Between Sisters Part 45

She walked out of the office, went down the elevator, and emerged into the July sunlight.

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, she headed for home.

She was almost there when she happened to look up. Across the street, the small park near the Public Market was a hive of activity. College-age kids playing hackey sack, tourists feeding the dive-bombing seagulls, shoppers taking a rest. She wasn't sure what had caught her eye and made her look.

Then she saw him, standing at the railing. His back was to her, but she recognized his faded jeans and denim shirt. He was probably the only man in downtown Seattle to wear a cowboy hat on a sunny day.

She crossed the street and walked up to him. "Hey, Bobby."

He didn't look at her. "Meg."

"What are you doing out here?"

"She's sleeping." Finally, he turned. His eyes were watery, red. "She threw up for almost an hour. Even when there was nothing left to vomit. Don't worry, I cleaned it up."

"I wasn't worried," Meg said.

"She looks bad today."

"Some days are worse than others. I bet Nashville looks pretty good about now," she said, trying to lighten his mood.

"Is that supposed to be funny? My wife is puking and her hair is falling out. You think I'm worried about my career?"

"I'm sorry." She touched him. "I've always been as sensitive as a serial killer."

He sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I needed someone to yell at."

"I'll always give you a reason, don't worry."

He smiled, but it was tired and worn. "I'm just . . . scared s.h.i.tless, that's all. And I don't want her to know."

"I know." Meghann smiled up at him. Her sister was lucky to be loved by such a man. For no apparent reason, that made her think of Joe, of the day she'd found him weeping over his divorce. Joe was the kind of man who knew how to love, too. "You're a good man, Bobby Jack Tom d.i.c.k. I was wrong about you."

He laughed. "And you're not half the b.i.t.c.h I thought you were."

Meghann slipped an arm around him. "I'm going to pretend that was a compliment."

"It was."

"Good. Now let's go make Claire smile."

The days pa.s.sed slowly; each new morning found Claire a little more tired than the night before. She strove to keep a positive att.i.tude but her health was deteriorating rapidly. She visualized rays of sunlight instead of radiation. She meditated for an hour a day, imagined herself in a beautiful forest or seated beside her beloved river. She ate the macrobiotic diet that Meghann swore would help heal her body.

The Bluesers came down often, separately and together, doing their best to keep Claire's spirits up. Meg's friend Elizabeth had even come for a few days, and the visit helped her sister immensely. The hardest times were weekends, when they went to Hayden; Claire tried to pretend that everything was okay for Ali.

In the evenings, though, it was just the three of them-Claire, Meg, and Bobby-in that too-quiet apartment. Mostly, they watched movies together. At first, when Bobby arrived, they'd tried to spend the evening talking or playing cards, but that had proved difficult. Too many dangerous subjects. None of them could mention the future without flinching, without thinking, Will there be a Christmas together? A Thanksgiving? A next summer?? Will there be a Christmas together? A Thanksgiving? A next summer?? So, by tacit agreement, they'd let the television become their nighttime soundtrack. Claire was grateful; it gave her several hours where she could sit quietly, without having to pretend. So, by tacit agreement, they'd let the television become their nighttime soundtrack. Claire was grateful; it gave her several hours where she could sit quietly, without having to pretend.

Finally, the radiation ended.

The following morning Claire got up early. She dressed and showered and drank her coffee out on the deck overlooking the Sound. It amazed her that so many people were already up, going about their ordinary lives on this day that would define her future.

"Today's the day," Meg said, stepping out onto the deck.

Claire forced a smile. "Yep."

"Are you okay?"

G.o.d, how she'd come to despise that question. "Perfect."

"Did you sleep last night?" Meg asked, coming up beside her.

"No. You?"

"No." Meg slipped an arm around her, held her tightly.

Claire tensed, waiting for the pep talk, but her sister said nothing.

Behind them, the gla.s.s door opened. "Morning, ladies." Bobby came up behind Claire, slid his arms around her, and kissed the back of her neck.

They stood there a minute longer, no one speaking, then they turned together and left the condo.

In no time, they were at Swedish Hospital. As they entered the Nuclear Medicine waiting room, Claire noticed the other patients who wore hats and scarves. When their gazes met, a sad understanding pa.s.sed between them. They were members of a club you didn't want to join. Claire wished now that she hadn't bothered with the scarf. Baldness had a boldness to it that she wanted to embrace.

There was no waiting today, not on this day that would answer all the questions. She checked in and went right to the MRI. Within moments, she was pumped full of dye and stuck in the loud machine.

When she was finished, she returned to the waiting room and sat between Meghann and Bobby, who both reached out for her. She held their hands.

Finally, they called her name.

Claire rose.

Bobby steadied her. "I'm right here, babe."

The three of them began the long hallway-to-hallway walk, ending finally in Dr. Sussman's office. The plaque on the door read: Chief of Neurology Chief of Neurology. Dr. McGrail, the chief of radiology, was also there.

"h.e.l.lo, Claire. Meghann," Dr. Sussman said. "Bobby."

"Well?" Meghann demanded.

