Between Sisters Part 47

Ali nodded. "Like s.h.i.t."

Claire smiled. Tears glittered in her eyes. "Alison Katherine, I've told you not to copy Grandpa's bad language."

"Oops." Ali grinned.

Sam and Meg looked at each other, and a question hung between them, clear as a sunny day. Who will tell Ali things like that . . . ? Who will tell Ali things like that . . . ?

Meg backed out of the room, left the three of them alone. She went back to the waiting room and thumbed through a magazine.

An hour or so later, a commotion in the hall got her attention. She looked up.

Mama had arrived. Sheathed in elegant, flowing black, she marched forward carrying a tiny dog in a beaded carrier and leading the way. Behind her was a cl.u.s.ter of people; one of them was snapping photographs.

Mama came to the waiting room and looked around. When she saw Meghann, she burst into tears. "How is our girl?" She pulled a silk handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.

A photographer flashed a photo.

Mama offered a brave smile. "This is m'other daughter, Meghann Dontess. D-O-N-T-E-S-S. She's twenty-nine years old."

Meghann counted silently to ten. Then, in a steady voice, she said, "Dogs aren't allowed in the hospital."

"I know. I had to sneak him in. You know, Elvis, he-"

"Elvis is going to be as dead as his namesake in about ten seconds." At Mama's affronted gasp, Meghann looked at the man standing slightly apart from the crowd. Dressed in black, neckless, he looked like a WWF combatant. "You. Mr. Bodyguard. Take the dog to the car."

"The hotel," Mama said with a dramatic, suffering sigh. "The suite has plenty of room."

"Yes, ma'am." Neckless took the dog carrier and walked away.

That left just Mama, the photographer, and a thin, mouse-faced man with a tape recorder. The reporter.

"Excuse me," Meghann said to the men as she grabbed Mama's arm and pulled her into a quiet corner. "What did you do, hire a publicist?"

Mama drew herself up to her full height and sniffed. "I was talking to her on the other line when you called. What was I supposed to tell her? It's hardly my my fault that fault that Us Us magazine wanted to cover my visit to my gravely ill daughter. I am, after all, news. Celebrity can be such a burden." magazine wanted to cover my visit to my gravely ill daughter. I am, after all, news. Celebrity can be such a burden."

Meghann frowned. She should have been mad as h.e.l.l right now, ready to deep-fry Mama in some down-home chicken grease. But when she looked into her mother's heavily made-up eyes, she saw something that surprised her.

"You're afraid," she said softly. "That's why you brought the entourage. So it would be a performance."

Mama rolled her eyes. "Nothing scares me. I just . . . just . . ."

"What?"

"It's Claire," Mama finally answered, looking away. "Claire." "Claire." Her voice thickened, and Meghann saw something honest for once. "Can I see her?" Her voice thickened, and Meghann saw something honest for once. "Can I see her?"

"Not if you're bringing the circus with you."

Mama said quietly, "Will you go in with me?"

Meghann was surprised by that. She'd always imagined Mama to be shallow as a pie pan and tough as nails, a woman who knew what she wanted in life and made a beeline for it, the kind of woman who would cross police tape and step over a body if it was in her way. Now, she wondered if she'd been wrong, if Mama had always been this weak and frightened.

She wondered if it was all an act. Fear was something Meghann understood. Especially when it grew out of guilt.

"Of course I'll come with you."

They went over to the magazine people. Mama made a teary plea for privacy in this difficult time, then recommended a restaurant across the street for the rest of the interview.

Mama's high heels clacked on the linoleum floor. The sound seemed designed to draw attention, but no one noticed.

At Claire's room, Meghann stopped. "You ready?"

Mama pulled up a smile, nodded, and swept into the room like Auntie Mame, her long black sleeves fluttering out behind her. "Claire, darlin', it's Mama."

Claire tried to smile, but against the white mound of pillows and industrial gray blankets, she looked worn, impossibly pale. The patch of baldness gave her an odd, lopsided look. "Hey, Mama. You just missed Sam and Ali. They went down to the cafeteria."

Mama stumbled, her arms lowered. She glanced back at Meghann.

"I know I look like s.h.i.t, Mama," Claire said, trying for a laugh.

Mama moved slowly this time. "Why, darlin', that isn't true at all. You're lovely." She pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. "Why, I remember an episode of Starbase IV Starbase IV. It was called 'Attack Buffet,' remember that? I ate a bad bit of s.p.a.ce food and all m'hair fell out." She smiled. "I sent that episode in to the Emmy voters. 'Course it didn't work. Too much politics. I sort of liked the freedom of no hair."

"It was a rubber skullcap, Mama."

"Still. It makes a woman's eyes look beautiful. I do wish I'd brought my makeup though. You could could use a little blush, maybe a touch of liner. Meghann should have told me. And I'll pick you up a pretty little bed jacket. Maybe with some fur around the collar. I remember a dress I once wore to the-" use a little blush, maybe a touch of liner. Meghann should have told me. And I'll pick you up a pretty little bed jacket. Maybe with some fur around the collar. I remember a dress I once wore to the-"

"Mama." Claire tried to lean forward. The effort clearly cost her. "There's a tumor eating through my brain."

Mama's smile fluttered. "That's awfully graphic graphic of you, darlin'. We Southern women-" of you, darlin'. We Southern women-"

"Please, Mama. Please. Please."

Mama sank into her chair. She seemed to lose ma.s.s somehow, become smaller, ordinary, until the flapping black outfit swallowed her up, leaving behind a thin, heavily made-up woman who'd had one too many face-lifts. "I don't know what you want from me."

It was the first time in twenty years Meghann had heard her mother's real voice. Instead of the sweet lilt of the South, it had the pinched flatness of the Midwest.

