Sister Dear (35 page)

The hum of the monitors around Emma's head became intolerable. Emma looked at her father, pleading for help, a better explanation.

“I know it's a shock. There must be some mistake,” her mother assured Emma, her worried eyes heavy. “We'll find out more soon.”

“About what?” Emma looked to her father. He was shaking his head while her mother talked in circles, spinning more confusion than a sudden tornado on a summer day.

“Try not to think about it, honey.”

“Lily, stop,” her father cut in, attempting damage control. “Emma, your sister can't be here right now.” His voice cracked and his face seemed to fall apart in pieces, like rocks breaking off the edges of a cliff and tumbling into the churned ocean water below. First his chin let go, then his bottom lip. His upper lip and the tip of his nose disintegrated next, then his eyes, one by one.

Her parents, both of them, were acting like someone died.

Her father gripped at his wife's shoulder and turned her away
from Emma. “The doctor said not to get her excited or upset. Do you think this is helping?” he accused under his breath.

Her mother burst into tears. “How should I know?” She sobbed into her hands, wet, salty emotion dripping between her fingertips. “Are we not supposed to talk about it at all? Not tell our own daughter?” Her voice cracked. “Maybe she knows something we don't. Something that might help Allie.”

Eyes stinging with tears, head clouded with snippets of their conversation, Emma clutched at the sheets, pulling them taut. She wanted to yank them over her head, to cover up and hide. She wanted her parents to stop arguing.

“Stop,” her father urged. “Please, you're not making things any better.”

“What will, Paul? Because right now things are pretty awful.” Her mother's temper flashed like a pan of grease on fire, blue and red at the edges, leaping and striking any object within reach.

Emma closed her eyes tight against the sound of her mother's anger.

A distinct, sharp rap at the door and a slight creak of hinges prevented any further argument. Emma averted her eyes and twisted her hands beneath the sheets as a white-clad hospital worker entered the room.

“Good morning,” a musical, deep female voice said. Her brisk steps echoed as the rest of the room came to a settled, still quiet.

The nurse's hand grasped Emma's wrist, turning it over, examining for a pulse. IV lines were checked and adjusted. A moment later, a stethoscope found its way to the space on her skin just below her collarbone. Emma could almost make out the
thump-thump-thump
of her own heartbeat. It was fast. So fast it might race out of her chest. The nurse pressed the stethoscope an inch to the left, a centimeter to the right and down.

“How are you?”

“Tired,” Emma forced out between her parched lips, making her eyelids heavy. She watched the nurse grow concerned through the fringe of her lashes.

“Dr. Marshall? Mrs. Marshall? Would you excuse us just for a moment?” the nurse inquired. Her request cast a pall over the room, cold and biting.

After a slight pause, her parents walked from the room, their footsteps shuffling and heavy.

“Be right back.” The nurse bent over to straighten the sheet across Emma's collarbone. She smoothed it with a light touch and smiled down at her, then turned away to talk to her parents waiting in the hallway.

The door clicked, but didn't close completely.

Thank God someone understood, Emma thought. She couldn't think with her parents fighting. But even from the hallway, her mother's voice floated into the room, rising and falling. “Being held” and “sheriff” were met with firm resistance by the hospital employee.

“I'm sorry,” the nurse replied. Then, “. . . time to recover.”

Emma heard her mother say Allie's name and then her father interjected, his tone flat and somber. “Coach . . . last . . . couldn't revive . . .”

A shushing noise from the nurse covered the rest of his sentence.

Emma choked on her own breath.
Couldn't revive?
If her sister had something to do with this, then Allie deserved to burn in hell. She would never breathe a word that she'd been there with Coach that night.

She made her lips into the letters of his name. Her tears fell, splashing the sheets, the sound like raindrops landing on a child's watercolor painting, smearing the blues and greens and pinks until nothing but gray smudges remained.

2016

Coach had warned her. At the time she hadn't wanted to believe him, that if word got out it would jeopardize her family's business, ruin her parents' trust. She would be humiliated beyond imagination. Emma pressed her fingers to her brow, thinking back.

