Between Sisters

Chapter Twenty-four

C HAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“ T HIS IS THE CLUB WHERE GARTH brOOKS WAS DISCOVERED. ”

Claire smiled at Kent Ames, the grand Pooh-Bah of Down Home Records in Nashville, and his assistant, Ryan Turner. Each one of them had imparted this pearl of information to her three times in the past hour. She wasn’t sure if they had the memory of gnats or if they thought she was too stupid to understand their words the first time.

She and Bobby had been in Nashville for two days now. It ought to have been perfect. Their room at the Loews Hotel was breathtakingly beautiful. They’d splurged on romantic dinners in the restaurant and eaten breakfast in bed. They’d toured Opryland and seen the Country Music Hall of Fame. Most important, Bobby had aced his auditions. All four of them. His first had been in a dank, windowless office, with a low-level executive listening. Bobby had come home depressed, complaining that his big shot had been heard by a kid with acne and a poor sense of style. That night, they’d drunk champagne and tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Claire had held him close and told him how much she loved him.

The callback had come at 8:45 the next morning, and it had been a Ferris wheel of opportunity since then. He’d sung his songs for one executive after another until he’d finally found himself in the big corner office that overlooked the street of Country and Western dreams: Music Row. Each new executive had introduced “his” discovery to the man above him.

Their lives had changed in the last twenty-four hours. Bobby was “someone.” A guy who was “going places.”

Now, they sat at a front table in a small, unassuming nightclub, she and the executives and her husband. In less than an hour, Bobby was scheduled to take the stage. It was a chance to “show his concert stuff” to the executives.

Bobby had no trouble talking to the men. Among them, there was rarely a pause. They talked about people and things Claire knew nothing about—demo records and studio time and royalty rates and contract provisions.

She wanted to keep it all straight. In her fantasies, she was Bobby’s partner as well as his wife, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. The endless flight from Kauai to Oahu to Seattle to Memphis to Nashville had left its mark in a dull headache that wouldn’t go away. And she kept remembering how disappointed Ali had been that Mommy wasn’t coming home on time.

The smoke in the club didn’t help. Neither did the thudding music or the shouting conversation. She clung to Bobby’s hand, nodding when one of the executives spoke to her, hoping her smile wasn’t as fragile as it felt.

Kent Ames smiled at her. “Bobby goes on in forty-five minutes. Usually it takes years to get a spot on this stage.”

She nodded, widening her smile.

“This is where Garth Brooks was discovered, you know. Not by me, damn it.”

Claire felt an odd tingling sensation in her right hand. It took her two tries to reach out for her margarita. When she took hold, she drank the whole thing, hoping it would ease her headache.

It didn’t. Instead, it made her sick to her stomach. She slid off the bar stool and stood there, surprised to find that she was unsteady on her feet. She must have had one too many drinks.

“I’m sorry,” she realized that she had interrupted a conversation when the men looked up at her.

“Claire?” Bobby got to his feet.

She pulled up a smile. It felt a little weak, one sided. “I’m sorry, Bobby. My headache is worse. I think I need to lie down.” She kissed his cheek, whispered, “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

He put his arm around her, held her close. “I’ll walk her back to the hotel.”

Ryan frowned. “But your set—”

“I had to call in a favor to get you this opportunity,” Kent said stonily.

“I’ll be back in time,” Bobby said. Keeping a close hold, he maneuvered her out of the club and onto the loud, busy street.

“You don’t have to escort me, Bobby. Really.”

“Nothing matters more than you. Nothing. Those guys might as well know my priorities right off the bat.”

“Someone’s getting a little cocky.” She leaned against him as they walked down the street.

“Luck’s been on my side lately. Ever since I took the stage at Cowboy Bob’s.”

They hurried through the lobby and rode the elevator to their floor. In their room, Bobby gently undressed her and put her to bed, making sure she had water and aspirin on the night table.

“Go to sleep, my love,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Good luck, baby. I love you.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t need luck.”

She knew when he was gone. There was a click of the door and the room felt colder, emptier. Claire roused herself enough to call home. She tried to sound upbeat as she told Ali and Sam about the exciting day and reminded them that she’d be home in two days. After she hung up, she sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

When Claire woke up the next morning, her headache was gone. She felt sluggish and tired, but it was easy to smile when Bobby told her how it had gone.

