Sisters

And Cameron and I are happily married.

The light turns green. I accelerate too fast, and the SUV bucks a little bit as I let off the gas pedal.

We ride in silence past the red Ford pickup that was broken down at the side of the road when I got into town two days ago. It’s still stalled in the same place. For all I know it’s been there years; past the Dairy Queen where I count five cars in the parking lot—the same Dairy Queen Mama used to take us to if she was in a good mood when we were kids; past the old Bargain Bin Dollar Store with the neon S that’s burned out so it reads Dollar tore. Was it always like that? I can’t remember.

Dahlia Springs looks every bit the same as it did when we were kids—like it’s stuck in a time warp. Oh, but a lot’s changed. Things that go way deeper than burned-out signs and Nick Russo and growing up and pretending you’ve moved on.

I take a deep breath, determined to change the subject. “I found Jane.” I glance at my sister to gauge her reaction. She stares back at me with wide eyes, surprise washing her face clean of contempt.

“How’d you find her? Where is she?”

“She’s in Springvale, Missouri. She’s living in a homeless shelter.”

CHAPTER 2

Skye

Summer goes pale. “Oh, God. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Do we need to send her money so she can get here?”

I take a deep breath. “I didn’t talk to her.”

My sister looks at me as if I have two heads. “Why not? She needs to know about Ginny.”

“I thought that if she knew we’d found her she might bolt. I wanted to talk to you so we could figure out a plan.”

By the time we get to the hospital, we’ve reached no conclusions. We can’t go get her ourselves on account of something possibly happening to Mama while we’re gone. We want to be here. We can’t send Raul or Cameron after her (not that Cameron has time to go traipsing after my wayward little sister), because there’s no way she’d come back with them. In fact, she’d probably run.

A letter or a telegram?

Perhaps. But we’ll talk about that later.

We walk to the elevator, which lifts us up to the third-floor ICU. I wave hello to the head nurse, a heavyset, fiftyish woman with graying hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

As we approach, the door to Mama’s room opens and Dr. Travis leads his gaggle of med students out. He greets us, instructs his charges on what to do while he talks to us, then pauses, looking askance at Summer.

Summer flips her long, dark hair off her shoulder in that sultry way of hers. She’s always had the ability to render men stupid—including Nick, though it didn’t take much when it came to him.

I don’t know whether it’s some sort of pheromone she emits or if it’s a gene that she got a double helping of and I got none.

“Dr. Travis, this is my sister, Summer Russo. She’s just flown into town.”

As she slips her French-manicured fingers into his outstretched hand, I notice a certain flash in the good doctor’s eyes—like a power surge that makes the electricity burn brighter for a brief moment before it falls back into normal range.

Mama’s nice-looking, young, married doctor is not impervious to my sister’s wiles and that irritates the soup out of me.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

Her silver bangles clatter as she pulls her hand from his and crosses her arms under her ample chest. Boobs too big for her skinny little body. She was flat as a board the last time I saw her. Where did she get those?

“Manhattan.”

He smiles and nods.

The good doctor hasn’t as much as spared me a second glance. Not that it matters. I mean, I am happily married. And he’s married—happily or otherwise. It’s just that before Summer arrived, I didn’t notice that he hadn’t looked at me. You know, in that appreciative way a man looks at a woman he finds…attractive.

I stand up straighter, shoulders back and suck in my stomach.

As they make small talk, his gaze darts to the bounty thrusting out of her red silk blouse. I’ll bet her cleavage is compliments of one of those water bras I’ve heard so much about. If she had implants installed, wouldn’t it throw off her mannequinlike proportions? And wouldn’t it interfere with her job? And wouldn’t it be too bad if she had an accidental collision with a hypodermic needle and sprang a leak?

I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling at the thought. Oh, shame on me.

Positive thoughts. Only positive thoughts.

But seriously, I really wish the doctor on whom Mama’s survival depends would remove his eyes from my sister’s boobs and focus on his patient.

“How’s she doing?” I ask.

Much to my relief, he slips back into professional-neurologist mode. “There’s been no change.”

