While My Sister Sleeps (3 page)

Did he feel things? He sure did. He just didn't get hysterical.

Putting on his blinker, he turned in at the hospital. He had barely parked at the Emergency entrance when Molly was running toward him, her blond hair flying and her eyes panicked.

“What's happening?” he asked, leaving the car.

“Nothing.
Nothing.
She hasn't woken up!”

He stopped walking. “Really?”

“She had a
heart
attack, Chris. They think there's brain damage.”

She drew him inside, through the waiting room to a far cubicle—and there was Robin, inert as he had never seen her. He stood at the door for the longest time, looking from her body to the machines to the doctor by her side.

Finally, he approached. “I'm her brother,” he said and stopped. He didn't know where to begin.

The doctor began for him, repeating some of what Molly had said and moving on. Chris listened, trying to take it in. At the doctor's urging, he talked to Robin, but she didn't respond. He followed the physician's explanation of the various machines and stood with him at the X-ray screen. Yes, he could see what the doctor was pointing out, but it was too bizarre.

He must have been looking doubtful, because the doctor said, “She's an athlete. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—inflammation of the heart muscle—is the leading cause of sudden death in athletes. It doesn't happen often, and the instance is even lower in women than men. But it does happen.”

“Without warning?”

“Usually. In cases where there's a known family history, a screening echocardiogram may diagnose it, but many victims are asymptomatic. Once she's in the ICU, she'll have an intensivist heading her case. He'll work with a cardiologist and a neurologist.”

Chris knew his parents would want the best, but how could
he know who that was? Feeling inadequate, he looked at his watch. “What time do they land?” he asked Molly.

“Any minute.”

“Are you going to call?”

“You are. I'm too upset.”

And Chris wasn't? Did he have to be
visibly
shaking? Facing the doctor, he said, “Is this—what is she—comatose?”

“Yes, but there are different levels of coma.” He pushed up black glasses with the back of his hand. “At most levels, patients make spontaneous movements. The fact that your sister hasn't suggests the highest level of coma.”

“How do you measure it?” Chris asked. He didn't know what he was looking for, only knew that Molly was standing at his elbow taking in every word, and that his parents would ask the same questions. Numbers had meaning. They were a place to start.

“A CAT scan or an MRI will show if there's tissue death, but those tests will have to wait until she's more stable.”

Chris glanced at Molly. “Try calling Mom and Dad.”

“I can't,” she whispered, looking terrified. “I was supposed to be with her. This was my fault.”

“Like it wouldn't have happened if you'd been waiting five miles down the road? Be real, Molly. Call Mom and Dad.”

“They won't believe me.
You
didn't.”

She was right. But
he
didn't want to call. “You're better with Mom than I am. You'll know what to say.”

“You're older, Chris. You're the
man.
”

He took the phone from his pocket. “Men stink at things like this. It'll be enough when she sees my caller ID.” With a sharp look, he passed her the phone.

KATHRYN
Snow turned on her BlackBerry as soon as the plane landed. She hated being out of touch. Yes, the nursery was a family operation, but it was her baby. If there were problems, she wanted to know.

While the plane taxied through the darkness to the terminal, she downloaded new messages and scrolled through the list.

“Anything interesting?” her husband asked.

“A note from Chris—his meeting went well. A thank-you for the Collins’ wedding shower. And a reminder from the newspaper that the article on flowering kale is due at the end of the week.”

“It's all written, ready to go.”

Appreciative, she smiled. Charlie was her marketing chief, a behind-the-scenes guy who had a knack for writing ad copy, press releases, and articles. In his quiet way, he invited trust. When he suggested to TV producers that Kathryn was the one to discuss fall wreaths, they believed him. He had single-handedly won her a permanent spot on the local news and a column in a home magazine.

Speaking of which, “
Grow How
is due at the end of the week,” she mused. “It'll be for the January edition, which is always the toughest. Molly knows the greenhouse better than I do. I'll have her write it.” She returned to the BlackBerry. “Robin didn't e-mail. I wonder how her run went. She was worried about her knee.” Accessing voice mail next, she smiled, frowned, smiled again. She finished listening just as the plane reached the jetport. Releasing her seat belt, she put the BlackBerry in her pocket and followed Charlie into the aisle. “
Voice
mail from Robin. She had to drive herself because Molly refused to help. What's wrong with that child?”

“Just refused? No excuse?”

“Who knows,” Kathryn murmured, but grinned. “Good news, though. Robin got another call from the powers-that-be wanting to make sure she's set to run New York. They're counting on her for the trials next spring. The Olympics, Charlie,” she mouthed, afraid to jinx it by speaking aloud. “Can you imagine?”

He lowered her suitcase from the overhead bin. Kathryn was lifting its handle when her BlackBerry jangled. Christopher's number was on the screen, but it was Molly's voice that came on saying, “It's me, Mom. Where are you?”

“We just landed. Molly, why couldn't you help Robin? This was an important run. And did you lose your phone again?”

“No. I'm with Chris at Dickenson-May. Robin had an accident.”

Kathryn's smile died. “What kind of accident?”

“Oh, you know, running. Since you weren't around they called us, but she probably wants you here. Can you come by on your way home?”

“What kind of accident?” Kathryn repeated. She heard forced nonchalance. She didn't like that, or the fact that Chris was at the hospital, too. Chris usually left crises to others.

“She fell. I can't stay on now, Mom. Come straight here. We're in the ER.”

“What did she hurt?”

“Can't talk now. See you soon.”

The line went dead. Kathryn looked worriedly at Charlie. “Robin had an accident. Molly wouldn't say what it was.” Frightened, she handed him the BlackBerry. “You try her.”