“I blew them away, Claire. No kidding. Kent Ames was salivating over my future. He offered us a contract. Can you believe it?”

They were curled up in their suite’s window seat, both wearing the ultrasoft robes provided by the hotel. Bright morning sunlight pushed through the window; Bobby looked so handsome he took Claire’s breath away. “Of course I can believe it. I’ve heard you sing. You deserve to be a superstar. How does it all work?”

“They think it’ll take a month or so in Nashville. Finding material, putting a backup band together, that sort of thing. Kent said it isn’t unusual to go through three thousand songs to find the right one. After we make the demo, they’ll start promoting me. They want me to tour through September and October. Alan Jackson needs an opening act. Alan Jackson. But don’t worry. I told them we’d have to work out a schedule that was good for the family.”

Claire loved him more in that moment than she would have imagined was possible. She grabbed his robe and pulled him close. “You will only have men and ugly women on your bus. I’ve seen movies about those tours.”

He kissed her, long and slow and hard. When he drew back, she was dizzy. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Claire?”

“You loved me,” she answered, reaching into his robe. “Now take me to bed and love me again.”

Meghann was not relaxed by her day at the spa. Between massages, facials, and Jacuzzi tub soaks, she and Elizabeth had talked endlessly. No matter how often Meghann tried to control the direction of their discussions, one topic kept reemerging.

Joe.

Elizabeth had been relentless. For the first time, Meghann knew how it felt to be pummeled by someone else’s opinions.

Call him. Quit being such a chicken. The advice had come in dozens of ways and hundreds of different sentences, but it all boiled down to the same thing:

Contact him.

Honestly, Meghann was glad to take her friend to the airport. The silence came as a sweet relief. But then Meghann returned to her silent condo and found that Elizabeth’s voice had remained behind and so, she’d kept busy. For dinner, she bought a slice of pizza and walked along the wharf, window shopping with the steady stream of tourists that came off the ferries and spilled down the hilly streets from the Public Market.

It was 8:30 by the time she got home.

Once again, the quiet of her home was the only greeting that came her way.

“I need to get a cat,” she said aloud, tossing her handbag onto the sofa. Instead, she watched Sex and the City , then a rerun of The Practice (Bobby Donnell was crying again). She turned it off in disgust.

Yeah. Male defense lawyers are a weepy set.

She went to bed.

And lay there, eyes wide open, for the rest of the night.

Call him, you chicken.

At 6:30 the next morning, she rolled out of bed, took a shower, and dressed in a plain black suit with a lavender silk shell.

One look in the mirror reminded her that she hadn’t slept more than two hours the night before. As if she needed to notice her wrinkles to remember that .

She was at her desk by 7:30, highlighting the Pernod deposition.

Every fifteen minutes, she glanced at her phone.

Call him.

Finally, at 10:00, she gave up and buzzed her secretary.

“Yes, Ms. Dontess?”

“I need the number for a garage in Hayden, Washington.”

“What garage?”

“I don’t know the name or the address. But it’s across the street from Riverfront Park. On Front Street.”

“I’m going to need—”

“—to be resourceful. It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”

“But—”

“Thanks.” Meghann hung up.

Ten long minutes passed. Finally Rhona buzzed on line one.

“Here’s the number. It’s called Smitty’s Garage.”

Meghann wrote down the number and stared at it. Her heart was beating quickly.

“This is ridiculous.” She picked up the phone and dialed. With every ring, she had to fight the urge to hang up.

“Smitty’s Garage.”

Meghann swallowed hard. “Is Joe there?”

“Just a sec. Joe!”

The phone clanged down, then was picked up. “Hello?”

“Joe? It’s Meghann.”

There was a long pause. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

“I guess it won’t be that easy.” But the joke fell into silence. “I … uh … I have a deposition in Snohomish County on Friday afternoon. I’m sure you won’t want to … I shouldn’t have called, but I thought you might like to get together for dinner.”

He didn’t answer.

“Forget it. I’m an idiot. I’ll hang up now.”

“I could pick up a couple of steaks and borrow Smitty’s barbecue.”

“You mean it?”

He laughed softly, and the sound of it released that achy tension in her neck. “Why not?”

“I’ll be there about six. Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll bring wine and dessert.”

Meghann was smiling when she hung up. Ten minutes later, Rhona buzzed her again.

