Читать книгу While My Sister Sleeps - Barbara Delinsky - Страница 8

Molly was stunned. ‘Brain dead?’ She asked from the door.

Kathryn looked at her. ‘Tell them, Molly. Tell them how vibrant your sister is. Tell them what she plans to do next year. Tell them about the Olympics.’

Molly stared at her sister. Brain dead meant she would never wake up, would never breathe on her own, would never speak again. Ever.

Tearing up, she went to her father’s side. He took her hand.

‘Tell them, Molly,’ Kathryn begged.

‘Are they sure?’ Molly asked Charlie.

‘The MRI shows severe brain damage.’

Sharing her mother’s desperation, Molly turned to the neurologist. ‘Can’t you shock her or something?’

‘No. Dead tissue can’t respond.’

‘But what if it’s not all dead? Isn’t there another test?’

‘An EEG,’ he replied. ‘That will show if there’s any electrical activity at all in the brain.’

Molly didn’t have to ask what it meant if there was none. She knew her mother was thinking the same thing when Kathryn quickly said, ‘It’s too early for that test.’

But Molly needed grounds for hope. ‘Don’t you want to know, Mom? If there is electrical activity, there’s your answer.’

‘Robin isn’t brain dead,’ Kathryn insisted.

‘The term isn’t one we take lightly, Mrs Snow,’ the doctor said. ‘We use the Harvard criteria, which calls for a pair of EEGs taken a day apart. The patient isn’t considered brain dead unless both show the total absence of electrical activity.’

‘We need to do this, Mom,’ Molly urged. ‘We need to know.’

‘Why?’ Kathryn asked sharply. ‘So they can turn off the machines?’ Disengaging herself from Charlie, she took Robin’s hand and leaned close. ‘The New York Marathon is going to be amazing. We’re staying at the Peninsula, right, sweetie?’ Looking up at the doctors, she explained, ‘Marathoners taper their training in the week before the race. We thought we’d do some shopping.’

The intensive care specialist smiled sympathetically. ‘We don’t have to do the EEG right now. There’s time. Give it some thought.’

‘No EEG,’ Kathryn ordered, and no one argued.

Moments later, Molly was alone with her parents. Kathryn continued to talk to Robin as if she could hear. It was understandable. Robin had always been the focus of family activity. For all the times Molly had resented that, she couldn’t imagine it not being so.

It was like cutting back an orchid that had once been gorgeous, and not knowing if it would ever grow again. Something beautiful once…now maybe dead.

Kathryn broke into her thoughts. ‘I really need you at Snow Hill, Molly. Please don’t fight me on this.’

Fine. Molly wouldn’t argue. But there was bad news. ‘I just came from there. Tami Fitzgerald’s brother-in-law is in the ambulance crew. He told her about Robin.’ At Kathryn’s look of alarm, she added, ‘He didn’t say much. But Tami was asking. All I said was that Robin would be fine.’

‘That’s good.’

‘It won’t be for long, Mom. Word’ll spread. Hanover isn’t a big place, and the running community is tight. And Robin has friends all over the country–all over the world. They’ll be calling.’ Glancing around, she spotted the plastic bag that lay on the floor by the wall. It held Robin’s clothes and bumbag. ‘Is her cell phone there?’

‘I have it,’ Kathryn said. ‘It’s off.’

Like that would solve the problem? ‘Her friends will leave messages. When she doesn’t answer, they’ll call the house. What do you want me to say?’

‘Say she’ll get back to them.’

‘Mom, these are close friends. I can’t lie. Besides, they could be supportive. They could come talk to Robin.’

‘We can do that ourselves.’

‘We can’t tell them it’s nothing. If Robin’s had a massive heart attack—’

‘—it’s no one’s business but ours,’ Kathryn declared. ‘I don’t want people looking at her strangely once she’s up and around again.’

Molly was incredulous. To hear her mother talk, Robin might wake up in a day or two and be fine, be perfect. But even mild brain damage had symptoms. Best-case scenario, she would need rehab.

Molly turned to her father. ‘Help me here, Dad.’

‘With what?’ Kathryn asked, preempting Charlie.

Molly shot an encompassing look around the room. Her eyes ended up on Robin, who hadn’t moved an inch. ‘I’m having as much trouble with this as you are.’

‘You’re not her mother.’

‘She’s my sister. My idol.’

