While My Sister Sleeps, page 26
Robin Snow was an inspiration…
Molly put down the paper and burst into tears.
Drawing her close, David let her cry until her tears slowed, and even then he didn't speak. Sitting there with him on the stone bench, she began to let her heartache go. Inspiration was a positive word.
She was taking strength from it when he murmured, “Here comes your mom.”
Quickly drawing back, she wiped her eyes and glanced across the patio. Kathryn was near enough to have seen David holding her.
Coming closer, though, Kathryn didn't look upset. “Scoot over,” she said softly and, perching on the edge of the bench, extended a hand across Molly to David. “I owe you an apology.”
Molly vividly recalled Tuesday morning's scene.
“I've had misgivings, Mrs. Snow,” David said. “I caused a hard week for you and your family.”
Kathryn waved a hand no. “The week was a gift. It gave us something we wouldn't otherwise have had. We learned a lot—about each other, even about Robin. We needed the time to come to terms with her death. You gave us that. Thanks are inadequate, but they're all I have right now.”
For forgiving David—for accepting him—Molly had never loved her mother more than at that moment. With renewed confidence, she held out the papers. “You need to read these, Mom.”
When Kathryn saw Nick's name, she frowned. “Is it for the paper?”
“No. He gave them to David to read. Long story,” she said, seeing Kathryn's confusion, “but they say something important.”
Lifting the pages, Kathryn read silently at first, then softly aloud. “Robin Snow was an inspiration to athletes around the world. No born champion, she struggled to overcome the terror of increasingly fierce competition and the rising pressure of running among America's elite. As she approached the Olympics and what would have been a triumphant high in her career, she was the first to cite the many advantages she had. Her family was at the top of the list.” Kathryn's voice cracked. Taking a breath, she read on. “She considered their support so crucial to her success that when she met a talented runner without the backing of family, she either found surrogates in the running community or filled in herself. She was in close contact with more than a dozen young women whom she had mentored this way.”
Kathryn looked at Molly. “Is this true?”
Molly was as surprised as her mother. “It must be,” she realized. “Some of her e-mail is amazing. Robin was worshipped by those girls.”
“I want to ask them to the funeral,” Kathryn said, swallowing the last syllable of the word.
Molly might have started crying again if she hadn't been focused on Nick. “Could you tell how much he loved her? Is that tragic or what?”
“And those are only the first pages,” David said. “He describes races and events—and the details are accurate. I checked them out. But when he writes about Robin's character, his words glow.”
Kathryn was turning a page when she paused. “Why did Nick give these to you?”
“Because my family is in publishing. He's hoping I'll be a link.”
“I thought you were a teacher.”
“I am. But my family is well known to people in publishing. Nick made the connection.”
“In his way, he's suffering as much as we are,” Molly declared. She was fascinated by the level of caring she had found in his words. “Maybe it's even worse for him. His feelings were unrequited. But they were real. All those hopes and dreams— just gone. He needed to talk about Robin, and we wouldn't listen.”
“Will the rest of the world?” Kathryn asked. When she looked at David, he raised a brow.
“He knows how to write a gripping story.”
“What would your family do with these?”
“Nothing at all until the whole bio is done. If they like it, they would buy excerpts—but only if you're comfortable with that.”
“What say do we have?” Kathryn asked with a hint of defeat.
“Total say.”
“I have no sway with your family.”
David smiled reassuringly. “I do. My mother may not be on the corporate payroll, but she's a power to contend with. Anything she vetoes is out, and she'll veto anything I argue against. I'm still her baby. I'd play on that in a heartbeat if you're not given final approval of anything that makes it into print.”
Molly knew it was way too early to love David. What with losing Robin and the house and even her friendship with Nick, she was probably a pathetically needy person who might fall for anyone. But David didn't seem like anyone she had ever known. He was a quality person who was already invested in her family, and that meant a lot to her. Family mattered. Even Robin saw that.
