While My Sister Sleeps (25 page)

Well, what about ME? Aren't I a person? Don't I have a say in this? Who is living this life anyway—Mom or me?

“Molly?”

Startled, she looked up. Nick was there, standing on the opposite side of the small table, staring over the top of her laptop. He wore his usual open-neck shirt and slacks, but his face was pale, his blue eyes hollow. His trademark arrogance was gone, which should have satisfied her. But he was an intrusion.

Closing the laptop, she folded her hands.

“You hate me,” he concluded after a minute.

She made a show of considering it. “Close.”

“I'm sorry.”

She waited. “Is that it? You want to be friends again? Please, Nick. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on
me.
” It was one of her grandmother's favorite lines. Thinking of Marjorie made her calm.

“I'm sorry for using you. I was wrong.”

Again, she waited. Nick was nothing if not glib. She had to hand it to him; he did look unhappy. But he had toyed with her before.

“I love Robin. I should have told you that.” He looked off. His hand was on the phone at his hip, fingers shifting nervously. “When you want something really badly, you forget there's a right and a wrong. I wanted Robin to see me. I wanted her to realize I wasn't giving up. I wanted her to know I would be loyal to her forever.”

“So you pretended to be my friend to get information on her?” Molly cried. “Didn't you think Robin would
get
it?”

He looked back. “Like I said, you forget what's right and wrong.”

Molly remembered what she had just read
… like the one thing she withholds from me is the one thing that underlies everything she does.
There were parallels here. Nick looked more than unhappy. He looked like he was in pain. Molly actually felt bad for him … but not bad enough to cave in. She wanted full disclosure. She owed that to Robin.

“What do you want?” she asked quietly.

His fingers shifted again. “To see her.”

“Not possible.”

“I want to tell her what I feel.”

“She won't hear.”

“I will.”

But Molly was protective of Robin. And of Kathryn. “Write it out. I'll read it to her.”

“It wouldn't be the same.”

“No one but the immediate family is seeing her, Nick. You're a writer. Someone else wouldn't be able to do this, but you can.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away. After a minute, he turned and walked off, just as he had done in the parking lot Tuesday night. Molly had assumed he wanted to make a phone call, but if she believed what he said now, he had simply been stunned by grief.

Alone again, she felt sorry for him—then foolish for feeling sorry. She wondered what Robin would have said. Reopening her laptop, she clicked this time on
Why My Sister Is Wrong.

Molly is one of those people you want to shake. She can't see what's right in front of her nose.

Hell, I couldn't either until all this happened. I bought into the hype. I believed that Mom had spotted a skill in me and was directing me to greatness.

WRONG. She knew what the skill was when she saw it. She had cause to push me. Running was all I could do. I inherited athletic skill. I wasn't good at anything else.

That's where Molly comes in. She looks up to me—always has. She's like my little servant, an extension of Mom, helping me out. Okay, so she can be stubborn. And impulsive. And she can't run a mile—absolutely CANNOT do it—though she's been through it enough with me to OWN the motivational tools.

She calls me a star. But stars flare and fade fast, while Molly, she's the good earth. She's grounded. She renews herself.

Mom takes her for granted, but what would I do without Molly? She found the house. She keeps it up. She pays the bills because we both know I'd never do it on time. She also keeps things going at Snow Hill. If people there have a problem, they don't come to me. They go to her. I have a fancy title—Director of Community Events—but my assistant does all the work. She's MUCH better at it than I am. That's why Mom hired her.

Molly likes saying she's only a greenhouse person—HAH. Mom relies on her. Mom respects her. Mom doesn't look over HER shoulder at everything she does. Mom isn't constantly calling her to remind her of things, because she KNOWS they'll be done.

How can Molly not SEE that? She wants to think she's a flake who can't do much more than repot a plant. Maybe that's a good approach. When expectations are low, it's easy to exceed them.

I envy Molly for that. She's driving her own life. I'm not. I'm in a great big fat rut. Maybe it's because of the heart thing. What'll I do if it acts up? They tell me to watch for shortness of breath, but during a marathon the only people who aren't short of breath are the ones at the BACK OF THE PACK. And if I can't run? Oh sure, I can coach, but the only reason people want me is because I'm a great runner.

Smoke and mirrors. Dad uses that expression when he talks
about the work he did before he met Mom. Marketing is about creating an illusion, he says, and that's the way I feel. My sister is real. I'm an illusion. Mom may not use smoke and mirrors, but she created the illusion that I could do anything. So there's another kind of expectation, and when I can't live up to it, people will see the truth—which IS that I do one thing well. I run to the finish line, and I do it faster than everyone else in the race. As for the rest of life, I run away. I don't apply myself at Snow Hill because I know I'll mess up. I don't date men who are keepers, because they want women who are too. I don't cook because I'm lousy at it. I don't do well with babies, because they don't care about running ONE mile, let alone twenty-six.

I run. Period. And when the running is done? Who will I be?

I wonder if Peter misses the high of competing. Or if he felt like a failure when he quit the circuit. I wonder if he started the tennis school because he didn't know what else to do or if he finds it rewarding. I wonder what he expects of his daughter.

