While My Sister Sleeps. Barbara Delinsky
‘Please, Molly,’ Kathryn said. ‘You’re not helping.’
When Molly opened her mouth to protest, Charlie intervened. ‘She wasn’t being critical, Kathryn.’
‘She’s rushing things.’
‘No. The doctors suggested the EEG. She’s just updating Chris.’ Reaching for Kathryn’s hand, he told Chris, ‘I’m taking your mother home. We’ll be back.’
Watching them leave, Chris saw no evidence that Kathryn was arguing, which made his point. His father didn’t have to say much to be effective. Erin had to understand that.
‘Nightmare,’ Molly murmured.
‘Mom or Robin?’
‘Both. I agree about the EEG. We need to do it, but Mom’s afraid. Chris, the nurse is with Robin. If she leaves, will you go in? I’m going down for coffee. Want any?’
He shook his head. When he was alone, he leaned against the wall. And how not to think about Robin? His earliest memories in life were vague ones of her sitting him in a room and building forts around him, or dressing him up in old costumes. He couldn’t have been more than three. More clearly, he remembered tagging along with her on Halloween night. He would have been five or six then. By the time he was ten, she was taking him down black diamond ski slopes. He wasn’t anywhere near a good enough skier, but Robin was–and with Robin it was all about the challenge.
‘Hey,’ came a familiar voice.
He looked up to see Erin and felt instant relief. He wanted his wife with him now–needed her. ‘Where’s Chloe?’ he asked.
‘With Mrs Johnson. How’s Robin?’
Not good, he replied with a look. ‘The MRI shows brain damage.’
‘From a heart attack? How could she have had a heart attack?’
Chris had passed the disbelief stage and felt a wave of anger. ‘She pushed herself. She was always pushing herself. If a challenge was there and someone could do it, she had to be the one. She already holds every local record and half a dozen national ones. So she wanted to win New York, but she went too far. Why did she have to set a world record? Wasn’t winning enough?’
Erin put a hand on his arm and gently said, ‘That doesn’t matter right now.’
He took a steadying breath.
‘How’s your mom handling this?’ she asked.
He made a face. Lousy.
‘Is your dad any help?’
That revived Chris. ‘Yeah. He is. He doesn’t have to say a lot, but it works. I just saw that. He says two words, and she quiets down.’
‘They’ve been married more than thirty years.’
He shook his head. ‘It isn’t the time; it’s the nature of their relationship.’
‘Chris, I’m not your mom. She and I are totally different. Besides, she’s out of the house all the time. She was even when you kids were little, and I’m not criticizing that. I’m envious. She started Snow Hill back then, and look what it is now. She’s an amazing woman. If I created something like that, I could live with silence at night.’
‘She’s driven.’
‘By what?’
He shrugged. He couldn’t figure his wife out, and she was less complex than Kathryn. ‘So,’ he asked, needing to know, ‘are you going home to visit your mom?’
‘Omigod, no,’ Erin said quickly. ‘Not with Robin so sick.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘But what’s happening between us isn’t going away, Chris. We will have to deal sometime.’
When Molly returned to Snow Hill, the parking lot was filled with customers’ cars. Slipping inside, she took the back stairway to her office and closed the door. She shooed one cat from her chair and another from the keyboard, then sat and folded her hands.
She didn’t want to be here, but her father had asked. And besides easing her guilt, Molly wanted to help. She could fight it long and hard, but pleasing Kathryn had always been high on her list.
Right now, Kathryn wanted her to work. So, dutifully, she logged on and pulled up her calendar for the week. Today and tomorrow were for ordering, but Thursday she was supposed to follow up her mother’s speech at a women’s club in Lebanon with a how-to on making dish gardens. Obviously, they couldn’t go. What excuse to give? Same with a pruning demonstration in Plymouth. And Friday’s appearance at WMUR in Manchester? Molly hated being on TV, even with Kathryn doing the talking. Television made her eyes look too close, her nose too short, her mouth too wide. She had experimented wearing her hair back versus loose, wearing trousers versus jeans, wearing blue versus purple or green. No matter what, she paled beside Kathryn.
Neither of them would be up to doing TV on Friday so her father could cancel that one.
Her intercom buzzed. ‘Any news?’ Tami asked.
‘Not yet,’ Molly replied, feeling disingenuous. ‘We’re waiting for more tests.’
‘Joaquin was asking. He was worried when he didn’t see either of your parents’ cars. They usually get here early after they’ve been away.’
Joaquin Pea was Snow Hill’s facilities man. Not only did he maintain the buildings and grounds, but because he lived on-site, he handled after-hours emergencies.
Joaquin adored Robin.
Tell him she’ll be fine, Molly wanted to say, but the MRI mocked that claim. So she simply said, ‘Dad’ll be here later,’ which begged the question of what to tell Joaquin or anyone else who might ask about Robin. But Charlie was good at this. Wasn’t he their PR man?
Ending the call, she sorted through the requisition forms she had collected at yesterday’s meeting. With fall planting season under way, Snow Hill’s tree and shrub man had a list. Their functions person had booked three new weddings and two showers, and the retail store was gearing up for October’s opening of the wreath room, all of which required special ordering. And then there was Liz Tocci, the in-house landscape designer and total pain in the butt, who was arguing–yet again–in favor of a supplier who carried certain elite specialty King Protea plants but who, Molly knew from experience, was overpriced and unreliable.
Molly loved King Proteas, too. As exotic flowers went, they were gorgeous. But Snow Hill was only as good as its suppliers, and this supplier had sent bad flowers once, the wrong flowers another time, and no flowers at all the third time Snow Hill had placed an order. In each instance, clients had been disappointed. No, there were other exotics Liz Tocci could use.
But how stupid was it to be worried about Liz when Robin was comatose?
Unable to spend another second thinking, Molly set to ordering for the functions. But she wasn’t in a wedding mood. So she focused on Christmas. It was time to preorder. Last year, they had sold out of poinsettias and had to rush to restock at a premium cost. She wanted plenty at wholesale this year.
How many hundreds to order–three, four? Eight-inch pots, ten-inch, twelve-inch? And how many of each size to upgrade to ceramic pots?
She struggled with the decisions, but came up short. She was about as interested in poinsettias as she was in moving. Digging up her landlord Terrance Field’s phone number, she punched it in. ‘Hey, Mr Field,’ she said when the old man picked up, ‘it’s Molly Snow. How are you?’
‘Not bad,’ he replied warily. ‘What is it now, Molly?’
‘My sister’s had an accident. It’s pretty serious. This time I really do need an extension.’
‘You said that last time, too. When was that, a week ago?’
‘That was a problem with the