Between Sisters (33 page)

“I've sent your films to a friend of mine. If he agrees with my diagnosis, he'll operate.”

“Thank you, Joe,” she said softly, then closed her eyes again.

He could see how tired she was. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Bye, Claire.”

He was almost to the door when she said, “Joe?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

She was awake again, barely, and looking at him. “She shouldn't have asked it of you.”

“Who?” he asked, but he knew.

“Diana. I would never ask such a thing of Bobby. I know what it would do to him.”

Joe had no answer to that. It was the same thing Gina always said. He left the room and closed the door behind him. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

She shouldn't have asked it of you.

“Joe?”

He opened his eyes and stumbled away from the wall. Meghann stood a few feet away, staring up at him. Her cheeks and eyes were reddened and moist.

He had a nearly irresistible urge to wipe the residue of tears from her eyes.

She walked toward him. “Tell me you found a way to help her.”

He was afraid to answer. He knew, better that most, the double edge of hope. Nothing hit you harder than the fall from faith. “I've spoken to a colleague at UCLA. If he agrees with me, he'll operate, but—”

Meghann launched herself at him, clung to him. “Thank you.”

“It's risky as hell, Meg. She might not survive the surgery.”

Meghann drew back, blinked her tears away impatiently. “We Sullivan girls would rather go down fighting. Thank you, Joe. And . . . I'm sorry for the things I said to you. I can be a real bitch.”

“The warning comes a little late.”

She smiled, wiped her eyes again. “You should have told me about your wife, you know.”

“In one of our heart-to-heart talks?”

“Yeah. In one of those.”

“It's hardly good between-the-sheets conversation. How do you make love to a woman, then tell her that you killed your wife?”

“You didn't kill her. Cancer killed her. You ended her suffering.”

“And her breathing.”

Meghann looked up at him steadily. “If Claire asked it of me, I'd do it. I'd be willing to go to prison for it, too. I wouldn't let her suffer.”

“Pray to God you never have to find out.” He heard the way his voice broke. Once, he would have been ashamed by such obvious vulnerability; those were the days when he'd believed in himself, when he'd thought he was a demigod at least.

“What do we do now?” she said into the silence that felt suddenly awkward. “For Claire, I mean.” She stepped back from him, put some distance between them.

“We wait to hear from Stu Weissnar. And we pray he agrees with my assessment.”

Joe was at the front door when he heard his name called. He stopped, turned.

Gina stood there. “I hear my brother is acting like a doctor again.”

“All I did was call Stu.”

She came closer, smiling now. “You gave her a chance, Joe.”

“We'll see what Stu says, but yeah. Maybe. I hope so.”

Gina touched his arm. “Diana would be proud of you. So am I.”

“Thanks.”

“Come sit with us in the waiting room. You've been alone long enough. It's time to start your new life.”

“There's something I need to take care of first.”

“Promise me you'll come back.”

“I promise.”

An hour later, he was on the ferry headed to Bainbridge Island. He stood at the railing on the upper deck as the ferry turned into Eagle Harbor. The pretty little bay seemed to welcome him, with all its well-maintained homes and the sailboats clustered at the marina. He was glad to see that it looked the same; still more trees than houses, and the beachfront hadn't been cut into narrow lots.

This is it, Joey. This is where I want to raise our kids.

His fingers tightened around the railing. That day hadn't been so long ago—maybe ten years—but it felt like forever. He and Diana had been so young and hope-filled. It had never occurred to either one of them that they wouldn't be together forever.

That one of them would have to go on alone.

The ferry honked its horn.

Joe returned to his truck, below deck. When the boat docked, he drove off.

Memories came at him from every street corner and sign.

Pick up that armoire for me, won't you, Joey, it's at Bad Blanche's.

Let's go to the winery today. I want to smell the grapes.

Forget dinner, Joey, take me to bed or lose me.

He turned onto his old road. The trees were huge here; they towered in the air and blocked out the sun. The quiet road lay shadowed and still. There wasn't a house to be seen out here, just mailboxes and driveways that led off to the right.