He handed the phone back. “You'll get more from her than I will.”

“Then call Chris,” she begged, offering the BlackBerry again.

But the line of passengers started to move, and Charlie gestured
her on. She waited only until they were side by side in the jetport before saying, “Why was Chris there? Robin never calls him when there's a problem. Try him, Charlie. Please?”

Charlie held up a hand, buying time until they reached the car. The BlackBerry didn't ring again, and Kathryn told herself that was a good sign, but she couldn't relax. She was uneasy through the entire drive, imagining awful things. The instant they parked at the hospital, she was out of the car. Molly was waiting just inside the ER.

“That was a cruel phone call,” Kathryn scolded. “What happened?”

“She collapsed on the road,” Molly said, taking her hand.

“
Collapsed?
From heat? Dehydration?”

Molly didn't answer, just hurried her down the hall. Kathryn's fear grew with each step. Other runners collapsed, but not Robin. Physical stamina was in her genes.

She caught her breath at the cubicle door. Chris was there, too. But that couldn't be Robin, lying senseless and limp, hooked to machines—machines that were keeping her alive, the doctor said after explaining what had happened.

Kathryn was beside herself. The explanations made no sense. Nor did the X-rays. Her daughter's hand, which she clutched, was inert as only a sleeping person's hand would be.

But she didn't wake up when the doctor called her name or pinched her ear, and even Kathryn could see that her pupils didn't dilate in response to light. Kathryn figured the person doing the prodding wasn't doing it right, but she had no better luck when she tried it all herself—not when she pleaded with Robin to open her eyes, not when she begged her to squeeze her hand.

The doctor kept talking. Kathryn no longer took in each
word, but the gist got through with devastating effect. She didn't realize she was crying until Charlie handed her a tissue.

When Robin's face blurred, she saw her own—the same dark hair, same brown eyes, same intensity. Two peas in a pod, they had neither the fair features, nor the laid-back approach to life of the others in the family.

Kathryn refocused. Charlie seemed desolate, Chris stupefied, and Molly was stuck to the wall. Silence from all three? Was that it? If no one else questioned the status quo, it was up to her—but hadn't it always been that way when it came to Robin?

Defiant, she faced the doctor. “Brain damage isn't an option. You don't know my daughter. She's resilient. She comes back from injuries. If this is a coma, she'll wake up. She's been a fighter since birth—since
conception.
” She held Robin's hand tightly. They were in this together. “What comes next?”

“Once she's stabilized, we move her upstairs.”

“What's her condition now? Wouldn't you call it stable?”

“I'd call it critical.”

Kathryn couldn't handle that word. “What's in her IV?”

“Fluids, plus meds to stabilize her blood pressure and regulate the rhythm of her heart. It was erratic when she first arrived.”

“Maybe she needs a pacemaker.”

“Right now, the meds are working, and besides, she wouldn't be able to handle surgery.”

“If the choice is between surgery and death—”

“It isn't. No one's letting her die, Mrs. Snow. We can keep her going.”

“But why do you say her brain is damaged?” Kathryn challenged. “Only because she doesn't respond? If she's been traumatized
by a heart attack, wouldn't that explain the lack of response? How do you test for brain damage?”

“We'll do an MRI in the morning. Right now, we don't want to move her.”

“If there's damage, can it be repaired?”

“No. We can only prevent further loss.”

Feeling thwarted, Kathryn turned on her husband. “Is this all they can do? We can live with a heart condition, but not brain damage. I want a second opinion. And where are the specialists? This is only the
ER
, for God's sake. These doctors may be trained to handle trauma, but if Robin has been here for three hours and hasn't been seen by a cardiologist, we need to have her moved.”

She saw Molly shoot a troubled look at Charlie, but Charlie didn't say anything, and Lord knew Chris wouldn't. Frightened and alone, Kathryn turned back to the doctor. “I can't sit and wait. I want to be proactive.”

“Sometimes that isn't possible,” he replied. “What's crucial right now is getting her up to the ICU. The doctor there will call in specialists. This is all standard protocol.”

“Standard protocol isn't
good
enough,” Kathryn insisted, desperate that he understand. “There is nothing standard about Robin. Do you
know
what she does with her life?”

The eyes behind the glasses didn't blink. “Yes, I do. It's hard not to know when you live around here. Her name is in the local papers so often.”

“Not only the
local
papers. That's why she has to recover from this. She works all over the country with budding track stars. We're talking teenage girls. They can't see this. They can't
begin
to think that the reward for training hard and aiming high is … is
this.
Okay, you may not have had a case like this before, but if that's so, just say it and we'll have her transferred.”

She searched family faces for agreement, but Charlie seemed stricken, Chris was frozen, and Molly simply looked pleadingly from her father to her brother and back.

Useless. All three.

So Kathryn told the doctor, “This isn't a personal indictment. I'm just wondering whether doctors in Boston or New York would have more experience with injuries like these.”

Molly touched her elbow then. Kathryn looked at her youngest in time to hear her murmur, “She needs to be in intensive care.”

“Correct. I just don't know where.”

“Here. Let her stay here. She's alive, Mom. They got her heart going, and it's still beating. They're doing all they can.”

Kathryn arched a brow. “Do you know that for fact? Where
were
you, Molly? If you'd been with her, this wouldn't have happened.”

Molly paled, but she didn't retreat. “I couldn't have prevented a heart attack.”

“You could have gotten her help sooner. You have issues, Molly. You've always had issues with Robin.”

“But
look,
” the girl urged, glancing at the medical personnel hovering at the door. “They're waiting to take her upstairs, and we're slowing them down. Once she's there, we can talk about specialists, even about moving her; but right now, shouldn't we be giving her every possible chance?”