My heart sinks. I was thinking— Oh, it’s silly. I don’t know what I was thinking—that, maybe while I was at the airport getting Summer, some sort of miracle would happen and she’d be awake when we got back? I give myself a mental shake. Being morose won’t do Mama any good. We all need to remain positive. “I’m just sure it won’t be long before she’s awake and talking our ears off.”

He nods, but the expression on his handsome face seems like he’s humoring a silly child. Irritation flares inside me.

“It’s been nearly forty-eight hours,” I say. “Can’t you give us a prognosis?”

“Comas are notoriously unpredictable. A person can be out for hours or years. There’s really no way to know when or if a person will come out of one.”

Summer goes pale. “Are you saying our mother might be like this for the rest of her life?”

Dr. Travis rubs his chin. “Unfortunately, that’s a possibility, though not a probability. You see, brain injury severity is described using a scale of one to eight, with one being a deep coma and eight being a normally functioning uninjured person,” he said. “Your mother is currently functioning at a level three, which means she’s in a light coma. She can probably even be jostled awake by loud voices.”

Summer frowns. “If she can be jostled awake, how come you can’t just wake her up?”

He shrugs. “Therein lies the mystery of comas. Only time will tell. After that, it’s anybody’s guess. Let’s go inside so you can see her.”

We walk in and Summer gasps. “Oh, Ginny.”

It’s terrible to see her lying there black and blue and vulnerable, amidst the IV tubes and beeping, wheezing equipment. I know how hard this first glimpse of her is and I put a hand on Summer’s shoulder. She doesn’t pull away.

Ginny’s eyelids flutter a bit and the sheet rustles as she moves her left foot.

I edge closer and touch her sheet-covered leg. “Mama? We’re here. Summer and I are both here.”

When she doesn’t open her eyes, we turn to Dr. Travis, who is writing on her chart.

“Coma patients open their eyes sometimes, but it doesn’t always mean they’re awake. Such as what I mentioned earlier about voices rousing them.”

“So what’s next?” Summer demands.

“Depending on the severity of her head injury, we might need to get her into an inpatient rehabilitation center.”

“A nursing home?” Oh, my Lord. The thought hitches my breath. I suppose it’s better than the alternatives: Death. Or moving in with me. Oh, how can I even think selfishly like that at a time like this? Still, the thought of Mama in one of those places knocks me for a loop. At fifty-eight, she’s too young for a nursing home. She has too much life left to live.

We hear the sheets rustle again and turn to see her blinking at us, looking annoyed, as if we’ve interrupted her afternoon nap.

“I am not going to an old folk’s home.”

CHAPTER 3

Summer

Ginny’s awake. Thank God.

“Mama?” Skye hurries to Ginny’s bedside and grabs her hand. “Oh my goodness, we were all so worried. Look, Summer even flew down.”

Skye gestures toward me, but Ginny’s gaze skips over me, as if searching for someone else.

“Where’s Jane?” she asks. “Is Jane here?”

A burning, metallic taste similar to the antiseptic smell of the hospital room creeps up the back of my throat. Suddenly, I’m eleven years old again. Small. Insignificant. A disappointment to my mother.

Skye darts a panicked glance at me, then at Dr. Travis, standing there as if he’s watching a soap opera unfold. This irks me. Dammit, shouldn’t he be doing something, especially given the cost of health care these days?

I move beside my sister. “Sorry, Ginny, Jane’s not here. You’re stuck with Skye and me.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my tone.

Skye nudges me and hisses. “Summer. Shh.”

Thank God, the doctor finally comes to life. “Welcome back. Do you know where you are?”

Ginny squints at him as if she’s trying to place him.

“I’m Dr. Travis and you’re in Dahlia Springs Memorial Hospital. You were in a car accident. Do you remember anything?”

“Jane?”

“No, Mama, it’s Skye and Summer.”

She looks confused, gazing at us as if she can’t quite place us. “I don’t want you. I want my baby. I want my Jane.”

I flinch. Her words are a punch to my gut. I’m a sucker, a fool for coming all the way down here against my better judgment. I hate myself for letting her get to me, letting her rejection matter.

God, I need a cigarette.

Skye clears her throat. I can actually see her regroup, straightening and plastering on that I’m-in-charge-and-everything’s-just-wonderful smile before she looks at Dr. Travis.

“Why don’t you give us a few minutes?” He smiles. “In fact, go relax and have a cup of coffee while I examine her. By the time you finish, we should be ready for you.”