At the last one, he slowed down.

Their mailbox was still there. Dr. and Mrs. Joe Wyatt. It had been one of Diana's first purchases after they'd closed on the house.

He drove down his long, tree-lined driveway. The house—his house—sat in a patch of grassy sunlight beside a wide gravel beach. It was a pretty little Cape Cod–style home with cedar shingles and glossy white trim.

The wisteria had gone wild, he noticed, growing thick and green along the porch railings, around the posts and up some of the exterior walls.

He was moving slowly now, breathing hard, as he left the safety of his car and walked toward the house.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The salty tang of sea air mixed with the sweetness of blooming roses.

He found the key in his wallet—the one he'd kept especially for this day.

In truth, there had been weeks, months even, when he'd never believed he'd find the guts to reach for it again.

The key fit the lock, clicked.

Joe opened the door—

Honey, I'm home

—and went inside.

The place looked exactly as he'd left it. He still remembered the day he'd come home from court—supposedly an innocent man (no, a not-guilty one)—and packed a suitcase. The only phone call he'd made had been to Gina.
I'm sorry
, he'd said, too tired to be eloquent.
I need to go.

I'll take care of the place
, she'd answered, crying.
You'll be back.

I don't know
, he'd said.
How can I?

And yet, here he was. True to her word, Gina had taken care of the place. She'd paid the taxes and the bills from the money he'd left in a special account. No dust collected on the furniture or windowsills, no spiderwebs hung from the high pitched ceilings.

He walked from room to room, touching things, remembering. Every stick of furniture reminded him of a time and place.

This chair is perfect, Joey, don't you think? You can sit in it to watch TV.

Every knickknack had a story. Like a blind man, he moved slowly, putting his hands on everything, as if somehow touch elicited the memories more than sight.

Finally, he was in the master bedroom. The sight of it was almost too much. He forced himself to go forward. It was all still there. The big antique bed they'd gotten from Mom and Dad as a wedding present, the beautiful quilt that had come to them on Dad's death. The old nightstands that had once been piled with books—romance novels on her side, military histories on his. Even the tiny needlepoint pillow that Diana had made when she first got sick.

He sat down on the bed and picked up the pillow, seeing the tiny brown spots that marred the fabric.

I don't think needlework is a good therapy. I'm losing so much blood I'm getting light-headed.

“Hey, Diana,” he said, wishing for the days when he'd been able to conjure her image. He stroked the pillow, trying to remember how it had felt to touch her. “I was at the hospital today. It felt good.”

He knew what she'd say to that. But he didn't really know if he was ready to go back. His life had changed so much, degraded somehow into tiny bits that might not fit together again.

He hadn't forgotten the way people looked at him at his old office. They saw him and wondered,
Is that what a murderer looks like?

He stared down at the pillow, stroking it. “You shouldn't have asked it of me, Di. It . . . ruined me.

“Well . . . maybe I ruined me, too,” he admitted quietly. He should have stayed here, in this community he'd cared so much for. His mistake had been in running away.

It was time to quit hiding and running. Time to stand up to the people who judged him poorly and say,
No more
.

Time to take his life back.

Slowly, he got up and went to the closet, opening the louvered doors.

Diana's clothes filled two-thirds of the space.

Three years ago, he'd tried to box them up and give them away. He'd folded one pink cashmere sweater and been done for.

He reached out for a beige angora turtleneck that had been her favorite. He eased it off of the white plastic hanger and brought it to his face. The barest remnant of her scent lingered. Tears stung his eyes. “Good-bye, Diana,” he whispered.

Then he went in search of a box.

C
HAPTER
THIRTY

T
HE NEXT MORNING STU WEISSMAN CALLED CLAIRE. HE
spoke in clipped, rushed sentences. She was so groggy and disoriented, it took her several seconds to understand him.

“Wait a minute,” she finally said, sitting up. “Are you saying you'll do the surgery?”