"The tumor responded to radiation. It's about twelve percent smaller," Dr. McGrail reported.

"That's great," Meg said.

The doctors exchanged a look. Then Dr. Sussman went to the viewbox, switched it on, and there they were, the gray-and-white pictures of Claire's brain. And there was the stain. He finally turned to Claire. "The decrease has bought you some time. Unfortunately, the tumor is still inoperable. I'm sorry."

Sorry.

Claire sat down in the leather chair. She didn't think her legs would hold her up.

"But it worked," Meg said. "It worked, right? Maybe a little more radiation. Or a round of chemo. I read that some are crossing the blood-brain barrier now-"

"Enough," Claire said. She'd meant to say it softly, but her voice was loud. She looked at the neurologist. "How long do I have?"

Dr. Sussman's voice was gentle. "The survival rates aren't good, I'm afraid, for a tumor of this size and placement. Some patients live as long as a year. Perhaps a bit longer."

"And the rest?"

"Six to nine months."

Claire stared down at her brand-new wedding ring, the one Grandma Myrtle had worn for six decades.

Meghann went to Claire then, dropped to her knees in front of her. "We won't believe it. The files-"

"Don't," she said softly, shaking her head, thinking about Ali. She saw her baby's eyes, the sunburst smile that was missing the front teeth, heard her say, You can sleep with my wubbie, Mommy You can sleep with my wubbie, Mommy, and it ruined her. Tears ran down her cheeks. She felt Bobby beside her, felt the way his fingers were digging into her hard, and she knew he was crying, too. She wiped her eyes, looked up at the doctor. "What's next?"

Meghann jerked to her feet and began pacing the room, studying the pictures and diplomas on the walls. Claire knew her sister was scared and, thus, angry.

Dr. Sussman pulled a chair around and sat down opposite Claire. "We have some options. None too good, I'm afraid, but-"

"Who is this?" It was Meghann's voice but she sounded shrill and desperate. She was holding a framed photograph she'd taken off the wall.

Dr. Sussman frowned. "That's a group of us from medical school." He turned back to Claire.

Meghann slammed the photograph on the desk so hard the gla.s.s cracked. She pointed at someone in the picture. "Who's that guy?"

Dr. Sussman leaned forward. "Joe Wyatt."

"He's a doctor doctor?"

Claire looked at her sister. "You know Joe?"

"You know Joe?" Meghann said sharply. know Joe?" Meghann said sharply.

"He's a radiologist, actually." It was Dr. McGrail who answered. "One of the best in the country. At least he was. He was a legend with MRIs. He saw things-possibilities-no one else did."

Claire frowned. "Meghann, let go of it. We're long past the need for a radiologist. And believe me, Joe wouldn't be the one to ask for help. What I needed was a miracle."

Meghann looked steadily at Dr. McGrail. She wasn't even listening to Claire. "What do you mean he was was the best?" the best?"

"He quit. Disappeared, in fact."

"Why?"

"He killed his wife."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

THE RIDE HOME SEEMED TO LAST FOREVER. NO ONE SPOKE. When they got back to the condo, Bobby held Claire so tightly she couldn't breathe, then stumbled back from her. "I need to take a shower," he said in a broken voice. When they got back to the condo, Bobby held Claire so tightly she couldn't breathe, then stumbled back from her. "I need to take a shower," he said in a broken voice.

She let him go, knowing what he needed. She'd cried a few tears of her own in Meghann's expensive gla.s.s-block shower.

She went to the sofa, collapsed on it. She was tired and dizzy. There was a ringing in her ears and a tingling in her right hand, but she couldn't admit any of that to Meghann, who had that bulldog don't-quit look in her eyes.

Meg sat down on the coffee table, angled toward her. "There are all kinds of clinical trials going on. There's that doctor in Houston-"

"The one the government tried to prosecute?"

"That doesn't mean he's a fraud. His patients-"

Claire held up a hand for silence. "Can we be real for just a minute?"

Meghann looked so stricken that Claire had to laugh.

"What?" Meg demanded.

"When I was little, I used to dream about getting some rare illness that would bring you and Mama to my bedside. I imagined you crying over my death."

"Please, don't . . ."

Claire stared at her sister, so pale now, and shaky. "I don't want you to cry over it."

Meg stood up so abruptly she banged her shin on the coffee table and swore harshly. "I . . . can't talk about you dying. I can't." She couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

"But I need you to," Claire said to the empty room. A headache started behind her eyes again. It had been lurking nearby all day.

She started to lean back into the sofa when the pain hit. She gasped at it, tried to cry out. Her head felt as if it were exploding.

She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She tried to scream her sister's name.

But the stereo was playing "Thunder Road" and the music swallowed her tiny voice.

Alison, she thought.

Then everything went dark.

Meghann stood by her sister's bed, holding on to the metal bed rails. "Is the medication helping?"

Claire looked small in the hospital bed, delicate, with her pale, pale skin and patchy hair. Her attempt at a smile was heartrending. "Yeah. A grand mal seizure. Welcome to my new world. I guess the good news is I didn't have a heart attack, too. How long will I be here?"