Between Sisters Part 42

MEGHANN SAT IN THE WAITING ROOM, TRYING TO READ THE newest issue of newest issue ofPeoplemagazine. It was the "Best- and Worst-Dressed" issue. Honest to G.o.d, she couldn't tell the difference. Finally, she tossed the magazine on the cheap wooden table beside her. The wall clock ticked past another minute.

She went up to the desk again. "It's been more than an hour. Are you sure everything is okay with my sister? Claire-"

"Austin, I know. I spoke with radiology five minutes ago. She's almost finished."

Meghann refrained from pointing out that she'd received the same answer fifteen minutes earlier. Instead, she sighed heavily and went back to her seat. The only magazine left to read was Field & Stream Field & Stream. She ignored it.

Finally, Claire came out.

Meghann rose slowly. On the right side of her sister's head was a small area that had been shaved. "How was it?"

Claire touched her bald spot, feeling it. "They tattooed me. I feel like Damien-that kid from The Omen. The Omen."

Meg looked at the tiny black dots on the pale, shaved s.h.i.+n. "I could fix your hair so you couldn't even see the . . . you know."

"Bald spot? That would be great."

They looked at each other for a minute or so. "Well, let's go, then," Meghann finally said.

They walked through the hospital and out to the parking garage.

On the short drive home, Meghann kept trying to think of what to say. She had to be careful from now on, had to say the right thing. Whatever that that was. was.

"It didn't hurt," Claire said.

"Really? That's good."

"It was hard to keep still, though."

"Oh . . . yeah. It would be."

"I closed my eyes and imagined the rays were sunlight. Healing me. Like that article you gave me."

Meg had given her sister a stack of literature on positive thinking and visualization. She hadn't known if Claire had read them until just now. "I'm glad it helped. The lady at Fred Hutch is supposed to be sending me another box of stuff."

Claire leaned back in her seat and looked out the window.

From this side, she looked perfectly normal. Meghann wished she could say something that mattered; so much was unsaid between them.

With a sigh, she pulled into the underground lot and parked in her s.p.a.ce.

Still silent, they went upstairs. In the condo, Meghann turned to Claire. She stared at the bald spot for a second too long. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No." Claire touched her briefly, her fingers were icy cold. "Thanks for coming with me today. It helped not to be alone."

Their gazes met. Once again, Meghann felt the weight of their distance.

"I think I'll lie down. I didn't sleep well last night."

So they'd both been awake, staring at their separate ceilings from their separate rooms. Meghann wished she'd gone to Claire last night, sat on her bed, and talked about the things that mattered. "Me, either."

Claire nodded. She waited a second longer, then turned and headed for the bedroom.

Meghann watched the door slowly close between them. She stood there, listening to her sister's shuffling footsteps beyond the door. She wondered if Claire was moving slower in there, if fear clouded her eyes. Or if she was staring at that small, tattooed pink patch of skin in the mirror. Did Claire's brave front crumble in the privacy of that room?

Meg prayed not, as she went to the condo's third bedroom, which was set up as an in-home office. Once, files and briefs and depositions had cluttered the gla.s.s desk. Now it was buried beneath medical books, memoirs, JAMA JAMA articles, and clinical trials literature. Every day, boxes from articles, and clinical trials literature. Every day, boxes from Barnes & n.o.ble.com and Amazon arrived. and Amazon arrived.

Meghann sat down at her desk. Her current reading material was a book on coping with cancer. It lay open to a chapter called "Don't Stop Talking Just When You Need to Start."

She read: This time of tragedy can be one of growth and opportunity, too. Not only for the patient, but for the family as well. It can be a time that draws you and your loved ones closer. This time of tragedy can be one of growth and opportunity, too. Not only for the patient, but for the family as well. It can be a time that draws you and your loved ones closer.

Meghann closed the book and reached for a JAMA JAMA article about the potential benefits of tamoxifen to shrink tumors. article about the potential benefits of tamoxifen to shrink tumors.

She opened a yellow legal pad and began to take notes. She worked furiously, writing, writing. Hours later, when she looked up, Claire was standing in the doorway, smiling at her. "Why do I think you're planning to do the surgery yourself?"

"I already know more about your condition than that first idiot we saw."

Claire came into the room, carefully stepping over the empty Amazon boxes and the magazines that had been discarded. She stared down at the filled legal pads and inkless pens. "No wonder you're the best lawyer in the city."

"I research well. I'm really starting to understand your condition. I've made you a kind of abstract-a synopsis of everything I've read."

"I think I better read it for myself, don't you?"

"Some of it's . . . hard."

Claire reached for the standing file on the left side of the desk. In it was a manila file with the word Hope Hope emblazoned in red ink on the notched label. She picked it up. emblazoned in red ink on the notched label. She picked it up.

"Don't," Meg said. "I've just started."

Claire opened the file. It was empty. She looked down at Meghann.

"This goes in it," Meg said quickly, ripping several pages out of her notebook. "Tamoxifen."

