While My Sister Sleeps (5 page)

She needed that today. Pushing Robin from mind didn't work for more than a minute or two at a time. It took constant effort.

Recoiling the hose and putting it where no customer could possibly trip, she wandered the aisles. She checked a new shipment of chrysanthemums for aphids, and carefully cut brown tips from several Boston ferns. Wandering deeper among the shade benches, she spoke softly to peperomias, syngoniums, and spathiphyllum. They weren't showy plants, certainly nothing like bromeliads, but they were steadfast and undemanding. Carefully, she checked them for moisture. The shade
cloth, regulated by a computer program, would rise later to protect them from the bright light they hated, but the worst of summer's intensity was over.

Her African violets were thrilled at that. They consistently went out of flower to protest the heat, for which reason Molly carried fewer in July and August. She had just restocked and now rearranged the pots to showcase their blooms.

She picked up several tags from the floor, made note of a bench that needed mending, and, for a lingering moment, stood in the middle of what she saw as her realm. There was comfort in the warm, moist air and the rich smell of earth.

Then she saw Chris, who was never here this early. He stood under the arch separating the greenhouse from the checkout stands, and he didn't look happy.

Heart pounding, Molly approached him. “Did something happen?”

He shook his head.

“Were you at the hospital?”

“No. Dad's there. I just talked with him.”

“Do they know anything more?”

“No.”

“Is Mom okay?”

Chris shrugged.

A shrug didn't do it for Molly. She needed answers. She needed
reassurance.
“How could this happen?” she cried in a burst of pent-up fear. “Robin is totally healthy. She should have woken up by now, shouldn't she? I mean, it's fine for her to be unconscious for a little while, but this long? What if she doesn't wake up, Chris? What if there
is
brain damage? What if she
never
wakes up?”

He looked upset but said nothing, and just when Molly would have screamed in frustration, Tami Fitzgerald approached. Tami
managed their garden products store. She was rarely in this early either, but there was purpose in her stride.

Molly wasn't in the mood for a delivery problem. Not now.

Apparently, neither was Tami. “I heard Robin was in the hospital,” she said, looking concerned. “How is she?”

Actually, Molly would have preferred a delivery problem. Snow Hill people were like family. What should she tell them? Not having run this past Kathryn or Charlie, she deferred to Chris, but his face remained blank. Curious, she asked Tami, “How did you hear?”

“My brother-in-law works with the EMTs. He said something about her heart.”

So much for just saying Robin was “sick.”

Again, Molly waited for Chris, but he was silent. And someone needed to say something. “We don't know much more,” Molly finally said. “There was some kind of heart episode. They're running tests.”

“Wow. Is it serious?”

How to answer that? Too much, and Kathryn would be angry. “I just don't know. We're waiting to hear.”

“Will you tell me when you do? Robin's the last person I imagine having even a cold.”

“Really,” Molly said in agreement and added, “I'm sure she'll be fine.”

“That's good. Robin is absolutely the best. Let me know if there's anything I can do.”

Molly waited only until Tami disappeared into the garden center before glaring at Chris. “
I
didn't know what to say. Couldn't you have helped?”

“You did great.”

“But what if it's not true? What if she's not fine?”

He put his hands in his pockets.

“Last night?” Molly hurried on, needing to confess. “When the hospital first called? I thought it was nothing. The nurse told me to come right away, but I didn't want to have to wait for Robin, so I did things around the house for a while. She was in a coma, and I was taking a shower so
I'd feel
nice.”

He looked pained but remained silent.

“She has to wake up,” Molly begged. “She's the backbone of this family. What would Mom
do
if she doesn't wake up?” When Chris shrugged, she cried, “You're no help!”

“What do you want me to
say?
” he asked. “I don't
have the answers!
”

Molly checked her watch. More than an hour had passed since she'd left the hospital. “Maybe Mom does. I'm going back to the hospital.”

KATHRYN
stood between her husband and the neurologist, studying MRI shots of a brain. The doctor said it was Robin's, and yes, Robin had been wheeled out of intensive care and been gone the requisite amount of time. But based on what the doctor was saying about the shade and delineation of dead tissue, this film couldn't be Robin's. The damage here was profound.

Kathryn was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, and Charlie's arm around her brought little comfort. She looked to the intensivist for clarification, but he was focused on the neurologist.

We'll get another specialist
, she thought.
Two specialists, two opinions.

But there was Robin's name, clearly marked on the film. And there was all that dark area showing no flow of blood. There was nothing ambiguous about it.

The neurologist went on. Kathryn tried to listen, but it was hard to hear over the buzz in her head. Finally, he stopped speaking. It was a minute before she realized it was her turn.

“Well,” she said, struggling to think. “Okay. How do we treat this?”

“We don't,” the neurologist said in a compassionate voice. “Once brain tissue dies, it's gone.”

Darting a look at Robin, she shushed him. The last thing Robin needed was to be told that something was gone. Softly, she said, “There has to be a way to reverse it.”

“I'm afraid there isn't, Mrs. Snow. Your daughter was without oxygen for too long.”

“That's because the fellow who found her waited too long before starting CPR.”

“Not his fault,” Charlie said softly.

The intensivist came forward. “He's considered a Good Samaritan, which means he's protected by law. Your daughter had a heart attack. That's what caused the brain damage. According to this film—”

“No film tells the whole story,” Kathryn broke in. “I know Robin's with us. Maybe an MRI isn't the right test. Or maybe something was wrong with the machine.” She turned pleadingly to Charlie. “We need another machine, another hospital, another something.”

Kathryn had first fallen in love with Charlie for his silence. His quiet support was the perfect foil for her own louder life. He didn't have to speak to convey what he felt. His eyes were expressive. Right now, they held a rare sadness.

“Does brain damage mean brain dead?” she asked in a frightened whisper, but he didn't answer. “Brain dead means
gone
, Charlie!” When he tried to draw her close, she resisted. “Robin is
not
brain dead.”

OLLY 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 intensivist 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 an EMT. 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 fanny pack. “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?”