Chapter 62 Lee
Lee
In the taxi to the hospital, Lee rehearsed what she would say to her sister.
There was no room for anger or recriminations.
Lee would play concerned. She would act loving.
She’d once portrayed a spurned wife on a police procedural and the director had told her to exude love when she reunited with the man playing her philandering ex who’d been beaten senseless on a New York street. (Might have been Long Island City.)
Would Regan be—as the actor playing her philandering ex-husband had been—struck with admiration? Would she be grateful? Would she cry and say, Lee, I don’t know what I would do without you!
Hospital light had a way of making everyone look sick.
Regan, sweet Regan, was conscious, propped against pillows, her face gaunt beneath her bruises.
A bandage wrapped her right ankle, and an IV dripped fluids into her arm.
The doctors said she was lucky—dehydrated, malnourished—but alive.
During her coma, she’d lost twenty pounds.
She had been completely disoriented when she woke up, but the doctors said she now seemed to be functioning at full capacity.
Lee moved to the chair beside the bed. She’d rehearsed her role, and was ready to hide her fury and bewilderment and say, You’re alive, Regan. That’s all that matters…. (She would pause here, lean toward her little sister, then whisper, All that matters.)
“Thank you for coming,” said Regan, her voice weak. She pressed her hospital blanket between her fingers, pleating and unpleating the thin fabric.
“Of course I came,” Lee said, arranging her face into the expression she’d practiced—concerned but capable, the sister who could handle anything. “You’re alive, Regan,” she began.
Regan’s hands stilled on the blanket. “I hate myself,” she said.
Lee leaned forward. “Your girls are incredible. Flora’s been really strong. But they need their mom.”
“I know what they need, Lee.” Regan’s voice was flat, and she wasn’t meeting Lee’s eyes.
“It was a lot,” said Lee, wanting her sister to thank her, at least. “We were all just terrified. The police made me give a press conference—”
“Press conference?” Lee saw something sharp in Regan’s expression.
“We knew media attention would—”
“Media attention! Ohhhh, OK, I get it,” said Regan, her voice venomous. Lee had not expected her sister to get venomous!
“I was trying to help,” said Lee, venom inspiring venom (as always). “Everyone wanted—”
“Everyone wanted, or you wanted?” Regan sat up straighter in the bed, anger tightening her face.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you love pretending you’re looking out for everyone else, but it always comes back to Lee Perkins in the spotlight.” Regan’s words were quiet but precise. “Tell me, Lee—how does it feel to be important again?”
“I was worried sick about you, Regan.”
“I’m sure you were. But you were also enjoying it, right? Starring in your own missing-sister movie? All eyes on you?”
“That’s not—you’re not being fair, Reeg. I came here for you.”
“No.” Regan’s words were exacting and mean as hell. “You came here because you were tired of feeling invisible.”
“The girls—”
“The girls need their mother, not an aunt with a savior complex.” Regan’s voice grew in strength. “You think I don’t know what this is? Even now, you’re acting.”
“I was trying to help!” Lee protested, but despite her affronted tone, she recognized the kernel of truth in her sister’s accusations. Hadn’t she felt more alive during the press conference than she had in months? Hadn’t she been sickeningly thrilled when Markos called her to race to the warehouse?
“You were trying to matter.” Regan leaned forward. “And it worked, didn’t it? For a little while, you got to be the big sister holding everything together again.”
Lee felt tears burning behind her eyes. “Regan, I love you.”
“I know,” said Regan, sinking back into her pillow. “I know. But you love being depended on, too. And honestly, Lee, I don’t have the energy to make you feel important right now.”
Lee stared at her sister. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, go home.” Regan added, meanly, “Wherever that is for you.”
“Regan…”
“I honestly do not have it in me to perform gratitude for you, big sister.”
“But the girls—”
“The girls are fine. They have me. They have their mother.”
“But you just—you just left them.”
“Lee…” Regan paused, looking directly at her sister. “I maybe needed you a long time ago, but I don’t need you anymore.”
Lee felt the weight of all the years she should have protected Regan and didn’t, all the ways she’d failed when it mattered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when Mr. Ragdale—”
“Jesus.” Regan’s face went hard again. “It’s a bit late for regrets, OK? I want to talk to my daughters. Can you call my daughters, please?”
“Of course,” Lee managed.
Her hands shook as she dialed Flora’s number.
“Mom? Is that you?”
“No,” said Lee, “but she’s right here. I’m at the hospital and—”
“Give me my mom!” Flora’s voice cracked with longing—but not for Lee.
Never for Lee.
“Here’s your mom,” Lee said quietly, handing over the phone and turning to leave.
Regan’s words echoed as Lee walked the long hallway to the hospital exit: I don’t need you anymore.
Depression, patient as always, agreed: No one needs you anymore. They would be better off with you gone.