"Drugs?"

"There must be people who beat brain tumors," Meghann said fiercely. "I'll find every d.a.m.n one and put their stories in there. That's what the file is for."

Claire leaned over, picked up a blank piece of paper. On it, she wrote her name, then she placed the paper in the file and returned the file to its stand.

Meg stared up at her sister in awe. "You're really something. You know that?"

"We Sullivan girls are tough."

"We had to be."

Meg smiled. For the first time all day, she felt as if she could draw an easy breath. "You want to watch a movie?"

"Anything except Love Story Love Story."

Meg started to rise.

The doorbell rang.

She frowned. "Who could that be?"

"You act like no one ever visits you."

Meghann sidled past Claire and walked to the door. By the time she got there, the bell had rung another eight times. "d.a.m.n good doorman," she muttered, opening the door.

Gina, Charlotte, and Karen stood cl.u.s.tered together.

"Where's our girl?" Karen cried out.

Claire appeared and the screaming began. Karen and Charlotte surged forward, mumbling h.e.l.lo to Meghann, then enfolding Claire in their arms.

"Sam called us," Gina said when she and Meghann were alone in the hallway. "How is she?"

"Okay, I guess. The radiation went well, I think. She goes every day for four weeks." At Gina's frightened look, Meghann added, "She didn't want to worry you guys."

"Yeah, right. She can't be alone for a thing like this."

"I'm here," Meghann answered, stung.

Gina squeezed her arm. "She'll need all of us."

Meghann nodded. Then she and Gina looked at each other.

"You call me. Whenever," Gina said quietly.

"Thanks."

After that, Gina eased past Meg and went into the living room, saying loudly. "Okay, we've got spas-in-a-bucket, gooey popcorn b.a.l.l.s, hilarious movies, and, of course, games. What should we do first?"

Meghann watched the four best friends come together; they were all talking at once. She didn't move toward them, and they didn't call out to her.

Finally, she went back to her office and shut the door. As she sat there, reading the latest literature on chemotherapy and the blood-brain barrier, she heard the high, clear sound of her sister's laughter.

She picked up the phone and called Elizabeth.

"Hey," Meg said softly when her friend answered.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked. "You're too quiet."

"Claire," was all she could say before the tears came.

Joe sat sprawled across the sofa, drinking a beer. His third. Mostly, he was trying not to think.

The ephemeral chance for redemption-the one that only last week had glittered in front of him like a desert oasis beside a long, hot highway-had vanished. He should have known it was a mirage.

There would be no starting over. He didn't have the guts for it. He'd thought, hoped, that with Meg he'd be stronger.

"Meg," he said her name softly, closed his eyes. He said a prayer for her and her sister. It was all he could really do now.

Meg.

She wouldn't clear out of his mind. He kept thinking of her, remembering, wanting. It was what had sent him reaching for the bottles of beer.

It wasn't that he missed her, precisely. h.e.l.l, he didn't even know her last name. Didn't know where she lived or what she did in her spare time.

What he grieved for was the idea idea of her. For those few moments-unexpected and sweet-he'd dared to step onto old roads. He'd let himself want someone, let himself believe in a new future. of her. For those few moments-unexpected and sweet-he'd dared to step onto old roads. He'd let himself want someone, let himself believe in a new future.

He took a long drink. It didn't help.

In the kitchen, the phone rang. He got slowly to his feet and started that way. It was probably Gina, calling to make sure he was okay. He had no idea what he'd tell her.

But it wasn't Gina. It was Henry Roloff, sounding hurried. "Joe? Could you meet me for a cup of coffee? Say in an hour?"

"Is everything okay?"

"How about the Whitewater Diner? Three o'clock?"

Joe hoped he could walk straight. "Sure." He hung up the phone and headed for the shower.

An hour later he was dressed in his new clothes and walking down Main Street. He still felt a faint buzz from the beer, but that was probably a good thing. Already he could feel the way people were staring after him, whispering about him.

It took an act of will to keep smiling as the hostess-a woman he didn't know, thank G.o.d-showed him to a booth.

Henry was already there. "Hey, Joe. Thanks for coming so quickly."

"It's not like I was busy. It's Sat.u.r.day. The garage is closed." He slid into the booth.

Henry talked for a few minutes about Tina's garden and the vacation they'd taken to St. Croix last winter, but Joe knew it was all leading up to something. He found himself tensing up, straightening.

Finally, he couldn't take the suspense. "What is it, Henry?" he asked.

Henry stopped midsentence and looked up. "I want to ask a favor of you."

"I'd do anything for you, Henry. You know that. What do you need?"

Henry reached down under the table and brought out a big manila envelope.

Joe knew what it was. He leaned back, put his hands out as if to ward off a blow. "Anything but that, Henry," he said. "I can't go back to that."

"I just want you to look at this. The patient is-" Henry's beeper went off. "Just a minute." Henry pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.