For a moment I fear I’m slipping, that I might succumb to a dizzying spiral of emotion.

Skye touches my arm, and for some odd reason, that yanks me back from the brink. Oh, God. Not another panic attack.

“Mama, you just rest,” she says. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Ginny closes her eyes.

Dr. Travis walks us to the door. Despite my sister’s all-is-well smile, I know Skye’s just as flummoxed as I am because she’s quiet. My sister is rarely quiet.

“Just give us fifteen minutes,” he says before calling in his students so they can watch and listen. It reminds me of a carnival sideshow freakapalooza.

Step right up. See the woman who ate her young and hear the amazing story of how the children lived to tell about it.

Out in the hall, the air feels lighter. Free of the essence of Jane that was crowding Ginny’s room, edging us out. But I still have an annoying ringing in my ears.

Finally, Skye breaks the silence. “Well, how about that?” Her voice is low and conspiratorial.

“Yeah, how ’bout that. We’re here, and only Jane will do. Some things never change.”

She pushes the button on the elevator and crosses her arms. Her lips are pressed into a thin line and she’s eyeing me with that disapproving-mother look.

“Actually, I was talking about our mother regaining consciousness.”

Oh, get over yourself. This act might work on her kids, but I’ll be dammed if she’s going to make me feel like a schmuck. “Look, I’m glad Ginny is awake, but don’t you get tired of the same old sorry song and dance? She wants Jane. You know where Jane is, so call her or go get her or something. Whatever it takes to make that woman happy. I certainly don’t have it in me.”

Skye sighs as if she’s so exasperated she can’t contain her disgust.

Fine. Whatever.

I turn my back on her and, with a shaky hand, pull out my cell phone and dial information. “Connect me to American Airlines, please.”

“What are you doing?” Skye says the words to my back.

“Calling to change my flight.”

She grabs my arm.

I pull out of her grasp.

The airline’s automated attendant directs me to push the number two for reservations. As I do that, Skye walks around in front of me and stands there with her hands on her ample hips. “You can’t leave. You just got here.”

Oh, yeah? Watch me. I long to say the words, but my throat is closing up.

“How can you do this without even talking to the doctor? Summer, Mama may be awake, but we don’t know for certain she’s okay.”

I turn away from her, tempted to stick my finger in my free ear, but the elevator dings and the doors open. I glance over my shoulder at the empty lift. “Go on,” I manage to choke out. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

No such luck. The doors slide shut without her.

“Reservations, how may I help you?” says a male voice on the other end of the line.

I draw in a deep breath, but it doesn’t fill my lungs. “I need to change my return flight to the first available flight from Dahlia Springs Municipal to La-Guardia.”

I give him my ticket information and feel a little steadier, since I was able to get the words out.

“Please hold and I’ll check for you.” I hear him typing on the other end of the line.

Skye glares at me, her chin jutting forward. “I cannot believe you’re leaving….”

“I have a flight out of Dahlia Springs Municipal connecting in Atlanta—” Skye, with her ability to drown out the world when she wants to be heard, starts talking at the same time as the airline rep. I stick my finger in my ear and close my eyes to block her out.

“Would you repeat that?” I say. “It’s noisy here.”

“I can get you on a flight to LaGuardia by way of Atlanta at two p.m. Monday.”

My eyes fly open. “I beg your pardon? This is Thursday.” Skye lifts an eyebrow and smirks. I turn away from her. “I need to fly out sooner.” Or I’ll die. I don’t want to die in Dahlia Springs. “Why not today or tomorrow?” Tomorrow at the very latest. Please.

“The last American Airlines flight for this week left Dahlia Springs twenty-three minutes ago.”

“So you’re telling me there are no flights out of this place for four days?”

“Not on American. There’s not a big demand for flights to Dahlia Springs so we only provide service Monday through Thursday.”

Not a big demand. Surprise, surprise.

My heart pounds. I put my hand on my chest and take a deep breath to calm myself. “Oh, God. I’m stuck.”

“Excuse me?” he says.

I rack my brain for a solution. “Can’t you route me through a different city?”

More typing. My heart feels like it’s keeping time with his keyboard cadence.