“Ms. Dontess, your sister is on line two. She says it’s urgent.”

“Thanks.” Meg put on her headset and pushed the button. “Hey, Claire. Welcome back. Your flight must have been on time. Amazing. How was—?”

“I’m at the airport. I didn’t know who else to call.” Claire’s voice was shaky; it almost sounded as if she was crying.

“What’s going on, Claire?”

“I don’t remember the flight from Nashville. I also don’t remember getting my luggage, but it’s right here. I don’t remember getting my keys or walking through the garage, but I’m sitting in my car.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, damn it,” Claire screamed, then she started to sob. “I can’t remember how to get home.”

“Oh, my God.” Instead of panicking, Meghann took charge. “Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Yes. Right here.”

“A pen?”

“Yes.” Her sobs slowed down. “I’m scared, Meg.”

“Write this down. Eight twenty-nine Post Alley. Do you have that?”

“I’m holding it.”

“Keep holding it. Now get out of your car and walk toward the terminal.”

“I’m scared.”

“I’ll stay on the phone with you.” She heard Claire slam the car door shut. The rolling thump of luggage followed her.

“Wait. I don’t know which way—”

“Is there a covered walkway in front of you, with airlines listed above it?”

“Yes. It says Alaska and Horizon.”

“Go that way. I’m right here, Claire. I’m not going anywhere. Take the escalator down one floor. You see it?”

“Yes.”

She sounded so weak. It scared the hell out of Meghann. “Go outside. Pick up the phone that says Taxi . What’s the number above the door you just came through?”

“Twelve.”

“Tell the cab driver to pick you up at door twelve, that you’re going downtown.”

“Hold on.”

Meghann heard her talking.

Then Claire said, “Okay.” She was crying again.

“I’m right here, Claire. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Who is this?”

Meghann felt an icy rush of fear. “It’s Meghann. Your sister.”

“I don’t remember calling you.”

Oh, Jesus. Meghann closed her eyes. It took an act of will to find her voice. “Is there a cab in front of you?”

“Yes. Why is it here?”

“It’s there for you. Get in the backseat. Give him the piece of paper in your hand.”

“Oh God, Meg. How did you know I had this paper? What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s okay, Claire. I’m here. Get in the cab. He’ll drop you off at my building. I’ll be waiting for you.”

The cab pulled along the curb and stopped. Before Claire could even say thank you, the front passenger-side door opened. Meghann threw a wad of bills at the driver, then slammed the door shut.

Claire’s door opened.

Meghann was there. “Hey, Claire, come on out.”

Claire grabbed her handbag and climbed out of the cab. She felt shaky, confused.

“Where’s your luggage?”

Claire looked around. “I must have left it in my car at the airport.” She laughed, though it sounded weak, even to her. “Look, Meg, I’m feeling a lot better now. I don’t know … I just spazzed out for a minute. The plane ride was awful, and they practically strip-searched me in Memphis. I’m already missing Bobby, and he’s going to be down there for the next few weeks. I guess I had a panic attack or something. Just take me to a quiet restaurant for a cup of coffee. I probably just need to sleep.”

Meg looked at her as if she were a science experiment gone bad. “Are you kidding me? A panic attack? Believe me, Claire, I know panic attacks, and you don’t forget how to get home.”

“Right. And you know everything.” The stress of her … thing … snapped cleanly, left her exhausted. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“You’re not going to. We’re getting in that car and going to the hospital.”

“I’m fine now. Really. I’m probably getting a sinus infection. I’ll see my doctor at home.”

Meghann took a step toward her. “There are two ways this can go down. You can get nicely in the car and we can leave. Or I can make a scene. You know I can.”

“Fine. Take me to the hospital, where we can spend the whole day and two hundred dollars to find out that I have a sinus infection that was exacerbated by air travel.”

Meg took her arm and guided her into the cushy black interior of a Lincoln Town Car.

“A limo to the emergency room. How chic.”

“It’s not a limo.” Meg studied her. “Are you okay now, really?”

Claire heard the concern in her sister’s voice, and it touched her. She remembered suddenly that Meg always got loud and angry when she was frightened. It had been that way since childhood. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Meg finally smiled. Leaning back in the seat, she said quietly, “You did.”

They exchanged looks then, and Claire felt herself relaxing. “Bobby aced the auditions. They offered him a big fat contract.”

