My Sister's Keeper (39 page)

Digging through the crate, she also found five boxes of bullets buried among a hammer and various tools. She took the pistol and the bullets down the ladder to the galley, dropped them in a black plastic garbage bag, and lifted the bilge hatch in the floor with the intention of placing it in the narrow space below the floor. But the space was filled with other plastic bags. Opening one, she found it stuffed with hundred dollar bills. She checked another and it, too, was stuffed with money. Jamming the gun in with the other bags, she replaced the bilge hatch, climbed the ladder, and spent the rest of the afternoon loading the boat and stowing the cargo away.

IN THE SEMI-DARKNESS OF MARTHA’S HOSPITAL ROOM, Mother filled me in on what the doctor had said. They were having trouble bringing the hemorrhaging under control and that there was more swelling in her head than they’d expected. She said they took her back into surgery and opened another hole in her skull in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but the prognosis was not good. We hugged each other for awhile and for awhile I was strong for Mom. But left alone with the monotonous rhythm of a life-support system that neither knew her nor cared, I lost my composure.

She’d spent her whole life looking out for me, fixing the things I’d broken, trying to keep us together as a family. She had the biggest heart of anyone I knew and while I seldom told her, I loved her. I never imagined there could come a time when she wouldn’t be around. Now, as she lay at death’s door, I feared that she’d die never really knowing how much I loved and needed her.

Moving to her bedside I laid my head next to hers, my mouth at her ear, and sobbed shamelessly. “Oh Babe, I’m so sorry. Why did you have to go back down to that warehouse? Why didn’t you call me to go with you?” I choked on the words as they poured out of me. “You were right, you know.” I wiped my tears on the sheet. “It was Scott. I found your notes and showed them to Sam. And the ring. Sydney found his ring, Babe. At the scene of the accident, in the grass. We saw the flash of blue and the ‘N3’ just as you did. But they’re on to him now, Babe. It’s finally over. You did it! He’ll get his, I
promise
you.”

She flinched as though shocked by a jolt of electricity.

“
That’s right, Babe. Fight this thing. Fight it, girl. I swear to God I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. Just don’t die. Please. I’ll never forgive myself if you die. I love you, Babe. You are the best sister in the world.”

Her body jerked again and this time the monitor skipped a beat. I raised to look at her face. Behind the holes in the bandage her eyes stretched wide. One stared to the upper right, the other down left.

“
Yes, Babe! Fight it! Stay with me, girl!”

The beeping stopped. She tensed, then exhaled a long, slow breath.

“
Babe?”

Her eyes rolled up, the lids relaxed, and her body fell limp.

“
Babe!
No. No, please.
Babe!
”

I lunged to the door and flung it back.
“Somebody! I need help!”

They must have already known. They were running toward me and shoved me out of the way as they crowded around Martha’s bed and began CPR. One of the nurses pulled the curtain around them blocking my view. Ten minutes later, the doctor stepped out pausing at the door to gather her thoughts before giving us the news. “We got her back—for the moment.”

Mom grabbed her arm. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”

The woman took Mom’s hand in hers and squeezed it. Her eyes revealed the truth. “Unless the swelling goes down pretty soon, it’s impossible to say what’s going to happen. She has massive internal injuries including substantial damage to her one remaining kidney.” Mother’s hands went to her mouth and tears filled her eyes. “If she lives, she could end up on dialysis for the rest of her life. It’s really up to her now. We’ll know more in a few days.”

The doctor told us we’d have to leave, that they’d call if there was any change, but Mom refused to leave choosing instead to wait in the chapel down the hall.

I left in a daze. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Afraid of what would happen to my mother if Martha died. And to
me!

I stood in the parking lot waiting for instructions; where to go, what to do. It was a glorious spring day. The temperature had warmed into the low 70s and the world moved about as if nothing had changed—and I guess it really hadn’t.

But
I
had.

For once, it all made sense. Trucks rushing here, there, and yonder. Women pushing baby strollers. Birds circling overhead. A man hammering a steel beam into place. Another man on his knee scolding a little boy.

Life just isn’t that complicated.

I’d spent mine in a speeding car with an unpredictable fun-house steering wheel and no brakes while the world was moving in the opposite direction.
What had I been focused on? What had I been trying to achieve? Why had I been so out of sync?

Martha’s life may have been short and difficult, but it had been filled with love and friends and
purpose
. She gave and gave of herself and asked for so little. The pressure intensified across my chest and tears distorted my vision. My heart was beating much too fast and my head felt light.

I got in the car and drove around until dark. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I pulled into the parking lot at the dance studio an hour early to wait for Sydney to get off. Time seemed to stand still. I called Mom to see if there’d been any change. She said no and added that Dad was asking for me. I told her to tell him I’d be by tomorrow.

My mind wouldn’t stop thinking about the accident. About how terrifying it must have been for Martha when Scott shoved her out into that street. I
laid my head on the steering wheel and wept while people going and coming from the dance studio eyed me cautiously.

After the last of the cars had pulled away, Sydney opened the door and got in.

“
How’s Martha?” she asked dropping her bags on the floor.

