swallowed hard and groped for words, her voice growing faint. “Teach her about art…and music…and poetry. Take her to church. Show her God’s love…like you showed us.”
Barbara fished for a tissue in her purse and blew her nose. “We will, Nan. I promise.”
“Give her all the love…Paul and I gave her. She needs…a lot…of love.”
Doug bent over the bed and kissed his sister’s pale forehead. “We’ll take good care of her, Nan, until you’re well again and can take care of her yourself. You just concentrate on getting better, okay?”
Nancy turned her eyes to Doug, her sallow skin taut against her high cheekbones. “Say a prayer. Please.”
Doug hesitated for a long moment, giving Barbara a look that said, Get me out of this. She stared back unflinchingly and waited. Finally Doug bent over the bed, his face close to Nancy’s, and whispered a simple, heartfelt petition for her healing. Halfway through he stopped and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. In the silence Barbara could hear the whoosh and click of the machines monitoring Nancy’s vital signs. After a minute, Doug spoke again, his voice broken, the anguished words rising on a sob as he begged God to spare his sister’s life.
It was the first prayer Barbara had heard Doug utter in over four years.
Chapter Three
“We’ve got to look in on Janee,” Doug told Barbara as they left Nancy’s room.
Barbara felt a tight, choking sensation in her chest. “I don’t know if I can. Oh, Doug, it brings everything back.”
“We’ve got to go in, Barb. We’re responsible for Janee until—until Nancy’s well again.”
They were already walking toward the pediatric wing. Barbara took Doug’s arm, fearing her legs might buckle. Quietly they entered the small room with its frilly curtains and bright animal decor. A nurse was jotting something on a chart. Barbara drew in a sharp breath and forced herself to gaze at the sleeping child. In the large bed with its raised guardrails, Janee looked small and pale and defenseless, like a broken porcelain doll, her head bandaged, bruises on her face and arms.
Like another child so long ago.
“Oh, Doug, she looks so bad,” Barbara whispered, clutching her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“How is she doing?” Doug asked the nurse.
“The child’s sleeping soundly. I don’t expect her to wake for several hours. You may want to get some rest and come back later.”
“But someone should be here if she wakes,” said Barbara.
“Leave a number and I’ll call you the moment she stirs.”
Barbara looked at Janee, then nodded. “You’re right. She’s sleeping soundly. We’ll come back later, but please don’t hesitate to call.”
As they headed back down the hall, Doug said, “I’ve got to phone Pam and Benny. They should be here.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.” Doug ran his fingers distractedly through his thick, curly hair. “The nurse is right. We need some sleep. Paul and Nancy’s apartment isn’t far from here. Twenty minutes maybe.”
“Then let’s go. We’ll need to contact people and…make arrangements.”
Barbara waited on a sofa in the lobby, while Doug crossed the room to a pay phone and called his older sister Pam in Oregon. Barbara didn’t want to hear him repeat the painful news, didn’t want to imagine Pam and Benny’s shock and grief. She just wanted to be back home again, with everything normal, the way it was yesterday. But then again, what was normal? Barbara’s life hadn’t been normal for years.
Nothing was normal without Caitlin.
“Barb, they’re taking the next plane out of Portland.”
Barbara looked up, startled that Doug had already finished his call. “How did they take the news?”
“The way you’d expect. Shock. Disbelief. Tears.”
Neither Barbara nor Doug said much as they drove the twenty miles to the renovated Victorian house in south San Francisco, where Paul and Nancy had an upstairs apartment.
As Doug unlocked the door, Barbara murmured, “It feels strange coming here like this. Like we’re trespassing.”
“I know, Barb, but it’s got to be done.” Doug opened the door, and they stepped tentatively into Paul and Nancy’s world—a quaint, cluttered apartment that embodied a diversity of styles, from traditional to modern to garage-sale chic. Floral wallpaper, dark mahogany woodwork and intricately carved cornices and moldings were counterbalanced by vinyl beanbag chairs, a leather recliner, a rattan sofa, pine bookcases, and a simulated black marble entertainment unit. Plants abounded—from ceiling to floor, on every table and windowsill: creeping ferns and climbing vines, small pots of violets and hanging baskets of petunias, and plant stands with large, leafy philodendron, all badly in need of watering.
“Your sister made an art of clutter,” said Barbara, noting the books, magazines, canvases and sheet music strewn around the room. A guitar was propped in one corner, an easel in another. “I’d forgotten what a creative person she is.”
“When I was growing up, she was always dabbling in something,” said Doug wistfully, picking up an unfinished still-life. “Always writing a poem, painting a picture, picking out a tune on her guitar.”
“And what were you doing?” asked Barbara softly as she examined a charcoal rendering of Janee.
Doug chuckled ruefully. “I was putting splints and bandages on my sisters’ dolls. I even tried operating on Pam’s favorite Raggedy Ann. Cut the thing nearly in two. Stuffing everywhere. Told her I was doing a heart transplant. She wasn’t amused.”
Barbara gave him a gentle smile. “Even then you were preparing to be a great surgeon.”
Doug grimaced. “And where’d it get me?”
“You’re still a great surgeon. You just refuse to see it.”
Doug let the unfinished canvas clatter on the coffee table, and countered, “How did this get to be about me?”
Barbara looked away. She couldn’t handle this rift today. Some other time. “We’re both exhausted, Doug. Let’s get some sleep and talk later.”
“Okay by me. I’ll grab a glass of water first.” He headed for the kitchen, and she followed. It was a clean, compact kitchen with more plants in the garden window and lots of curios and handmade knickknacks on the counters. Janee’s colorful drawings covered the refrigerator door.
“Looks like Janee has some of her mother’s talent,” he said with a catch in his voice. He turned on the spigot and ran the water until it was cold.
Barbara got two glasses from the cupboard and handed them to him. “Do you want me to fix us something to eat? I’m sure there’s something I could whip up.”
He filled her glass and gave it to her. “No, I couldn’t eat. You go ahead.”
“Maybe later.” They went down the hall to Paul and Nancy’s room and hesitated for a few minutes before lying down on the neatly made queen-size bed. “It feels strange being here like this,” said Barbara, easing herself down so she wouldn’t muss the chenille spread. “I’m too tense to relax. Maybe we should have stayed at the hospital.”
Doug rolled onto his side and ran his hand soothingly over her arm. “Try to sleep, Barbie. We need our rest. We’ve got a long, hard road ahead of us, and we’ve got to be strong.”
Stronger than we were when Caitlin died? she wondered silently. How can we be strong now when we still haven’t got past that