“Key people in this community know where I'm getting my supplies,” he said quietly.

“And those people know you're involved.” Coach pointed his finger at her face to make sure she was listening. “Sheriff Gaines,” he added. “He's just one of them.”

Now it was clear that her sister was investigating the coach's death. First, Caroline's ultimatum, then all of these mysterious trips, and now the voice mail asking Emma to talk after a visit from the county sheriff. Allie had found something.

Gaines had the power to cover it up or make it go away. What was he doing, getting involved now? Boyd Thomas was dead. Everything else should have been buried with him.

Emma walked to her bedroom, bent down, and pulled a tote bag from under her bed. She opened drawers, tossed in clothes for a few days. With a last, worried glance around the room, Emma picked up her keys and a jacket. She could figure out
where
she was going later. She scribbled a note for Caroline, who'd be home in less than an hour, telling her she had to go out of town for a bit. That Caroline should go to Grandma Lily's.
Everything's fine
, she wrote; they'd talk soon.

Almost as an afterthought, Emma paused in the kitchen. What if the sheriff blamed Emma for not controlling her sister, not keeping her from stirring up trouble? What if he stopped by her house, or worse, followed her? Pulse racing, Emma pulled open drawers, rummaged through, searching for something, anything, she could
use in self-defense. She laid eyes on an oversize pocketknife, one she could hold in the palm of her hand, hidden. It had a blade sharp enough to slice through corrugated cardboard moving boxes with ease. She'd used it when she'd moved into this very house so many years earlier.

Emma slipped the pocketknife into her jeans. As she hurried to the car, she ran through what she knew: Lee Gaines was an intelligent man. He knew about the steroids, which made him party to whatever laws were broken. And if the sheriff knew Emma loved Coach Thomas, that she had been pregnant with his child, it was likely he didn't care. He would protect his own hide before anyone else's.

Emma cranked the key and started the engine. She pulled out of the driveway and headed east. Right now she needed time to think. She turned a sharp left, exited onto a ramp, and entered the highway. She accelerated, pressing her foot on the gas pedal. The engine raced and the car jerked forward until she eased the pressure.

Tapping the steering wheel with one finger, Emma was certain that all of her sister's digging around had done something to warrant the sheriff's attention, and Emma's name got dragged into it. She sucked in her breath and kept driving. Every so often she glanced into the rearview mirror. Was anyone following her? Had someone seen her leaving the house? With shaking hands, Emma pulled over to the side of the road, cut her lights, and let the car's wheels roll to a stop.

Knowing Allie, she'd want more answers, more information. Her sister might eventually put it all together. And even though it was all Allie's fault for following her and spying on her that night, Allie would still hate Emma forever.

Somehow Emma had to stop this train wreck from happening.
Confront Gaines? Threaten him?

No, Emma decided. She would do the next best thing.

FIFTY

CAROLINE

2016

Caroline gripped the seat of the SUV with one hand and held her purse on her lap with the other. She was in the backseat, bumping along with Natalie and Russell.

The backs of their heads were identical in shape and color. The son's shaggier and longer. The mother's a bit smaller, the hair shinier. Their postures were similar—a slight cock to the head, left elbows on the armrests. They even sounded the same when they talked and laughed.

Russell turned and grinned, the motion abrupt. “Hey, you okay?”

Caroline jumped. “Sure,” she replied, trying to smile while worry pinged in her stomach.

“It's going to be fine,” he reassured her and grinned. “You'll see.”

Russell was headed in for an afternoon shift at the nursing home. Natalie and Caroline were simply tagging along. It was an excellent opportunity to talk to Dr. Gaines. They could ask a few more questions and make sure they had the story straight before Caroline talked to Allie or Emma.

The nursing home allowed pets to visit, citing the soothing
nature of the animals in nursing homes and long-term care facilities, so Natalie packed up the family dog and one of their three cats. “It's scientifically proven that simply stroking a dog's coat or petting a cat's fur can relaxed and help rid anxiety in Alzheimer's and dementia patients,” added Natalie as she grabbed a leash.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now Caroline's pulse began to gallop as they pulled into the parking lot. She tightened her fingers around the seat belt, hesitating before pressing the button to release the metal end. “What if she hates animals?” she whispered at Russell. “What if she's allergic?”