‘When you were little,’ Kathryn chided. ‘It’s been a while since then.’

My fault, my fault, Molly wailed silently, feeling all the worse. But how to do something positive now? She appealed to her father again. ‘I don’t know what to do, Dad. If you want me at Snow Hill fine; but we can’t pretend this isn’t serious. Robin is on life support.’

‘For now,’ Kathryn said with such conviction that Molly might have stayed simply to absorb her confidence.

Gently, Charlie said, ‘If anyone asks, sweetheart, just tell them that we’re waiting for test results, but that we’d appreciate their prayers.’

‘Prayers?’ Kathryn cried. ‘Like it’s life or death?’

‘Prayers are for all kind of things,’ Charlie replied and glanced up as a nurse came in.

‘I’d like to do a little work here–bathing, checking tubes,’ the woman said. ‘I shouldn’t be long.’

Molly went out to the hall. Her parents had no sooner joined her when her mother said, ‘See? They wouldn’t be bothering with mundane things like bathing if there was no point. I’m using the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.’

She had barely taken two steps, though, when she stopped. A man had approached and was staring at her. Roughly Robin’s age, wearing jeans and a shirt and tie, he looked reputable enough to be on the hospital staff, but with haunted eyes and a dark shadow on his jaw, he was clearly upset.

‘I’m the one who found her,’ he said in a tortured voice.

Molly’s heart tripped. When Kathryn didn’t reply, she hurried forward. ‘The one who found Robin on the road?’ she asked eagerly. They had so few facts. His coming was a gift.

‘I was running and suddenly there she was.’

He seemed bewildered; Molly identified with that. ‘Was she conscious when you were with her? Did she move at all? Say anything?’

‘No. Has she regained consciousness yet?’

She was about to answer–truthfully, because his eyes begged for it–when Kathryn came to life. Shrilly, she charged, ‘You have some gall asking that after standing there paralyzed for how long before calling for help?’

‘Mom,’ Molly cautioned, but her mother railed on.

‘My daughter is in a coma because she was deprived of oxygen for too long! Did you not know that every single second counted?’

‘Mom.’

‘I started CPR as soon as I realized she had no pulse,’ he said quietly, ‘and I kept it up while I called for help.’

‘You started CPR,’ Kathryn mocked. ‘Do you even know how to do CPR? If you’d done it right, she might be fine.’

Appalled, Molly gripped her mother’s arm. ‘That’s unfair,’ she protested because, family loyalties aside, she felt a link with this man. Kathryn was blaming him for something he hadn’t done, and, boy, could Molly empathize. That he had revived Robin was reason enough for her to connect with him. ‘Did my sister make any sound?’ she asked. ‘A moan, a whimper?’ Either would be an argument against brain damage.

His eyes held regret. ‘No. No sound. While I was compressing her chest, I kept calling her name, but she didn’t seem to hear. I’m sorry,’ he said, returning to Kathryn. ‘I wish I could have done more.’

‘So do I,’ Kathryn resumed her attack, ‘but it’s too late now, so why are you here? We’re trying to deal with something so horrifying you can’t begin to understand. You shouldn’t have come.’ She looked around. ‘Nurse!’

‘Mom,’ Molly shushed, horrified. She wrapped an arm around Kathryn, but felt far worse for the Good Samaritan. ‘My mother’s upset,’ she told him. ‘I’m sure you did what you could,’ but he was already backing away. He had barely turned and set off down the hall when Kathryn turned her wrath on Molly.

‘You’re sure he did all he could? How do you know that? And how did he get up here?’

‘He took the elevator,’ Charlie said from behind Molly. His voice was soft but commanding. Kathryn quieted instantly. With a single breath, she composed herself and continued on to the toilet.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Molly turned on her father, prepared to condemn Kathryn’s outburst, but the sorrow on his face stopped her cold. With Kathryn so involved, it was easy to forget that Robin was Charlie’s daughter, too.

Thoughts of the Good Samaritan faded, replaced by the reality of Robin. ‘What do we do?’ Molly asked brokenly.

‘Ride it out.’

‘About Mom. She’s out of control. That guy didn’t deserve that. He was only trying to help, like I try to help, but I’m almost afraid to speak. Everything I say is wrong.’

‘Your mother is upset. That’s all.’

Still there was a weight on Molly’s chest. ‘It’s more. She blames me.’