“He won’t sign it until I review it, right?”

“The standard response is: Congratulations .”

Meghann had the grace to blush. “Congratulations. That’s really something.”

“I believe it belongs in Ripley’s Believe It or Not! under the headline Eliana Sullivan Does Good Deed .”

“A good deed that benefits her. A famous son-in-law puts the spotlight on her, too, you know. Just think of the I-discovered-him-and-changed-his-life interviews.” Meg pressed a hand to her breast, and said, “I’m so bighearted when it comes to family” in a gooey Southern drawl.

Claire started to laugh. Then she noticed that the tingling in her right hand was back. As she stared down at her hand, her fingers curled into a kind of hook. For a split second, she couldn’t open it. She panicked. Please, God —

The spasm ended.

The car pulled up in front of the hospital and let them out.

At the emergency room’s reception desk, a heavyset young woman with green hair and a nose ring looked up at them. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see a doctor.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I have a killer headache.”

Meghann leaned over the desk. “Write this down: Severe headache. Short-term memory loss .”

“That’s right. I forgot.” Claire smiled weakly.

The receptionist frowned at that and shoved a clipboard across the desk. “Fill that out and give me your insurance card.”

Claire retrieved the card from her wallet and handed it to the receptionist. “My family doctor thinks I need to exercise more.”

“They all say that,” the receptionist said with a little laugh. “Take a seat until we call for you.”

An hour later they were still waiting. Meghann was fit to be tied. She’d yelled at the receptionist three times and in the last twenty minutes, she’d been throwing around the word lawsuit .

“They’ve got a lot of nerve calling this an emergency room.”

“Look at the bright side. They must not think I’m very sick.”

“Forget the headache. We’ll both be dead from old age by the time they see you. Damn it.” Meghann popped to her feet and started pacing.

Claire considered trying to calm her sister down, but the effort was too much. Her headache had gotten worse, which she definitely did not reveal to Meghann.

“Claire Austin,” called out a blue-scrubbed nurse.

“It’s about fucking time.” Meghann stopped pacing long enough to help Claire to her feet.

“You’re a real comfort, Meg,” Claire said, leaning against her sister.

“It’s a gift,” Meg said, guiding her toward the tiny, birdlike nurse who stood in front of the white double doors of the ER.

Bird Woman looked up. “Claire Austin?”

“That’s me.”

To Meg, the nurse said, “You can wait out here.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m coming with my sister. If the doctor asks me to leave for the exam, I will.”

Claire knew she should be angry. Meg was being herself—pushing in where she didn’t belong—but truthfully, Claire didn’t want to be alone.

“Very well.”

Claire clung to her sister’s hand as they pushed through the double doors and entered the frightening white world that smelled of disinfectant. In a small exam room, Claire changed into a flimsy hospital gown, answered a few questions for the nurse, relinquished her arm for a blood pressure test and her vein for a blood test.

Then, again, they waited.

“If I were really sick, they’d rush to take care of me,” Claire said after a while. “So this waiting is probably a good thing.”

Meghann stood with her back to the wall. Her arms were crossed tightly, as if she were afraid she’d punch something if she moved. “You’re right.” Under her breath, she said, “Shitheads.”

“Did you ever consider a career in health care? You’ve got quite a bedside manner. God knows you’re calming me down.”

“I’m sorry. We all know how patient I am.”

Claire leaned back on the paper-covered exam table and stared up at the acoustical tile ceiling.

Finally, someone knocked, then the door opened.

In walked a teenage boy in a white coat. “I’m Dr. Lannigan. What seems to be the problem?”

Meghann groaned.

Claire sat up. “Hello, doctor. I really don’t need to be here, I’m sure. I have a headache and my sister thinks a migraine is emergency-room-worthy. After a long flight, I had some kind of panic attack.”

“Where she forgot how to get home,” Meghann added.

The doctor didn’t look at Meghann. He didn’t look at Claire, either. Instead, he studied the chart in his hands. Then he asked her to perform a few functions—lift one arm, then the other, turn her head, blink—and answer some easy questions—what year it is, who the president is. That sort of thing. When he finished, he asked, “Do you often get headaches?”

“Yes, when I get stressed-out. More lately, though,” she had to admit.

“Have you made any big changes in your life recently?”