“Yes. But this thing will be a bear cat. Could be a bad outlook all the way around. You could end up paralyzed or brain damaged or worse.”

“Worse sooner, you mean.”

He laughed at that. “Yes.”

“I'll take the chance.”

“Then I will, too. I'll be there tonight. I've scheduled the surgery for eight
A
.
M
. tomorrow.” His voice softened. “I don't mean to be negative, Claire. But you should put your affairs in order today. If you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. Thank you, Dr. Weissman.”

All that day, Claire said good-bye to her friends. She did it one at a time, feeling that each of them deserved that kind of attention.

To Karen, she joked about the gray hairs Willie was sure to cause her in the upcoming years and begged her friend to make this third marriage work. To Charlotte, she said,
Don't give up on babies; they're the mark we leave in this world. If you can't have one of your own, find one to adopt and love her with all you've got.
Gina was more difficult. For almost an hour they were together, Claire dozing off every now and then, Gina standing by the bedside, trying not to cry.

Take care of my family
, Claire said at last, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Take care of them yourself
, Gina had responded, her voice spiking for humor that it couldn't reach. Then, softly, she said,
You know I will
.

They were awkward, painful partings, full of things unsaid and boundaries upheld. They all pretended Claire would still be here tomorrow night, laughing and screwing up as she always had. She left her friends with that faith, and though she wanted to own it for herself, hope felt like a borrowed sweater that didn't quite fit.

She was bone tired, but most of all, she was afraid. Dr. Weissman had been guarded in his optimism and blunt in his assessment of the risk.
A bad outlook all the way around
, he'd said. The worst part of her fear was how alone it made her feel. There was no one she could tell.

Time and again throughout the long, drawn-out day, she found herself wishing that she'd died already, simply floated from this world unexpectedly. There was no way to be stealthy now, not with all her loved ones in the waiting room, praying for her, and the thought of the good-byes she still had left was devastating. Bobby and Sam would hold her and cry; she'd have to be ready for that. Meg would get angry and loud.

And then there was Ali. How could Claire possibly get through
that
?

The hospital had a small nondenominational chapel on the second floor.

Meghann stood outside it, paused in the open doorway. It had been years since she'd gone to a church in search of comfort; decades, in fact.

Slowly, she went inside, let the door ease shut behind her. Her footsteps were hushed and even on the mustard-colored carpet. She slid into the middle pew and knelt on the floor. There was no cushion for her knees, but she knelt anyway. It seemed right to be on her knees when she asked for a miracle.

She clasped her hands together and bowed her head. “I'm Meghann Dontess,” she said by way of introduction. “I'm sure you've forgotten me. I haven't talked to you since . . . oh . . . the ninth grade, I think. That's when I prayed for enough money to get Claire ballet lessons. Then Mama got fired again and we moved on. I . . . stopped believing you could help.” She thought of Claire upstairs, so pale and tired-looking in that hospital bed, and of the risks the surgery entailed. “She's one of the good ones, God. Please. Protect her. Don't let Ali grow up without her mom.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slid down her cheeks and plopped on her hands. She wanted to say more, maybe find a way to bargain, but she had nothing to offer beyond desperation.

Behind her, the door opened, closed. Someone walked down the aisle.

Meghann wiped her eyes and eased back onto the pew.

“Meg?”

She looked up, surprised. Sam stood beside her, his big body hunched in defeat, his eyes a watery red. “She's saying good-bye to her girlfriends.”

“I know.”

“I can't stand watching each one come out of her room. The minute they close the door, their smiles fade and the crying starts.”

Meghann had run from the same thing. “She's lucky to have so many friends.”

“Yeah. Can I join you?”

She sidled to the right, making room. He sat down beside her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but they didn't touch, didn't speak.

Finally Sam said, “I was thirty years old when you called me.”

She frowned. “Oh.” What did he want her to say?

“I had no brothers and sisters and no other children.”

“I know that, Sam. You pointed it out every time I screwed up.”