Skye’s in my face again. “I really can’t believe you.” She puts her hands on her temples, like the drama queen she is. “No, wait, yes I can. It’s just like you to hightail it when things are tough.”

Oh. I’m tempted to slug her. My mouth is dry, but I manage to choke out, “Now you wait just a minute.”

The airline rep says, “Certainly, I can hold.”

“No, not you.” My voice shakes. “You keep looking for a flight.”

Typing resumes, and an orderly walks by pushing a medicine cart. He’s the first person I’ve seen outside of the ICU. I’m tempted to ask him if he has a spare Xanax in his rolling pharmacy.

Skye throws up her hands. “Go your merry way and leave it all to me. You are undoubtedly the most selfish woman I’ve ever known.”

All I can think of as I watch her walk back to the elevator and push the call button is, No one knows you like a sister. Unless your sister doesn’t know you at all.

Mine’s obviously never known me if she thinks this is easy for me.

I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “No one’s asking you to stay, Skye.”

She turns and blinks at me. “I will not leave Mama like this.”

“Yeah, well what about all those times Mama left us?”

“That was different. You know it was.”

I press my fingers to my forehead because my head feels as if it’s about to explode. “What the hell do you expect me to do? Stay here forever?”

The rep says, “I apologize, I’m working as fast as I can.”

Oh, God. “And you’re doing a great job,” I say. “I was talking to my sister.”

The elevator dings and Skye gets in. A wave of relief washes over me as the doors slide closed like a firewall between us.

“I have some alternatives for you,” he says. “There’s an eight-o’clock flight out of Orlando this evening or a seven-o’clock flight out of Tallahassee tomorrow morning.”

Those are my choices? I take a deep breath and try to conjure some charm, but it can’t cut through the mire of the panic attack that’s been building since Ginny awakened. “Nothing else? Isn’t there a smaller airport that’s closer?”

“No ma’am, these are the closest cities.”

“Considering it’ll take me four hours to drive to either Tallahassee or Orlando and only five hours to drive to Atlanta where I could hop on a direct flight, those don’t sound like very good options, do they? Besides, I’d have to rent a car—”

I clench my moist hand into a fist. My nails dig into my palm. Why am I telling him this?

“I do apologize, but that’s the best I can do.”

Well, it’s not good enough. God, a typical man.

“I can book you on the Monday flight or perhaps you’d like to try another airline?”

I take a deep breath and try to quell the panic that’s cresting inside me.

I lean against the wall. It isn’t his fault I’m stuck. He can’t manufacture a flight. I squeeze my eyes closed and let the anxiety flow, feeling I’m stuck in a tiny box with my mother and sister and Nick. I want to claw my way out. But I can’t. After spending six hundred dollars on my ticket to fly here, I’m not prepared to fork out more money on a rental car, much less buy a new ticket if another airline has a flight out of here. At almost three hundred dollars, the train isn’t an option either. I checked on it before I bought my plane ticket.

Yep, I’m stuck.

“Okay, switch me to Monday.”

Grasping for a coping mechanism one of the dozen or so shrinks I’ve seen over the past two decades equipped me with, I rationalize that it’s only four days, and I go outside for a smoke.

Four days.

And I’ll have the consolation of knocking Skye off her self-righteous pedestal. After all, I’m staying through Monday. She doesn’t need to know I can’t afford any other escape route.

Four days.

How much mental torture can Skye and Ginny inflict on me in that short amount of time?

Oh dear God, help me.

CHAPTER 4

Skye

Downstairs in the hospital cafeteria, it smells like they’re cooking up something Italian. My stomach growls, but a quick glance at my watch shows it’s a little too early for dinner.

Mmm…smells like lasagna.

Or spaghetti with meat sauce.

I so wish I could be like those people who lose their appetites when they’re stressed. But, oh no, not me. I’m an all-occasion eater: Food is a celebration when I’m happy; comfort when I’m sad; sweet revenge when I’m mad; and just plain ol’ fun when I’m bored.

I can’t understand those odd creatures who can take or leave food. Summer, for instance. It’s probably because she smokes; they say nicotine dulls the taste buds. Now that I think about it, she’s always been a finicky eater, never been all that interested in food. Just like she’s never been all that interested in anything that doesn’t directly benefit her.

