While My Sister Sleeps

‘Any minute.’

‘Are you going to call?’

‘You are. I’m too upset.’

And Chris wasn’t? Did he have to be visibly shaking? Facing the doctor, he said, ‘Is this–what is she–comatose?’

‘Yes, but there are different levels of coma.’ He pushed up black glasses with the back of his hand. ‘At most levels, patients make spontaneous movements. The fact that your sister hasn’t suggests the highest level of coma.’

‘How do you measure it?’ Chris asked. He didn’t know what he was looking for, only knew that Molly was standing at his elbow taking in every word, and that his parents would ask the same questions. Numbers had meaning. They were a place to start.

‘A CAT scan or an MRI will show if there’s tissue death, but those tests will have to wait until she’s more stable.’

Chris glanced at Molly. ‘Try calling Mom and Dad.’

‘I can’t,’ she whispered, looking terrified. ‘I was supposed to be with her. This was my fault.’

‘Like it wouldn’t have happened if you’d been waiting five miles down the road? Be real, Molly. Call Mom and Dad.’

‘They won’t believe me. You didn’t.’

She was right. But he didn’t want to call. ‘You’re better with Mom than I am. You’ll know what to say.’

‘You’re older, Chris. You’re the man.’

He took the phone from his pocket. ‘Men stink at things like this. It’ll be enough when she sees my caller ID.’ With a sharp look, he passed her the phone.

Kathryn Snow turned on her BlackBerry as soon as the plane landed. She hated being out of touch. Yes, the nursery was a family operation, but it was her baby. If there were problems, she wanted to know.

While the plane taxied through the darkness to the terminal, she downloaded new messages and scrolled through the list.

‘Anything interesting?’ her husband asked.

‘A note from Chris–his meeting went well. A thank-you for the Collins’ wedding shower. And a reminder from the newspaper that the article on flowering kale is due at the end of the week.’

‘It’s all written, ready to go.’

Appreciative, she smiled. Charlie was her marketing chief, a behind-the-scenes guy who had a knack for writing ad copy, press releases, and articles. In his quiet way, he invited trust. When he suggested to TV producers that Kathryn was the one to discuss autumn wreaths, they believed him. He had single-handedly won her a permanent spot on the local news and a column in a home magazine.

Speaking of which, ‘Grow How is due at the end of the week,’ she mused. ‘It’ll be for the January edition, which is always the toughest. Molly knows the greenhouse better than I do. I’ll have her write it.’ She returned to the BlackBerry. ‘Robin didn’t e-mail. I wonder how her run went. She was worried about her knee.’ Accessing voice mail next, she smiled, frowned, smiled again. She finished listening just as the plane reached the gate. Releasing her seat belt, she put the BlackBerry in her pocket and followed Charlie into the aisle. ‘Voice mail from Robin. She had to drive herself because Molly refused to help. What’s wrong with that child?’

‘Just refused? No excuse?’

‘Who knows,’ Kathryn murmured, but grinned. ‘Good news, though. Robin got another call from the powers-that-be wanting to make sure she’s set to run New York. They’re counting on her for the trials next spring. The Olympics, Charlie,’ she mouthed, afraid to jinx it by speaking aloud. ‘Can you imagine?’

He lowered her suitcase from the overhead bin. Kathryn was lifting its handle when her BlackBerry jangled. Christopher’s number was on the screen, but it was Molly’s voice that came on saying, ‘It’s me, Mom. Where are you?’

‘We just landed. Molly, why couldn’t you help Robin? This was an important run. And did you lose your phone again?’

‘No. I’m with Chris at Dickenson-May. Robin had an accident.’

Kathryn’s smile died. ‘What kind of accident?’

‘Oh, you know, running. Since you weren’t around they called us, but she probably wants you here. Can you come by on your way home?’

‘What kind of accident?’ Kathryn repeated. She heard forced nonchalance. She didn’t like that, or the fact that Chris was at the hospital, too. Chris usually left crises to others.

‘She fell. I can’t stay on now, Mom. Come straight here. We’re in the ER.’

‘What did she hurt?’

‘Can’t talk now. See you soon.’

The line went dead. Kathryn looked worriedly at Charlie. ‘Robin had an accident. Molly wouldn’t say what it was.’ Frightened, she handed him the BlackBerry. ‘You try her.’

He handed the phone back. ‘You’ll get more from her than I will.’

‘Then call Chris,’ she begged, offering the BlackBerry again.