Claire laughed. “Plenty. I just got married for the first time. My husband is going to be gone for a month. He’s in Nashville, making a record.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “Well, Mrs. Austin, your blood work is all normal, as are your pulse and your blood pressure, and your temperature. I’m sure this is all stress. I could run some expensive tests, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ll write you a prescription for a migraine medication. When you feel one coming on, take two tablets with plenty of water.” He smiled. “If the headaches persist, however, I’d recommend that you see a neurologist.”

Claire nodded, relieved. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Oh, no. So no.” Meghann pulled away from the wall and moved toward the doctor. “That’s not good enough.”

He blinked at her, stepping back as she invaded his personal space.

“I watch ER. She needs a CAT scan, at the very least. Or an MRI or an EKG. Some damn initial test. At the very least, she’ll take that neurology consult now.”

He frowned. “Those are costly tests. We can hardly run a CAT scan on every patient who complains of a headache, but if you’d like, I’ll recommend a neurologist. You can make an appointment to see him.”

“How long have you been a doctor?”

“I’m in my first year of residency.”

“Would you like to do a second year?”

“Of course. I don’t see—”

“Get your supervisor in here. Now. We didn’t spend three hours here so that an almost-doctor could tell us that Claire is under stress. I’m under stress; you’re under stress. We manage to remember our way home. Get a real doctor in here. A neurologist. We are not making an appointment. We’ll see a specialist now .”

“I’ll go get a consult.” He clutched his clipboard and hurried out.

Claire sighed. “You’re being you again. It is stress.”

“I hope it is, too, but I’m not taking the prom king’s word for it.”

A few moments later, the nurse was back. This time her smile looked forced. “Dr. Kensington has reviewed your material for Dr. Lannigan. She’d like you to have a CAT scan.”

“She. Thank God,” Meghann said.

The nurse nodded. “You can come with me,” she said to Claire.

Claire looked to Meghann, who smiled and took her arm. “Think of us as conjoined.”

The nurse walked out in front of them.

Claire clung to Meghann’s hand. The walk seemed to last forever, down one corridor and another, up the elevator and down another hallway, until they arrived at the Center for Nuclear Medicine.

Nuclear. Claire felt Meghann’s grip tighten.

“Here we are.” The nurse paused outside yet another closed door. She turned to Meghann. “There’s a chair right there. You can’t come in, but I’ll take good care of her, okay?”

Meghann hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I’ll be here, Claire.”

Claire followed the nurse through the door, then down another short hallway and into a room that was dominated by a huge machine that looked like a white doughnut. Claire let herself be positioned on the narrow bed that intersected the doughnut hole.

There, she waited. And waited. Periodically, the nurse came back, muttered something about the doctor, and disappeared again.

Claire started to get cold. The fear she’d worked so hard to keep at bay crept back. It was impossible not to fear the worst here.

Finally, the door opened and a man in a white coat walked in. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up. I’m Dr. Cole, your radiologist. You just lie perfectly still and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Claire forced herself to smile. She refused to think about the fact that everyone else wore lead aprons in the room, while she lay with only the thinnest sheet of cotton to protect her.

“You’re done. Fine job,” he said when it was finally over.

Claire was so thankful she almost forgot the headache that had steadily increased as she lay in the machine.

In the hallway, Meghann looked angry. “What happened? They said it would take an hour.”

“And it did, once they corraled a doctor.”

“Shitheads.”

Claire laughed. Already she felt better with that behind her. “They certainly teach you lawyers to be precise with your language.”

“You don’t want to hear precisely what I think of this place.”

They followed the nurse to another exam room.

“Should I get dressed?” Claire asked.

“Not yet. The doctor will be here soon.”

“I’ll bet,” Meghann said under her breath.

Thirty minutes later, the nurse was back. “The doctor has ordered another test. An MRI. Follow me.”

“What’s an MRI?” Claire asked, feeling anxious again.

“Magnetic resonance imaging. It’s a clearer picture of what’s going on. Very standard.”

Another hallway, another long walk toward a closed door. Again, Meg waited outside.

This time, Claire had to remove her wedding ring, her earrings, her necklace, and even her barrette. The technician asked her if she had any steel surgical staples or a pacemaker. When she said no and asked why, he said, “Well, we’d hate to see ‘em fly outta you when this thing starts up.”

“That’s a lovely image,” Claire muttered. “I hope my fillings are safe.”