I wanted so badly to keep my composure. I’d rehearsed what I was going to say, but instead shook my head and could only say, “It’s bad.” Afraid that I’d break down if I said too much, I spoke very little on the ride to her house and let Sydney ramble on about how good doctors are these days and what they can do. At her house I cut the engine and stared out into the darkness.

“
Have you had anything to eat?” she asked. I shook my head. “Come on in. I’ll fix you something.”

I wasn’t hungry and didn’t think I could hold it down if I did eat, but I didn’t want to be
alone.
Not this night.

Her house was like a garden inside. Flowers and plants everywhere. Green, orange, blue, yellow, billowing, hanging, standing. It smelled more like a florist than a home. It was nice. Martha would love it.

Sydney warmed a bowl of home-made soup and made me a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich to go with it.

The more I ate, the more talkative I became. “She wanted so much to have children of her own,” I said, my words sounding like fingernails on sandpaper. “But the first accident took that away from her.”

“
She would make such a good mother, too.”

“
Yes, she would.”

Sydney saw tears come to my eyes and slipped her arms around me. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“
How that son-of-a-bitch Scott just sat in that chair with that smug-ass look on his stupid-ass face acting so damned concerned and the whole time
knowing
he was the one that pushed her off that ledge.”

“
I still can’t believe Scott did that.”

“
Oh, he did it all right.” Leaning forward, I covered my face with my hands. “Jesus Christ! Can you believe all the things he’s gotten away with? How the hell can somebody go directly from Jr. high to law school and pull that off?”

Sydney stroked my back. “He
is
clever, I’ll give him that.”

“
Oh no!”

“
What?”

I slammed my hands on the table and grasped my head. “I told him everything. What Martha was doing and what she’d found out.” I pressed my clinched fists against my temples. “I think I even told him she was going back down to the warehouse at night looking for a light to show up in that window.
Damn! I set her up!”

Sydney laid her head against my back. “Shhhhh.” Her voice was like fingers sliding across satin. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

“
That…son-of-a-bitch!” I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Oh, Babe, I’m so sorry.”

Sydney squeezed her arms around me. “Shhhh.”

“
Damn it!” I rose from the table breaking her hold. “I can’t let him get away with this!”

“
Come on.” Sydney took my hand and pulled. “Let’s go get a shower.”

Tears streamed down my face. “Oh, God!”

She pulled me stumbling into a nearby bedroom, shoved me onto my back, and took
control
of my mind and body. Falling on top me, she redirected the storm raging inside me re-channeling my pain and fury into passion and desire.
Icy hatred
melted into
flaming love
. For the next hour the fire and the cold swirled through me ripping me apart as she held me down, kissed me, and took me to a final release that shattered every obstacle I had left to becoming the man I was born to be.

As I lay spent listening to the quiet sounds of a radio I never knew was even playing, I realized I couldn’t live without Sydney. I
had
to have her.

“
I love you, Sydney.”

“
I love you, too, Richard.” She laid her head against my chest. “I think I always have.”

ASHLEIGH SLOWED HER CAR and peered up the dark driveway to the pool house in the backyard. Seeing no lights, no people, and especially no police, she eased down the street and pulled into the shadows of a huge live oak dripping with Spanish moss. Emerging from the car, she kept to the shadows running alongside a line of azaleas into a neighbor’s backyard. Clutching her house key in her hand, she dashed across several backyards then cowered behind a row of bushes to avoid Mrs. Winslow’s hawkish eyes.

With a sliver of moon twinkling off the lake, Ashleigh crawled through the shrubs and sank into the darkness at the side of her house. Seeing no one around, she moused across the porch, inserted the key, pushed the door back, and was immediately overcome by the foul odor of decaying blood. Bumbling back to the edge of the porch, she caught her breath, held it, and sprinted through to the bedroom where, even in the dim light, she could see the black stains on the walls, bed, and floor.

Working quickly, she swung the dressing stool into the closet, raked the boxes on the top shelf to one end, pressed a finger into a tiny indention in the sheetrock, and jiggled it back and forth. But the sheetrock didn’t move. She jiggled harder and still the section of wall held tight. With her lungs bursting and perspiration dampening her skin, she retreated back to the front porch, and—checking to see if all was clear—leapt into the shadows around the side of the house.

Landing on her hands and knees, she gasped for air trying desperately not to throw up. When her wind returned and the shivering had diminished, she took a chunk of brick from the flowerbed, charged back into the house, stepped back up on the stool, and bashed a hole in the sheetrock.

Feeling around inside the cavity in the wall, she grasped the only thing she’d left behind—the one thing she figured she’d never need again—a loaded 25-caliber pistol.

53

M
ARTHA HELD ME TOGETHER all through high school when my relationship with Dad had totally come apart. What a blessing that was. No person should have to live without a sibling. If I ever have children, there’ll be at least two. But even with Martha there supporting me emotionally, I’d not been complete.

Until Sydney.

With Sydney, I felt I’d come full circle. As if she’d taken hold of my spine and given me some sort of adjustment. A spiritual realignment. My breathing slowed. My muscles relaxed. I felt a presence within me that had long been missing—a thousand voices singing.