‘She just blamed that fellow, too. It’s an irrational thing.’

‘But I blame myself. I keep thinking it should be me on that bed, not Robin.’

He drew her close. ‘No. No. You’re wrong.’

‘Robin’s the good one.’

‘No more so than you. This was not your fault, Molly. She’d have had the heart attack whether you’d driven her or not, and no one–least of all Robin–would have had you crawling along in your car, keeping her in sight the whole time. At any given point, you might have been fifteen minutes away.’

‘Or five,’ Molly said, ‘so the damage would have been less. But if I was the one in a coma, Robin would be able to help Mom. She won’t let me help. What do I say? How do I act?’

‘Just be you.’

‘That’s the problem. I’m me, not Robin. And if they’re right about her brain,’ Molly went on, because her father was so much more reasonable than her mother, and the life support issue was preying on her, ‘this isn’t about life and death. It’s only about death.’ She choked up. ‘About when it happens.’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ he cautioned quietly. ‘Miracles have been known to happen.’

Charlie was a deeply religious man, a regular churchgoer, though he usually went alone, and he never complained about that. He accepted that what worked for him didn’t necessarily work for his wife and his kids. For the first time in her life, Molly wished otherwise. Charlie believed in miracles. She wanted to believe in them, too.

He pressed her cheek to his chest. His warmth, so familiar, broke her composure. Burying her face in his shirt, she cried for the sister she alternately loved and hated, but who now couldn’t breathe on her own.

Murmuring softly, he held her. Molly was barely regaining control when she heard her mother’s returning footsteps. Taking a quick breath, she wiped her face with her hands.

Naturally, Kathryn saw the tears. ‘Please don’t cry, Molly. If you do, I will; but I don’t want Robin seeing us upset.’ She pulled out her ringing cell phone and summarily turned it off. The BlackBerry followed. ‘I can’t talk,’ she said with a dismissive wave. ‘I can’t think about anything right now except making Robin better. But I would like to clean up while the nurse is with her. If you cover for me here, Molly, your father will run me home. We’ll be right back. Then you can go to Snow Hill.’

Molly wanted to argue, but knew the futility of it. So she glanced at her father. ‘Someone has to call Chris.’

Charlie’s eyes went past her. ‘No need. Here he comes.’

Chris had tried to work, but his heart wasn’t in it. He kept thinking about the mess his life was in, and since he didn’t know what to say to Erin, the hospital seemed the place to be. One look at his parents, though, and he had second thoughts. They were grim.

‘No change?’ he asked when he was close enough.

The silence answered his question.

‘The MRI shows brain damage,’ Molly told him.

Kathryn shot her an annoyed look. ‘MRIs don’t show everything.’

‘They need to do an EEG,’ Chris said.

‘Mom wants to wait.’

‘Please, Molly,’ Kathryn said. ‘You’re not helping.’

When Molly opened her mouth to protest, Charlie intervened. ‘She wasn’t being critical, Kathryn.’

‘She’s rushing things.’

‘No. The doctors suggested the EEG. She’s just updating Chris.’ Reaching for Kathryn’s hand, he told Chris, ‘I’m taking your mother home. We’ll be back.’

Watching them leave, Chris saw no evidence that Kathryn was arguing, which made his point. His father didn’t have to say much to be effective. Erin had to understand that.

‘Nightmare,’ Molly murmured.

‘Mom or Robin?’

‘Both. I agree about the EEG. We need to do it, but Mom’s afraid. Chris, the nurse is with Robin. If she leaves, will you go in? I’m going down for coffee. Want any?’

He shook his head. When he was alone, he leaned against the wall. And how not to think about Robin? His earliest memories in life were vague ones of her sitting him in a room and building forts around him, or dressing him up in old costumes. He couldn’t have been more than three. More clearly, he remembered tagging along with her on Halloween night. He would have been five or six then. By the time he was ten, she was taking him down black diamond ski slopes. He wasn’t anywhere near a good enough skier, but Robin was–and with Robin it was all about the challenge.

‘Hey,’ came a familiar voice.

He looked up to see Erin and felt instant relief. He wanted his wife with him now–needed her. ‘Where’s Chloe?’ he asked.

‘With Mrs Johnson. How’s Robin?’

Not good, he replied with a look. ‘The MRI shows brain damage.’

‘From a heart attack? How could she have had a heart attack?’