The tech laughed as he helped her into the coffinlike machine. She found it difficult to breathe evenly. The bed was cold and hard; it curved up uncomfortably and pinched her upper back. The technician strapped her in. “You need to lie perfectly still.”

Claire closed her eyes. The room was cold and she was freezing, but she lay still.

When the machine started it sounded like a jackhammer on a city street.

Quiet, Claire. Still. Perfectly still . She closed her eyes and barely breathed. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the moisture drip down her temple.

The one-hour test lasted for two. Halfway through, they stopped and set up an IV. The needle pinched her arm; dye bled through her system, feeling ice-cold. She swore she could feel it pump into her brain. Finally, she was let go. She and Meghann returned to an examination room in the Nuclear Medicine Wing, where Claire’s clothes were hanging. Then they went to another waiting room.

“Of course,” Meg grumbled.

They were there another hour. Finally, a tall, tired-looking woman in a lab coat came into the waiting room. “Claire Austin?”

Claire stood up. At the suddenness of the movement, she almost fell. Meg steadied her.

The woman smiled. “I’m Dr. Sheri Kensington, chief of Neurology.”

“Claire Austin. This is my sister, Meghann.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Come this way.” Dr. Kensington led them down a short hallway and into an office that was lined with books, diplomas, and children’s artwork. Behind her, a set of X-ray–like images glowed against the bright white backlighting boxes.

Claire stared at them, wondering what there was to see.

The doctor sat down at her desk and indicated that Claire and Meghann should sit opposite her. “I’m sorry you had problems with Dr. Lannigan. This is, as I’m sure you know, a teaching hospital, and sometimes our residents are not as thorough as we would wish. Your demand for a higher level of care was a much-needed wake-up call for Dr. Lannigan.”

Claire nodded. “Meghann is good at getting what she wants. Do I have a sinus infection?”

“No, Claire. You have a mass in your brain.”

“What?”

“You have a mass. A tumor. In your brain.” Dr. Kensington rose slowly and went to the X rays, pointing to a white spot. “It appears to be about the size of a golf ball, and located in the right frontal lobe, crossing the midline.”

Tumor.

Claire felt as if she’d just been shoved out of an airplane. She couldn’t breathe; the ground was rushing up to meet her.

“I’m sorry to say this,” Dr. Kensington went on, “but I’ve consulted with a neurosurgeon and we believe it’s inoperable. You’ll want second opinions, of course. You’ll need to see an oncologist, also.”

Smack.

Meghann was on her feet, pressed against the desk as if she were going to grab the doctor’s throat. “You’re saying she has a brain tumor?”

“Yes.” The doctor went back to the desk and sat down.

“And that you can’t do anything about it?”

“We believe it’s inoperable, yes, but I didn’t say we can’t do anything.”

“Meg, please,” Claire was absurdly afraid that her sister was going to make it worse. She looked pleadingly at the doctor. “Are you … saying I might die?”

“We’ll need more tests to determine the exact nature of your tumor, but—given the size and placement of the mass—it’s not a good outlook.”

“Inoperable means you won’t operate,” Meg said in a don’t-screw-with-me voice that was almost a growl.

Dr. Kensington looked surprised. “I don’t believe anyone will. I consulted with our top neurosurgeon on this. He agrees with my diagnosis. The procedure would be too dangerous.”

“Oh, really? It might kill her, huh?” Meg looked disgusted. “Who will do this kind of operation?”

“No one in this hospital.”

Meg grabbed her handbag off the floor. “Come on, Claire. We’re in the wrong hospital.”

Claire looked helplessly from Dr. Kensington to her sister. “Meg,” she pleaded, “you don’t know everything. Please …”

Meg went to her, knelt in front of her. “I know I don’t know everything, Claire, and I know I’m a blowhard. I even know I’ve let you down in the past, but none of that matters now. From this second on, all that matters is your life.”

Claire felt herself starting to cry. She hated how fragile she felt, but there it was. Suddenly she felt like she was dying.

“Lean on me, Claire.”

Claire gazed into her sister’s eyes and remembered how Meg had once been her whole world. Slowly, she nodded. She needed a big sister again.

Meghann helped her to her feet, then she turned to the doctor. “You go ahead and teach Dr. Lannigan how to read a thermometer. We’re going to find a doctor who can save her life.”