A short time later, Molly and Kathryn went back inside. Their arms were linked. In this darkest of hours, Molly actually felt heartened. “Thank you,” she told her mother. “You were good with him.”
“I meant what I said. He gave us a gift. It's been a week filled with gifts.”
“I'm amazed you can say that.”
Kathryn squeezed her elbow. “Who kept harping on what Robin would want? She loved giving gifts. He's one himself, by the way. Not only what he did, but who he is. He's been there for you in ways I have not.”
At that moment, Molly couldn't blame her mother for anything. “You've had other things on your mind.”
“That's no excuse. I depend on you, Molly. I may not have said it enough, may not have realized it. I do now.”
“You're feeling alone,” Molly reasoned. And she was the only daughter left. By default was the phrase that came to mind, as it had that morning with Marjorie. First daughter by default.
“Because I'm losing Robin? No. I've taken you for granted. You've always been my backup at work. And with Nana. You were there for her when I couldn't take the pain.”
“Easier for me. I'm not her daughter.”
“But how selfish of me? It wasn't about Thomas. It was about me not dealing well with loss. I've grown up this week. You, too.”
Molly wanted to think so. Her mother's confidence in her meant the world. She still wasn't sure about taking over Snow Hill, had never seen herself as a leader. But if Kathryn thought she could do it, maybe she could. Then again, “Perhaps it's the clothes.”
“No, Molly. Don't put yourself down. It's what's inside.” Quietly, Kathryn added, “So there's another gift from Robin.”
“My growing up?”
“My seeing it.”
“But my growing up, too. You're right. I had issues with Robin.”
“All sisters have issues.”
“But I always loved her.”
Kathryn squeezed her arm. Glancing at her, Molly saw that though her eyes were on the elevator numbers, they were filled with tears.
Molly kept her arm through Kathryn's, giving and taking strength, even after they reached Robin's floor. Her father, Chris, and Erin were standing in the hall near her room. Just as Molly and Kathryn reached them, the door opened and Peter Santorum came out.
Molly gasped.
“I called him,” Kathryn explained softly. “It was the right thing to do.”
The gesture erased whatever residual guilt Molly had felt bringing him here in the first place. “Thank you,” she whispered. It wasn't only Peter, but everything Kathryn had said. So much mending in the midst of a nightmare. Perhaps crises did that.
With a final squeeze, Kathryn released her arm. Crossing to Peter, she gave him a hug, and Molly was grateful for that, too. He looked devastated.
If Kathryn said anything to him, she didn't hear, because it was her turn to hug Peter, her turn to comfort. Whether they would ever see him after this was irrelevant. For now he was in their lives. Robin would be pleased.
THE room was quiet. The heart monitor still beeped and the respirator made its blowing sounds, but Molly no longer heard them. It was her mother's calm that she felt. Loving… letting go… fragments of thought—oh so valid. Still, when Kathryn smoothed Robin's hair from her brow, kissed her cheek, and said ever so softly, “We're all here, angel—you can go now—it's all right,” Molly burst into tears. She wasn't the only one crying. But the sound of weeping didn't dim the click of the switch when Kathryn turned it to OFF.
As the sough of air stopped, the doctors and nurses stepped forward. Barely breathing herself, Molly watched Robin closely. They had been told she might take a residual breath, but she did not. Her heart continued to beat for a minute, drawing final waves on the monitor, before the lack of oxygen took its toll. Beeping gave way to a steady hum; the monitor line went flat.
Muffling sobs, Molly watched her mother lean forward and put her cheek to Robin's. Her shoulders shook. Charlie went to her and held her away while the doctor listened for a heartbeat, turned off monitors, gently removed the breathing tube. Then the medical team left, giving Robin to her family for a few final moments.
Without the tube taped to her mouth, she looked more like the old Robin—but deathly still and, in that, not like Robin at all. Standing at the side of the bed, Molly took her hand. It was still warm. She didn't know how long she held it, but Charlie had to physically ease her fingers away before she finally let go. He led her out, giving Kathryn a few minutes alone. Then it was done.