Chris had passed the disbelief stage and felt a wave of anger. ‘She pushed herself. She was always pushing herself. If a challenge was there and someone could do it, she had to be the one. She already holds every local record and half a dozen national ones. So she wanted to win New York, but she went too far. Why did she have to set a world record? Wasn’t winning enough?’

Erin put a hand on his arm and gently said, ‘That doesn’t matter right now.’

He took a steadying breath.

‘How’s your mom handling this?’ she asked.

He made a face. Lousy.

‘Is your dad any help?’

That revived Chris. ‘Yeah. He is. He doesn’t have to say a lot, but it works. I just saw that. He says two words, and she quiets down.’

‘They’ve been married more than thirty years.’

He shook his head. ‘It isn’t the time; it’s the nature of their relationship.’

‘Chris, I’m not your mom. She and I are totally different. Besides, she’s out of the house all the time. She was even when you kids were little, and I’m not criticizing that. I’m envious. She started Snow Hill back then, and look what it is now. She’s an amazing woman. If I created something like that, I could live with silence at night.’

‘She’s driven.’

‘By what?’

He shrugged. He couldn’t figure his wife out, and she was less complex than Kathryn. ‘So,’ he asked, needing to know, ‘are you going home to visit your mom?’

‘Omigod, no,’ Erin said quickly. ‘Not with Robin so sick.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘But what’s happening between us isn’t going away, Chris. We will have to deal sometime.’

When Molly returned to Snow Hill, the parking lot was filled with customers’ cars. Slipping inside, she took the back stairway to her office and closed the door. She shooed one cat from her chair and another from the keyboard, then sat and folded her hands.

She didn’t want to be here, but her father had asked. And besides easing her guilt, Molly wanted to help. She could fight it long and hard, but pleasing Kathryn had always been high on her list.

Right now, Kathryn wanted her to work. So, dutifully, she logged on and pulled up her calendar for the week. Today and tomorrow were for ordering, but Thursday she was supposed to follow up her mother’s speech at a women’s club in Lebanon with a how-to on making dish gardens. Obviously, they couldn’t go. What excuse to give? Same with a pruning demonstration in Plymouth. And Friday’s appearance at WMUR in Manchester? Molly hated being on TV, even with Kathryn doing the talking. Television made her eyes look too close, her nose too short, her mouth too wide. She had experimented wearing her hair back versus loose, wearing trousers versus jeans, wearing blue versus purple or green. No matter what, she paled beside Kathryn.

Neither of them would be up to doing TV on Friday so her father could cancel that one.

Her intercom buzzed. ‘Any news?’ Tami asked.

‘Not yet,’ Molly replied, feeling disingenuous. ‘We’re waiting for more tests.’

‘Joaquin was asking. He was worried when he didn’t see either of your parents’ cars. They usually get here early after they’ve been away.’

Joaquin Pea was Snow Hill’s facilities man. Not only did he maintain the buildings and grounds, but because he lived on-site, he handled after-hours emergencies.

Joaquin adored Robin.

Tell him she’ll be fine, Molly wanted to say, but the MRI mocked that claim. So she simply said, ‘Dad’ll be here later,’ which begged the question of what to tell Joaquin or anyone else who might ask about Robin. But Charlie was good at this. Wasn’t he their PR man?

Ending the call, she sorted through the requisition forms she had collected at yesterday’s meeting. With fall planting season under way, Snow Hill’s tree and shrub man had a list. Their functions person had booked three new weddings and two showers, and the retail store was gearing up for October’s opening of the wreath room, all of which required special ordering. And then there was Liz Tocci, the in-house landscape designer and total pain in the butt, who was arguing–yet again–in favor of a supplier who carried certain elite specialty King Protea plants but who, Molly knew from experience, was overpriced and unreliable.

Molly loved King Proteas, too. As exotic flowers went, they were gorgeous. But Snow Hill was only as good as its suppliers, and this supplier had sent bad flowers once, the wrong flowers another time, and no flowers at all the third time Snow Hill had placed an order. In each instance, clients had been disappointed. No, there were other exotics Liz Tocci could use.

But how stupid was it to be worried about Liz when Robin was comatose?

Unable to spend another second thinking, Molly set to ordering for the functions. But she wasn’t in a wedding mood. So she focused on Christmas. It was time to preorder. Last year, they had sold out of poinsettias and had to rush to restock at a premium cost. She wanted plenty at wholesale this year.