But the line of passengers started to move, and Charlie gestured her on. She waited only until they were side by side inside the gate before saying, ‘Why was Chris there? Robin never calls him when there’s a problem. Try him, Charlie. Please?’

Charlie held up a hand, buying time until they reached the car. The BlackBerry didn’t ring again, and Kathryn told herself that was a good sign, but she couldn’t relax. She was uneasy through the entire drive, imagining awful things. The instant they parked at the hospital, she was out of the car. Molly was waiting just inside the ER.

‘That was a cruel phone call,’ Kathryn scolded. ‘What happened?’

‘She collapsed on the road,’ Molly said, taking her hand.

‘Collapsed? From heat? Dehydration?’

Molly didn’t answer, just hurried her down the hall. Kathryn’s fear grew with each step. Other runners collapsed, but not Robin. Physical stamina was in her genes.

She caught her breath at the cubicle door. Chris was there, too. But that couldn’t be Robin, lying senseless and limp, hooked to machines–machines that were keeping her alive, the doctor said after explaining what had happened.

Kathryn was beside herself. The explanations made no sense. Nor did the X-rays. Her daughter’s hand, which she clutched, was inert as only a sleeping person’s hand would be.

But she didn’t wake up when the doctor called her name or pinched her ear, and even Kathryn could see that her pupils didn’t dilate in response to light. Kathryn figured the person doing the prodding wasn’t doing it right, but she had no better luck when she tried it all herself–not when she pleaded with Robin to open her eyes, not when she begged her to squeeze her hand.

The doctor kept talking. Kathryn no longer took in each word, but the gist got through with devastating effect. She didn’t realize she was crying until Charlie handed her a tissue.

When Robin’s face blurred, she saw her own–the same dark hair, same brown eyes, same intensity. Two peas in a pod, they had neither the fair features, nor the laid-back approach to life of the others in the family.

Kathryn refocused. Charlie seemed desolate, Chris stupefied, and Molly was stuck to the wall. Silence from all three? Was that it? If no one else questioned the status quo, it was up to her–but hadn’t it always been that way when it came to Robin?

Defiant, she faced the doctor. ‘Brain damage isn’t an option. You don’t know my daughter. She’s resilient. She comes back from injuries. If this is a coma, she’ll wake up. She’s been a fighter since birth–since conception.’ She held Robin’s hand tightly. They were in this together. ‘What comes next?’

‘Once she’s stabilized, we move her upstairs.’

‘What’s her condition now? Wouldn’t you call it stable?’

‘I’d call it critical.’

Kathryn couldn’t handle that word. ‘What’s in her IV?’

‘Fluids, plus meds to stabilize her blood pressure and regulate the rhythm of her heart. It was erratic when she first arrived.’

‘Maybe she needs a pacemaker.’

‘Right now, the meds are working, and besides, she wouldn’t be able to handle surgery.’

‘If the choice is between surgery and death-’

‘It isn’t. No one’s letting her die, Mrs Snow. We can keep her going.’

‘But why do you say her brain is damaged?’ Kathryn challenged. ‘Only because she doesn’t respond? If she’s been traumatized by a heart attack, wouldn’t that explain the lack of response? How do you test for brain damage?’

‘We’ll do an MRI in the morning. Right now, we don’t want to move her.’

‘If there’s damage, can it be repaired?’

‘No. We can only prevent further loss.’

Feeling thwarted, Kathryn turned on her husband. ‘Is this all they can do? We can live with a heart condition, but not brain damage. I want a second opinion. And where are the specialists? This is only the ER, for God’s sake. These doctors may be trained to handle trauma, but if Robin has been here for three hours and hasn’t been seen by a cardiologist, we need to have her moved.’

She saw Molly shoot a troubled look at Charlie, but Charlie didn’t say anything, and Lord knew Chris wouldn’t. Frightened and alone, Kathryn turned back to the doctor. ‘I can’t sit and wait. I want to be proactive.’

‘Sometimes that isn’t possible,’ he replied. ‘What’s crucial right now is getting her up to the ICU. The doctor there will call in specialists. This is all standard protocol.’

‘Standard protocol isn’t good enough,’ Kathryn insisted, desperate that he understand. ‘There is nothing standard about Robin. Do you know what she does with her life?’

The eyes behind the glasses didn’t blink. ‘Yes, I do. It’s hard not to know when you live around here. Her name is in the local papers so often.’