I could take Molly out there with me, like we're doing a sister trip. She can keep a secret. Maybe I should tell her.

MOLLY
was heartsick, which seemed to be commonplace lately. She had no idea Robin was tormented. She had bought the image of a woman making it big and loving what she did. Smoke and mirrors. Omigod,
yes.

Nearly as tragic as the idea that Robin had suffered in silence was the realization that Molly hadn't known her sister well enough to see it.

But there were answers. A phone call would get them, but not from here. From home.

OLLY BLASTED THE RADIO ON THE WAY HOME
, singing aloud, taking interest in absolutely everything she passed as a diversion from what she was about to do. Kathryn wouldn't be happy, but Molly's focus was Robin. When it came to Peter, her wishes were clear.

Parking under the oak, she let herself in the door and went straight to the kitchen. Robin's BlackBerry was on the counter by the phone, right where she had left it when she had gone out for Monday's run. It was dead. Typically. But the charger was nearby. In a matter of minutes, Molly had fired it up to get Peter's number.

It was mid-morning on the West Coast. She tried to picture what he would be doing. The phone rang twice before she heard a winded, “Santorum here.”

Hang up, Molly. Once it's done, there's no taking it back. Mom will not be happy.

But Robin would be. Molly believed that. So, quelling a final qualm, she said, “This is Molly Snow. I'm Robin's sister.”

There was a brief pause on his end, then a curious, “Robin's sister? How are you?”

“Not good.” Unsure of her welcome, she rushed the words out. “I wouldn't be calling if this weren't an emergency. There's been an accident. Robin is in bad shape.”

Several beats passed. “What kind of accident?”

“A massive heart attack. It was the problem you told her about. She was running Monday night and collapsed. Another runner got her heart beating again, but we don't know how long she was out. She never regained consciousness.”

“What does bad shape mean?”

“They've declared her brain dead.”

He groaned, clearly upset. His voice was raspy. “Oh God. I was afraid—just felt it. Did she see a doctor after I called?”

“Yes. They told her she had the condition but that it was mild. No one said she couldn't run.”

“Brain dead,” he repeated in a defeated tone. “Hold on a second. I'm on a treadmill. Lemme get off. I can't think here.” He said “think” with a hint of a twang.

She heard voices, the squeak of a background machine, then silence. “Better,” he said. “Is there absolutely no hope?”

“They've run the definitive tests. The machines are all that's keeping her alive—so it's not like there's anything you could do if you came here—but I'm trying to figure out what she would want us to do long term. The only thing I've learned is that she wanted to meet you.” That put the ball in his court.

“She's on life support?”

“Yes.”

“For how long? What will your family do?”

“I don't know. It's only been a day and a half since the last test was run. We're kind of torn.”

“Torn enough to end up in court?” he asked, forceful for the first time. “If you're involving me to tip the balance one way or th'other, I opt out. I haven't been part of Robin's life. I won't have a say in her death.”

Molly heard only the first of what he said. It hadn't
occurred
to her that he might weigh in on the decision. For all she knew, he might take them to court himself. That would be a
nightmare
, not to mention the fact that Kathryn would never forgive her.

She was wondering if she had made a major mistake calling, when he said, “I won't take a stand. I talked with Robin once. She never called me back. That told me something.”

Molly did hear him this time, but she remained wary. She didn't know this man, had no idea if he meant what he said or would call a lawyer the minute he got off the phone. She wanted to make it clear he would have a fight on his hands if he did that.

In her best Kathryn voice, she said, “No one wants you to take a stand. We'll decide what to do. My family is very close. We always reach agreement, and we always do what's best for Robin.” Returning to what he had said last, she added more gently, “And Robin did want to call you back. But she was afraid.”

“Afraid of
me?
I didn't ask for a thing. I was careful about that.”

“She was afraid of hurting Mom. I am too, and it's possible this call will upset her.”

“That raises an interesting question. Why isn't she calling me herself?”

“Because she hasn't seen Robin's diary. I have. Robin didn't know what to believe after you called. She wanted to think you were making it all up, but she checked out the information you gave her, and the heart thing clinched it. Mom had no idea Robin knew about you. Robin didn't tell her about the heart either.”

There was a pause. “That's a surprise. I got the impression they were close.”

“They were. But this was different.” Molly tried to articulate it without being critical of Kathryn. “I think that when Robin learned about you, she decided she hadn't been in full control of her life. She wanted to change that.”

That was why Molly was calling—why, acting in Robin's stead, she had a ready answer when he asked quietly, “What would you like me to do?”

“Come see her. She wanted to meet you.”

“Does your mother want that?”

“I don't know. But Robin does. That's what matters.”

UNCERTAINTY
set in the instant Molly hung up the phone. Of all the impulsive things she had done in her life, this held the greatest potential for disaster. Oh, she had no doubt that she was doing what Robin wanted. But Kathryn might never forgive her.

Peter was taking the red-eye and would be arriving the next morning at dawn. His seat was booked.

Seeking reassurance that she had done the right thing, she went to Robin's bedroom. It was starting to look bare, but the bed was intact, and there was the cat on the quilt, raising its head when she sat down. After staring at her for a minute, it
put its head down again. It had decided to trust her. She took that as a sign.