Such as staying and helping me take care of Mama until she’s on her feet.

I suppose stewing over Summer right now doesn’t serve any purpose. But sometimes she makes me so mad I could just boil over. I don’t know why I thought she’d change. Except that we are in the midst of a crisis with Mama’s condition—granted she’s improving, thank God in heaven—and it would be nice if for once she could think outside herself, put her selfishness on the shelf.

As I make my way through the serving line, the cakes, pies and puddings call to me. But I remind myself this is hospital-cafeteria food. It can’t be worth spending the calories on. Although that doesn’t stop me from hesitating in front of a piece of angel food cake topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

I glance over my shoulder at the door. Summer’s bound to join me any minute, after she finishes making her plans, and despite how tempting the cake looks, I’d rather go hungry than eat it in front of her. So I settle for pouring myself a cup of coffee, angry at myself for caring what she thinks.

As I’m about to hand my money to the young woman at the register, I say, “Is it too late to add something else?”

She smiles sweetly. “No, not at all.”

I grab a king-size pack of peanut M&M’s from the candy rack behind me. Yes, they should hit the spot.

Armed with coffee and candy, I make my way to a corner table to hide with my snack. There are only three people in addition to myself in the cafeteria—a man in scrubs hunched over a newspaper and an older couple. The woman looks weary, as if she hasn’t slept in days. The man with her is probably her husband. I wonder who she’s worried about. Her mother? Her child?

My heart tightens at the thought. Suddenly, I’m almost overwhelmed by how much I miss my three. No parent should ever go through the pain of losing a child.

I suppose, in a sense, Mama must feel as if she’s lost Jane. It makes me wonder which is worse: losing a child to the streets or death?

I know, because I was nineteen when Jane was born. Even though both Summer and I were out of the house, I shared Mama’s pain each time Jane ran away. I lived in constant fear that she was going to turn up dead.

I tear open the yellow candy wrapper and pop a red candy in my mouth. The sweet/salty goodness is pure comfort.

I had kids of my own the first time she left and, I don’t know, I guess something shifts in you once you give birth. A well of vulnerability opens and dredges up feelings you never knew you could have.

Maybe that’s the reason I can forgive Ginny for waking up asking for Jane. Summer doesn’t understand mother love.

I eat two more pieces of candy as I fish my phone out of my purse. My neighbor, Rose, should have the kids home by now, and I’m longing to hear their sweet angel voices.

I call but the line is busy. One of them must be online. Cameron and I have been slow to switch over to Internet that doesn’t run through the phone lines because we don’t want to give them carte blanche. With three of them between the ages of twelve and sixteen, they’d be on the phone and computer all the time. At least this way only one piece of technology can be in use at a time and they have to battle it out amongst themselves.

Since I can’t talk to them, I ring my husband’s cell phone thinking he should be out of court by now, but I get his voice mailbox.

“Hi, honey, it’s me,” I say. “I hope you and the kids are all getting along okay without me. Well, I have some great news—Mama regained consciousness today. The doctor is in with her now. I’ll call you later after I talk to him. But it looks like things are on the upswing. Of course, I’ll have to stay until I know she’s in the clear, even though Summer’s already making plans to go home, but Mama will need someone.”

I hang up and eat more candy. He always forgets to turn his phone back on after he’s been in court. I was just hoping that, since I was away and Mama was in such bad shape, he’d be more conscious of keeping the lines of communication open. But that’s all right. Really, it is. I guess I miss him more than I realized.

I flip open the phone again and dial his office. “Good afternoon, this is Skye Woods. May I speak to Cameron, please?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Woods. I’m sorry, but he’s not in the office. He’s been in court today. May I take a message?”

My heart sinks a little. I give myself a mental shake. It’s only been two days since I talked to him. And he’s a busy man. Working on a rather high-profile civil case and all. “Oh, no, thank you. I’ll catch up with him later this evening.”

Next, I dial his pager and punch in my cell number. When I’m done I shove a handful of M&M’s in my mouth. As luck would have it, just as I start chewing, Summer walks into the cafeteria. As fast as I can, I shove the remains of the candy into my purse, and swallow some of the pieces whole, nearly choking in the process. The rough edges scrape the back of my throat as they go down.