ORD SPREAD QUICKLY. BY THE TIME KATHRYN and Charlie reached the house, a small cortege of cars was already there. After a week of near solitude, Kathryn welcomed the company. It kept her from thinking about the procedure taking place in the operating room. Easier at that moment to share memories of her firstborn.
Robin would have loved the gathering. There was food aplenty, and more than enough help in the kitchen so that she might have partied to her heart's delight. Kathryn moved graciously from friend to neighbor to Snow Hill employee. Someone refilled her coffee, another gave her a muffin. Normally the one to serve, she let herself be helped.
Peter's presence was a comfort, rounding out Robin's family if only in Kathryn's own mind. She introduced him to others as an old friend, and his nod said he liked that. Having no stories to tell about Robin, he seemed content to listen. With so many people needing the catharsis of talk, it worked well.
Chris and Erin had stopped home for Chloe, and Kathryn held the baby for a time as she walked from one room to the other. Chloe embodied innocence and hope. She was too young to remember today; but as she grew, Kathryn would tell her about her Aunt Robin. She would retell some of the stories told today, take out pictures, even read aloud. She ran her first race at five, her first marathon at fifteen, and in the years between and since, she fought to do well. At times, she was so nervous before a race that she was physically sick, at others so hampered by a physical injury that the only thing keeping her going was sheer grit. She claimed she wasn't the best runner, only the most determined. History supports her in that.
Written journals, computer files, an authorized bio—there were ways to keep Robin alive. Kathryn was just starting to see that.
When the baby started to fuss, she returned her to Chris. That was when she spotted David. Molly was introducing him to a group from Snow Hill, but Kathryn had a more important introduction to make. Taking his hand, she led him to Charlie.
How to introduce him? David Harris—Good Samaritan— Molly's friend—our future son-in-law? She left off the last, though it had already taken root in her mind. Molly might have just met him, but Kathryn was as sure of David as she had been of Charlie thirty-two years before. Both had happened fast and in trying times. Moreover, with Charlie coming at the very start of Robin's life and David at the very end, there was a certain symmetry.
As Charlie talked with David, she saw Nick come in the front door looking devastated. She quickly put a hand on Charlie's arm.
Charlie followed her gaze. “Want me to deal?”
No. Kathryn had to do this. As she wove between groups to the door, she thought of how Nick had used the family. But as he stood here now, regarding her through pain-filled eyes, he didn't look as much like a user as a man who had lost someone near and dear. She let it go. Wasn't that the lesson of the week? Anger accomplished nothing. Denial was a crutch. Nick may not be the man Kathryn had wanted for Robin, nor had Robin loved him, but he had loved her.
She stood before him for only an instant, smiling sadly, before opening her arms. He was suffering. Molly was right about that. And a mother's job was to comfort.
Nick was complex, definitely ambitious. But then, hadn't Robin been, too? She might have thrown up before races, but she ran, won, and came back for more. She wanted to be the best. That didn't make her a bad person.
Same with Nick.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly.
For more than just Robin's death, Kathryn chose to believe. “I saw some of what you've written about Robin, Nick. It's very beautiful. We'll be needing an obituary. Perhaps you could work with us on that?”
He didn't have to say the words. The gratitude on his face was answer enough.
THE phone rang. At Charlie's beckoning, Kathryn took the call in the den. It was the hospital calling to say that the harvesting was done, that organs were on their way to recipients, and that Robin was being discharged.
It was a bittersweet moment. But as she hung up the phone, the reality of the next step hit. There would be a meeting at the funeral home that evening to make plans for the next few days. Kathryn dreaded it all. She couldn't bear to think of lowering Robin into the ground. And a future without her? Hard to accept. But it had to be done.