"Oh, Mama," Claire said, "of course you don't. You never wanted children. You wanted an audience. I'm sorry. I'm too tired to be polite. I want you to know that I love you, Mama. I always did. Even when you . . . looked away."

Looked away.

That was how Mama always put it: I was standing there one day, takin' care of my babies, then I looked away for a minute, and they were both gone. I was standing there one day, takin' care of my babies, then I looked away for a minute, and they were both gone.

It had been easier, Meghann thought, than confronting the fact that Mama had simply let Claire go.

"Sam was a good man," Mama said so softly they had to strain to hear it. "The only good one I ever found."

"Yes, he was," Claire agreed.

Mama waved her hand airily. "But y'all know me. I'm not one to go pickin' through the past." The accent was back. "I keep movin'. That's always been my way."

They'd lost Mama; whatever opportunity had been opened by the sight of Claire's illness had closed. Mama had rallied. She stood up. "I don't want to tire you out. I'm goin' to run over to Nordstrom and buy y'all some makeup. Would you mind if a friend of mine took a little picture of us together?"

"Mama-" Meghann warned.

"Sure," Claire said, sagging back into the pillows. "Meghann, would you send Bobby and Ali in? I want to kiss them before I take another nap."

Mama bent down and kissed Claire's forehead, then barreled out of the room. Meghann almost fell into her when she left. Mama was standing in the hallway.

"Makeup, Mama?"

"I don't care if she is dyin', there's no need to let herself go like that." Mama's composure cracked.

Meghann reached out.

"Don't you dare touch me, Meggy. I couldn't take it." She turned and walked away, skirts flapping behind her, heels clattering on the floor.

There wasn't a single person who didn't look at her as she pa.s.sed.

Claire grew weaker. By her second day in the hospital, she wanted simply to sleep.

Her friends and family had begun to exhaust her. They'd shown up religiously. All of them. The Bluesers had descended on her tiny hospital room, bringing life and laughter, flowers and fattening food, and Claire's favorite movies. They talked and told jokes and remembered old times. Only Gina had had the guts to brave the harsh, icy landscape of Claire's fear.

"I'll always be there for Ali, you know," she said when everyone else had gone to the cafeteria.

Claire had never loved her friend as much as in that moment. No wartime charge ever took more courage. "Thank you," was all she'd been able to say. Then, softly, "I haven't been able to tell her yet."

"How could you?"

Gina's eyes met hers, filling slowly with tears. They'd both been thinking about how a woman said good-bye to her five-year-old daughter. After a long pause, Gina smiled. "So. What are we going to do about your hair?"

"I thought I'd cut it off. Maybe dye what's left of it platinum."

"Very chic. We'll all look like old housewives next to you."

"That's my dream now," Claire said, unable to help herself. "Becoming an old housewife."

Ultimately, as much as she loved to see her friends, she was glad when they went home. Late that night, in the quiet darkness, she gave in to the meds and fell asleep.

She woke with a start.

Her heart was pounding too fast, skipping beats. She couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't sit up. Something was wrong.

"Claire, are you okay?" It was Bobby. He was sitting beside her bed. He'd obviously been sleeping. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up, came to her bedside. For a second, she thought it was a hallucination, that the Pacman tumor had eaten through the good parts of her brain and left her crazy. Then he moved closer to the bed, and she heard the jingle of the keys.

"Bobby," she whispered, trying in vain to lift her heavy, heavy arms.

"I'm right here, baby."

It took effort, a painful amount, but she reached up and touched his wet cheek. "I love you, Robert Jackson Austin. More than anything in the world except my Ali Gator.

"Come," she said. "Get into bed with me."

He looked at all the machines, the IVs, the tubes and cords. "Oh, baby . . ." He leaned down and kissed her instead.

The sweet pressure of his lips felt so good. She closed her eyes, feeling herself sinking into the pillows. "Ali," she whispered. "I need my baby-"

Pain exploded behind her right eye.

Beside her bed, an alarm went off.

There is no pain. No ache. She feels for the dry, itchy patch of skin on her head and feels long, beautiful hair instead.

She sits up. The tubes that connect her to the machines are gone. She wants to shout out that she is better, but there are people in her room. Too many of them, all dressed in white. They're crowding her, talking all at once so she can't understand.

She realizes suddenly that she is watching herself from above-in the air somewhere-watching the doctors work on her body. They've ripped open her gown and are ramming something on her chest.

"Clear!" one yells.

There is such relief in being here, above them, where there is no pain . . .

"Clear."

Then she thinks of her daughter, her precious baby girl whom she didn't hold one last time.

Her baby, who will have to be told that Mommy has gone away.

The doctor stepped back. "She's gone."

Meghann ran to the bed, screaming. "Don't you do it, Claire. Come back. Come back, d.a.m.n it."

Someone tried to pull her away. She elbowed him hard. "I mean it, Claire. You come back. Alison is in the waiting room. You cannot run out on her this way. You haven't told her good-bye. She deserves that, d.a.m.n it. Come back." She grabbed Claire's shoulders, shook her hard. "Don't you dare dare do this to Alison and me." do this to Alison and me."

"We have a heartbeat," someone cried out.

Meghann was pushed aside. She stumbled back into the corner of the room, watching, praying, as they stabilized her sister.

Finally, the doctors left, dragging their crash cart with them. Except for the buzz and beep of machines, the room was quiet.

She stared at Claire's chest, watching it rise and fall. It was a moment before she realized that she was breathing intently, trying to will her sister's body to keep up the rhythm.

"I heard you, you know."

At Claire's voice, Meg pulled away from the wall and moved forward.