Natalie was already out of the SUV and walking toward the back. She motioned for Russell and Caroline to jump out and help. “It would be in her chart.” Russell winked.

Caroline sat inside the SUV, her breath starting to condense on her cheeks in the stuffy space inside the vehicle.

Natalie opened the back hatch. “You coming?” she called out. “You'll roast in there.”

Russell lifted the small spaniel out of his cage and clipped on the leash. The dog wagged its tail, tongue lolling to one side of its mouth.

Natalie picked up the smaller cage. A soft mew escaped from inside. “Shh, it's okay. We'll let you get out in just a minute,” she whispered. Russell closed the back.

Caroline frowned, not moving. She really might die of heatstroke. Maybe that would be better. It was a bad idea to talk to Dr. Gaines. Caroline scrunched down, the back of her neck wet with perspiration.

The side door flew open. “Come on.” Natalie smiled. “We'll go with the flow, okay? And we'll leave if it's a disaster.”

Caroline's leg peeled off the seat like pulling Band-Aid strips from taut skin, as if the van wanted to hold her inside. She felt better
when Russell slung an arm over her shoulders as they walked inside the air-conditioned building.

Their entrance caused a bit of a stir among the residents. Natalie paused here and there, allowing frail frames to lean forward and squint into the cage. A few of the women clapped their hands at the sight of a furry head and perky ears.

The cat wasn't as thrilled about all of the attention. Russell, sensing her unease, hurried his mother along. “She's getting skittish,” he whispered.

Caroline trailed behind, watching the reactions on faces. There were more smiles, more chatter among the ladies and bent-over men leaning on walkers in the corner. The place, in a span of minutes, appeared to come back to life, as if someone had waved a magic wand in the hallway or sprinkled pixie dust.

Russell and Natalie waited by the elevator, both smiling as she joined them. “So far, so good,” Natalie whispered as a bell chimed and the double doors heaved apart.

Both animals seemed to freeze until the elevator stopped its mechanical whirring and opened on the second floor. Caroline watched as the dog sniffed at the new air and scents. The cat, now resigned to her fate inside the cage, curled into a defensive ball.

Natalie gave a sidelong glance to the feline. “She'll come around, I think.”

A maintenance worker pushed a cart filled with supplies and buckets as they passed. A few of the nurses looked up and smiled.

“Dr. Harper. And hello, you two.” One of the nurses' aides nodded at Caroline and Russell. “And you brought friends.”

“We did,” Natalie said, bending down to check on the cat. She watched as the creature laid back her ears and bared her teeth. “Russell, she's not in the mood for this. Will you and Caroline be all right while I run back to the office with her?”

“Sure, Mom.” Russell glanced at Caroline. “We'll be fine.”

Caroline felt her body quiver. What would she find out? What would it mean for her relationship with Emma?

Russell went first. He rapped on June Gaines's door, then pushed it open, allowing the spaniel to lead as Caroline followed.

“Hello there. What a lovely surprise!” June exclaimed as they brought the animal into the room. She clasped her hands together and let them drop to her lap, still intertwined.

“Would it be all right if he visited for a few minutes?” Caroline gestured at the dog, who looked at June with bright eyes, lifting one paw, then the other.

“Can he?” June moved her chair forward.

With a deft movement, Russell unclipped the leash. “This is Cocoa.” The furry brown ball leaped into June's lap. His pink tongue licked her face. Russell put out his arms as if to grab him and hold him back, but June waved him away.

“Oh, you sweet boy,” she cooed and rubbed his head. “This is such a treat. So thoughtful,” she mused, scratching the dog behind one soft ear. “It's been so long. We used to have lots of pets, a whole farm, my husband used to say. Now, to whom do I owe a thank-you?” June squinted, her eyes finding the two figures pressed against the wall of the room. “Can you come closer? My eyes aren't what they used to be.”