He sighed. “I was pissed at Eliana. She'd denied me my daughter's childhood. All those years I'd been alone when I didn't have to be . . . and the way you and Claire lived from hand to mouth. I couldn't stand it.”

“I know that.”

He twisted around to face her. “Claire was easy. She looked up at me with those big, trusting eyes and said,
Hi, Daddy
; just like that, I fell in love. But you.” He shook his head. “You scared the shit out of me. You were tough and mouthy and you thought everything I said to Claire was wrong. I didn't know you were just being a teenager. I thought you were like . . .”

“Mama.”

“Yeah. And I didn't want Claire to be hurt. It took me a while—years—to see that you weren't like Ellie. By then it was too late.”

“Maybe I
am
like Mama,” she said quietly.

“No,” he said fiercely. “You've been Claire's rock through this nightmare. You have the kind of heart that saves people, even if you don't believe it. And I'm sorry I didn't see that when I was younger.”

“A lot of things have become clearer lately.”

“Yeah.” He sat back in the pew. “I don't see how I'll get through this,” Sam said.

Meghann had no answer. How could she, when the question haunted her as well?

A few minutes later, the door opened again. This time it was Bobby. He looked terrible.

“She wants to see Ali,” he whispered harshly. “I can't do it.”

Sam made a fluttery sound. “Oh, God.”

“I'll do it,” Meg said, slowly rising.

Claire must have fallen asleep again. When she woke, the sunlight outside had faded, leaving the room a soft, silvery color.

“Mommy's awake.”

She saw her daughter then. Ali clung to Meghann like a little monkey, arms wrapped around her aunt's neck, feet locked around her waist.

Claire made a quiet, whimpering sound before she rallied and pulled out a tired smile. The only way to get through this moment was to pretend there would be another. For Ali, she had to believe in a miracle.

“Hey there, Ali Kat. I hear you're eating all the cinnamon rolls in the cafeteria.”

Alison giggled. “Only three, Mommy. Aunt Meg said if I had one more I'd throw up.”

Claire opened her arms. “Come here, baby.”

Meg leaned forward and gently deposited Ali into Claire's thin arms. She hugged her daughter tightly, couldn't seem to let go. She was battling tears and hanging on to her smile by a thread when she whispered into her daughter's tiny, shell-pink ear, “You remember how much I love you.”

“I know, Mommy,” Ali said, burrowing closer. She lay still as a sleeping baby, quieter than she'd lain in years. That was when Claire knew that Ali understood, but when her daughter leaned closer to say, “I told God I'd never ask for Cap'n Crunch again if He made you all better,” Claire felt something inside her tear away. She clung to her daughter for as long as she could. “Take her home,” she finally said when the pain became more than she could bear.

Meghann was there instantly, pulling Ali into her arms again.

But Ali wiggled out of Meg's grasp and slithered to the molded plastic chair beside the bed. She stood there, on the wobbly chair, staring at Claire.

“I don't want you to die, Mommy,” she said in a husky little voice.

It hurt too much even to cry. Claire looked at her precious baby and managed a smile. “I know that, punkin, and I love you more than all the stars in the sky. Now you skedaddle on home with Grandpa and Bobby. I hear they're going to take you to see a movie.”

Meghann picked Ali up again. Claire could see that she was near tears, too. “Make Bobby go home,” she said to her sister. “He's been here every night. Tell him I said Ali needs him tonight.”

Meg reached out, squeezed her hand. “We need
you
.”

Claire sighed. “I need to sleep now” was all she could think of to say.

Hours later, Claire came awake with a start. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt light-headed. For a split second, she didn't know where she was. Then she saw the flowers and the machines. If she squinted, she could make out the wall clock. Moonlight glinted on the domed glass face. It was 4:00.

In a few hours, they'd crack her skull open.

She started to panic, then saw Meg was in the corner, sprawled in one of those uncomfortable chairs, sleeping.

“Meg,” she whispered, hitting her control button; the bed tilted upward. The buzzing of the machinery sounded loud, but Meghann didn't wake.

“Meg,” she said in a louder voice.