How many hundreds to order–three, four? Eight-inch pots, ten-inch, twelve-inch? And how many of each size to upgrade to ceramic pots?

She struggled with the decisions, but came up short. She was about as interested in poinsettias as she was in moving. Digging up her landlord Terrance Field’s phone number, she punched it in. ‘Hey, Mr Field,’ she said when the old man picked up, ‘it’s Molly Snow. How are you?’

‘Not bad,’ he replied warily. ‘What is it now, Molly?’

‘My sister’s had an accident. It’s pretty serious. This time I really do need an extension.’

‘You said that last time, too. When was that, a week ago?’

‘That was a problem with the moving company, Mr Field, and I did work it out. This is different.’ In the space of a breath, she realized that her argument was lame without the truth. ‘Robin had a heart attack.’

There was a pause, then a gently chiding, ‘Am I truly supposed to believe that?’

‘She collapsed while she was running. They say there’s brain damage. She’s in critical condition. Call Dickenson-May. They’ll verify it.’

After another pause came a sigh. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Molly, but I’m over a barrel here. You promised to be out Monday, and my contractor is starting Tuesday. I’ve paid him a hefty deposit to work quickly, because if the house isn’t ready for the estate agent to show by the first of November, selling will be difficult. I need that money.’

Molly knew his estate agent. She was an old family friend. ‘Dorie McKay will understand,’ she pleaded, ‘and she’s totally persuasive. She can work things out with the contractor. All I want is an extra week or two.’

But Terrance didn’t budge. ‘It isn’t the contractor, Molly. It’s me. First of December, my rent is tripling. The building is going condo. If I don’t sell in Hanover, I can’t buy here in Jupiter, and I can’t afford the triple rent.’

Molly might have begged–just one extra day? two extra days?–but one or two days wouldn’t make a difference, not with Robin breathing through that god-awful respirator.

Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t do the packing. Robin wouldn’t have done much anyway, and they did have a place to go. Molly just didn’t want to move. Despite all the natural beauty in the area, Snow Hill being the least of it, there was a special charm to the cottage. She loved driving down the lane and parking under the oak, loved walking in and smelling aged wood. The house made her feel good. It would be nice to stay a while longer, especially with Robin’s future in doubt.

One thing was for sure: Robin would be neither conducting a clinic that afternoon nor talking with sixth graders on Friday. Molly began with the Friday call, knowing that a Phys Ed teacher, who was less personally involved, would accept a cancellation more easily than a running group would. And she was right. When she explained that Robin was sick, the teacher was disappointed but understanding. The head of the running group was another story. Jenny Fiske knew Robin personally and was concerned.

When she asked what was wrong, Molly couldn’t get herself to blame the flu. ‘She had some trouble yesterday during a long run. They’re doing tests now.’

‘Is it her heel again?’

That would have been the recent bone spur incident. But a bone spur wouldn’t keep Robin from meeting with a running group. Robin adored meeting with running groups. She would have gone on crutches, if need be. No, for her to cancel out on a running group would take something serious. Molly tried to come up with a possibility. Pneumonia? Stomach cramps? Migraines? Lasting for weeks?

Finally she just said, ‘It’s something with her heart.’

‘Oh God, the enlarged heart thing. She was hoping it would go away.’

Molly paused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t think she meant to tell me, but we were together last year when the news reported autopsy results on a guy who died during the Olympic marathon trials. He had an enlarged heart. It was totally tragic. I mean, he was only twenty-eight. Robin was saying how scary it was, because she has the same thing.’

That was news to Molly. It would be news to her parents. But Robin told Kathryn everything. If she had known something like that and hidden it from her mother for the sake of glory, it would be awful!

‘Is that the problem?’ Jenny asked.

‘Uh…uh…’

‘Is she all right ?’

Oh, yes, her mother would have wanted her to say. But it was a lie, possibly compounded now by Robin’s lie. Angry at her sister, and at her mother, who reveled in the glory of parenting a world-class runner, Molly blurted out, ‘Actually, she’s not. She hasn’t regained consciousness.’

‘Omigod! Is she at Dickenson-May?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the ICU?’

Starting to worry, Molly backpedaled. ‘Yeah, but will you kind of…not tell people, Jenny? We don’t know where this is headed.’