damage. She could keel over in an instant and be gone.
After Robin, anything seemed possible.
But Kathryn didn't look injured. In a natural show of surprise, she jumped when Molly's cat scampered out from between cartons and ran down the hall. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes.” Quickly, Molly explained. “It was abused. I've rescued it.”
“But you're moving home Monday,” Kathryn argued, sounding like herself.
“Not my fault, Mom. The vet begged me to take her. She needs a quiet, no-other-pets place, and this was the only one I could think of.”
Kathryn studied her. “Why do I sense that the vet didn't have to do much convincing?” she finally asked, less in disapproval than resignation. “Your sister didn't tell me you had a cat.”
“She didn't know. I just got this one on Monday. That's why I was late getting home. The poor thing has led a traumatic life. She's skittish.”
“Not a good sign. She may never socialize.”
“She will. I can tell. She doesn't hide as much as she did at first. She loves Robin's bed.”
Kathryn cleared her throat loudly. “And after next Monday?”
“She won't be a problem, Mom. I've thought this out. Cats don't need much space. She'll stay in my room until I find another place.”
“That could take a while.”
For the first time, though, Molly realized that she would be looking alone. “No,” she said sadly. “It's just me. A smaller place will be easy to find.” But it wouldn't have the character of this one. “I keep hoping Mr. Field will relent.” Kathryn wasn't listening. “Are you sure nothing hurts, Mom?”
“I'm sure.”
“Want a hot bath?”
“No. It was a nothing accident. I wasn't watching where I drove.”
Molly guessed it was more than that. Kathryn's emotions had to be frayed. Wanting to see Marjorie was telling in and of itself.
“I'd better call Dad and let him know you're here before someone finds the car and reports you missing.”
When Kathryn didn't argue, she made the call. Charlie was groggy until the words crashed the car, at which point he grew alarmed. “Put your mother on,” he said.
Kathryn waved her hand no, but Molly insisted, knowing her father wouldn't rest until he heard Kathryn's voice.
“There,” Molly teased when her parents were done. “That wasn't so bad.” At Kathryn's look, she offered to make tea.
Kathryn seemed ready to protest, but stopped. “That'd be nice.”
Molly pointed her toward a chair, but when she headed for the kitchen, Kathryn followed. At least there were no cartons here, which would mean a late night packing on Monday. For now, though, Robin's tea was still haphazardly piled in the cabinet.
Kathryn smiled sadly. “Your sister loved tea.”
“I keep trying different ones, thinking that somehow I'll reach her.” After studying the choices, Molly removed a box. “I'm making you jasmine chamomile. It's a stress reliever.”
“I don't feel stressed.”
“You're stressed.”
“Not right now. Will you have some?”
Molly put water in the kettle. “No. I've tried, Mom, but tea isn't my thing. I'm not Robin.”
“You don't need to be Robin.”
“But you love her.”
“I love you, too.”
“Not like you love Robin.”
“That's true,” Kathryn admitted, but her eyes were steady. “No mother loves her children the same. Each one is different.”
“Robin has so many good points.”
“Had,” Kathryn corrected quietly.
It was a sobering moment for Molly, a sign of how far her mother had come. Kathryn's use of the past tense was a nod to reality. A tiny part of Molly would have fought it, if Kathryn hadn't gone on.
“You have your own good points.”
“Y'think?” One minute Molly believed it, the next she did not.
“Robin saw your strengths. She envied you. Remember what she wrote?”
How could Molly not? She had read Why My Sister Is Wrong many times now. It wasn't what she had thought to find in any journal of Robin's—and made her all the sadder that Robin wasn't there to argue.
She dropped the tea in a mug, but by the time she covered it with simmering water, Kathryn had wandered off. Listening, Molly heard a small, upsetting sound. She followed it to Robin's room, where Kathryn was weeping, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other hand pressed to her mouth. Molly hugged her from behind.
“Who would have imagined …,” Kathryn gulped between sobs.
Molly waited until she quieted, which was when she noticed the cat, sitting alert in the middle of the bed, eyeing Kathryn warily.
Kathryn eyed it back. “Did this cat come with a name?”
“No. I'm calling her Sprite.”
“You know that once you name her, she's yours.”
Molly did. But this cat was hers anyway. She had come to her on the evening Robin left—maybe even at the exact same minute, though Molly would never know for sure. She did know she wouldn't be giving the creature away.
Kathryn wasn't wild about cats; but with the rest of the room dismantled, the bed would have to be shared. Plumping up pillows, Molly settled her against the headboard. The cat didn't budge.
Wanting to give Kathryn a little time alone with memories of Robin, Molly went back to the kitchen. After a while, she returned and sat cross-legged on the quilt.
“How do you feel?” she asked, watching Kathryn drink her tea.
“Better. It's strange. I don't feel Robin here. This is her bed in her room, but the cottage is you.”
“It always was.”
“I'm sorry you have to move. Want me to call Mr. Field for you?”
Among all the possibilities for stalling the move, Molly had considered that one but had ruled it out. “It won't do any good,” she said. As desperate as she felt, she was trying to be realistic. “He has compelling reasons for needing to sell. I have to move anyway. Robin and I were splitting the rent. I can't handle it myself.”
“I'll help.”
“No. He needs to sell and I need to get over it. It won't be any easier in six months or a year.”
Kathryn folded her legs sideways, then looked around again. “This place suits you. Like Snow Hill.” Growing pensive, she sipped her tea. “Snow Hill never made Robin happy.”
Molly knew it, but was surprised by her mother's admission. “What would have?”
“A week ago, I'd have said she would race for another few years, then coach.”
“Like Peter? Were you thinking of him?”
“Not consciously.”
“He's a nice person, Mom. Lonely.”
“His fault.”
“But still lonely. I think he was deeply affected by seeing Robin.”
Kathryn was quiet. “Yes,” she finally said. “I think so. Meeting Robin was probably something he needed to do at some point in his life. This gave him an excuse. Your call dragged him here. Men are funny that way.”