Meghann sat upright and looked around. “Did I miss the test?”

“Over here.”

Meghann blinked, pushed a hand through her wild, tangled hair. “Is it time?”

“No. We have four more hours.”

Meghann got up, dragged the chair over to the bed. “Did you sleep?”

“Off and on. The prospect of someone cracking your skull open keeps a girl wideawake.” Claire glanced out the window at the moonlight. Suddenly, she was so afraid, she was shaking. All the veneer of bravery she'd applied for her family and friends had worn off, leaving her vulnerable. “Do you remember what I used to do when I had a nightmare?”

“You used to crawl into bed with me.”

“Yeah. That old cot in the trailer's living room.” Claire smiled. “It smelled like spilled bourbon and cigarette smoke, and it was too small for the two of us. But when I got into bed and you hugged me, I thought nothing could hurt me.” She looked up at Meghann, then very gently peeled back the blanket.

Meghann hesitated, then climbed into bed with Claire, drawing her close. If she noticed how thin Claire had gotten, she didn't comment on it.

“How come we forgot all the things that mattered?”

“I was an idiot.”

“We wasted a lot of time.”

“I'm sorry,” Meg said. “I should have said that a long time ago.”

Claire reached for Meg's hand, held it. “I'm going to ask you something, Meg, and I don't want any of your bullshit to get in the way. I can't ask this twice; saying each word is like swallowing broken glass. If the worst happens, I want you to be a part of Ali's life. She'll need a mother.”

Meg squeezed Claire's hand so tightly it cut off the blood flow to her fingers. Long seconds passed before she answered in a throaty voice, “I'll make sure she always remembers you.”

Claire nodded; she couldn't speak.

After that, they lay in the darkness, each holding the other one together until dawn lit the room and the doctors took Claire away.

Meghann stood at the window, staring out at the jumble of beige buildings across the street. In the three hours since they'd taken Claire to surgery, Meghann had counted every window and every door in this view. Twenty-three people had passed the corner of Broadway and James. Another sixteen had stood in line outside the tiny Starbucks.

Someone tugged on her sleeve. Meghann looked down. There was Alison, staring up at her. “I'm thirsty.”

Meghann stared into those bright green eyes and almost burst into tears. “Okay, honey,” she said instead, scooping Ali into her arms. Forcing herself not to squeeze the girl too hard, she carried her down to the cafeteria.

“I want a Pepsi Blue. That's what you got me last time.”

“It's only eleven in the morning. Juice is better for you.”

“You sound like Mommy.”

Meg swallowed hard. “Did you know your Mommy loved Tab when she was little? And Fresca. But I made her drink orange juice.”

Meghann paid for the juice, then carried Alison back to the waiting room. But when she leaned over to put Ali down, the girl squeezed harder.

“Oh, Ali,” Meg said, holding her niece. She wanted to promise that Mommy would be better, but the words caught in her throat.

She sat down, still holding Ali, and stroked her hair. Within minutes, the child was asleep.

From across the room, Gina looked up, saw her holding Ali, then went back to her crossword puzzle. Sam, Mama, Bobby, Karen, and Charlotte were playing cards. Joe sat off in the corner, reading a magazine. He hadn't looked up in hours, hadn't spoken to anyone. But then, none of them had spoken much. What was there to say?

Around noon, the surgical nurse came out, told them all that it would be several more hours.

“You should get something to eat,” she said, shaking her head. “It won't help Claire if you all pass out.”

Sam nodded, stood up. “Come on,” he said to everyone. “Let's get out of here for a while. Lunch is on me.”

“I'll stay here,” Meghann said. Food was the last thing on her mind. “Ali needs the sleep.”

Bobby squeezed her shoulder. “You want us to bring you something back?”

“Maybe a sandwich for Ali—peanut butter and jelly.”

“You got it.”

When they'd gone, Meghann leaned back in her chair, rested her head against the wall. In her arms, Ali snored quietly. It seemed like yesterday that Meg had held Claire this way, telling her baby sister that everything would be okay.