One look at Charlie, bless him, and he read her mind. Gesturing her to the desk, he removed an envelope from the drawer. “This came Friday. It's renewal time for Robin's CD. I always call the bank to get her the best rate, so the total has grown. This holds a portion of her winnings over the last five years. Take a look.”
Removing the statement, Kathryn was startled. “So much?”
“There's more in stocks and bonds.”
Another reality hit Kathryn. “She'll never use any of it.”
“Not directly. A track scholarship in her name might be nice. Maybe even a house.”
It was a minute before Kathryn followed. Then she smiled. “Robin would like that.”
Motioning to her to stay, Charlie left the den. He returned with Molly. Kathryn handed her the bank statement. Molly read it. She looked puzzled, which made Kathryn's words even sweeter.
“Did I not see Dorie McKay in the living room?” When Molly remained confused, Kathryn touched her face. Sweetly naïve, far too self-effacing, but steady and strong—her youngest child deserved this. “A gift from your sister,” she said softly, thinking as clearly now as she ever had. “So often this week, you said you loved Robin. Well, there's something Robin couldn't say back, but something I know. I remember the first time she saw you. You and I were in the hospital, you only hours old and swaddled in a nursery blanket, but Robin wanted to see you, she said. When I started to unwrap you, she pushed my hand aside and insisted on doing it herself. The awe on her face was something to behold. She was opening a special present, the best one she'd ever had—her baby sister.” Kathryn took her chin. “She loved you, Molly. She would want you to have your house.”
Molly's eyes filled with joy, sadness, tears. Drawing her close, Kathryn smiled. Here was a glimpse of the future, a tangible gift that she would see in her daughter's pleasure every day of the week. Robin wouldn't just like this. She would love it.
And so would Kathryn.
MOLLY stayed in the den for a time. Some of Robin's friends in the other rooms were tearful, but she couldn't get a grip on her emotions. Kathryn stayed with her until Charlie returned from talking with the realtor.
“No promises,” he said, “but she knows her job. She'll do the math and come up with a fair offer for Terrance Field. If anyone can make this happen, Dorie will. She's a persuasive woman.”
Molly felt overwhelmed. “So much happening.” “Some say life is a roller coaster. I see it as riding a wave. You're out there on your board and everything is calm—” “Excuse me,” she broke in. “You never surfed.” “I did,” he insisted, all innocence. “Well, I tried. I was never particularly good at it, but I did get the drift. You're out there in a huge ocean, straddling that board. The water is smooth, but deceptive. You know the waves are moving, and you watch and wait, and suddenly you feel that little shift underneath. You stand up. You totter, but regain your balance, then give yourself to something far bigger than you are. You have no control . You're just along for the ride, swept downwater so fast it takes your breath. Then it's done. Smooth water again.”
Molly still wasn't sure he had ever surfed, but the analogy cleared her mind. The ocean, like the earth, was soothing.
She hugged him. “I love you.” His arms returned the words. When she pulled back, she took a deep breath. “I… am going outside,” she said, hitching her chin toward the door that led from the den to the backyard.
“Want company?”
She shook her head and kissed his cheek. Then she let herself out. She didn't have to go far. Her parents owned acres here, too, but the lawn itself wasn't big. The grass had grown over scars left by the swing set; but she saw the swings now, backed by the large sugar maple they had tapped as kids. She remembered Robin stirring the pitiful little bit of sap they had collected as it boiled into syrup. Robin couldn't have been more than ten, Chris seven, Molly five. Molly was always the first to taste the sweet, thick stuff—licking it off the large wooden spoon that her sister offered to her with pride.
And the swing? Robin pushing her in the little bucket before she was old enough for the big kid swing. Robin holding her legs while she crossed the monkey bars. Robin with her arms out at the bottom of the slide, waiting to catch her.
Syrup, swings, and slides. Vases, hair clips, sweaters. Self-confidence. A house. Robin had loved her. Realizing that, Molly was humbled.
Needing to be where she felt the strongest, she took her keys from her pocket.
“Where you going?” came a quiet voice from behind.