‘Not only the local papers. That’s why she has to recover from this. She works all over the country with budding track stars. We’re talking teenage girls. They can’t see this. They can’t begin to think that the reward for training hard and aiming high is…is this. Okay, you may not have had a case like this before, but if that’s so, just say it and we’ll have her transferred.’

She searched family faces for agreement, but Charlie seemed stricken, Chris was frozen, and Molly simply looked pleadingly from her father to her brother and back.

Useless. All three.

So Kathryn told the doctor, ‘This isn’t a personal indictment. I’m just wondering whether doctors in Boston or New York would have more experience with injuries like these.’

Molly touched her elbow then. Kathryn looked at her youngest in time to hear her murmur, ‘She needs to be in intensive care.’

‘Correct. I just don’t know where.’

‘Here. Let her stay here. She’s alive, Mom. They got her heart going, and it’s still beating. They’re doing all they can.’

Kathryn arched a brow. ‘Do you know that for fact? Where were you, Molly? If you’d been with her, this wouldn’t have happened.’

Molly paled, but she didn’t retreat. ‘I couldn’t have prevented a heart attack.’

‘You could have gotten her help sooner. You have issues, Molly. You’ve always had issues with Robin.’

‘But look,’ the girl urged, glancing at the medical personnel hovering at the door. ‘They’re waiting to take her upstairs, and we’re slowing them down. Once she’s there, we can talk about specialists, even about moving her; but right now, shouldn’t we be giving her every possible chance?’

Molly followed the others to the ICU and watched the team get Robin settled. At one point she counted five doctors and three nurses in the room, as frightening as it was reassuring. Monitors were adjusted and vital signs checked, while the respirator breathed in and out. Every minute or two someone spoke loudly to Robin, but she didn’t respond.

Kathryn left the bedside only when a doctor or nurse needed access. The rest of the time, she held Robin’s hand, stroked her face, urged her to blink or moan.

As Molly watched from the wall, she was haunted by the knowledge that her mother was right. If Robin had started breathing sooner, there would be no brain damage. If Molly had been with her, Robin would have started breathing sooner.

But she wasn’t the only one who had let Robin down. She couldn’t blame her mother for being frantic back in the ER, but where was her father? He was supposed to be the calm one. What had he been thinking letting Kathryn go on like that? Even Chris could have spoken up.

They didn’t have the guts, Molly decided, and then modified the thought. They knew better.

You have issues. You’ve always had issues with Robin. She knew her mother was upset, but Molly was feeling guilty enough to be flayed by the words. As the minutes passed and the machines beeped, she remembered occasionally deleting a phone message, buying the wrong energy bar, misplacing a favorite running hat. Each offense could be balanced with something good Molly had done, but the good was lost in the guilt.

Chris left at midnight, her father at one. Charlie had tried to get Kathryn to leave with him, to no avail. Molly suspected that her mother feared something awful would happen if she wasn’t there to stand guard. Kathryn had always been protective of Robin.

Hoping her own presence might go a little way toward making up to Kathryn for what she had not done earlier that day, Molly stayed longer. By two, though, she was falling asleep in her chair. ‘Are you sure I can’t drive you home?’ she asked her mother.

Kathryn barely looked up. ‘I can’t leave,’ she said and added, ‘Why weren’t you with her, Molly?’ with a speed suggesting she was brooding about just that.

‘I was at Snow Hill,’ Molly tried to explain. ‘The management meeting, remember? I didn’t know how long it would run. How could I commit to Robin?’ There was also the issue of the cat. But putting a cat before her sister was pathetic.

Kathryn didn’t ask how long the meeting had run. She didn’t even ask how it had gone. If she was brooding, it was about Molly’s negligence toward Robin, not about Snow Hill.

And Molly was guilty. That thought beat her down, before she finally broke the silence by asking, ‘Can I get you something, Mom? Coffee, maybe?’

‘No. But you can cover for me at work.’

Startled, Molly blew out a little breath. ‘I can’t go to work with Robin like this.’

‘You have to. I need you there.’

‘Can’t I do something here?’

‘There’s nothing to do here. There’s plenty to do at Snow Hill.’

‘What about Dad? Or Chris?’

‘No. You.’

She doesn’t want me around, Molly realized, her feeling of devastation growing. But she was too tired to beg for mercy, too wiped out even for tears. After asking Kathryn to call her if there was any change, she slipped out the door.

3

Molly’s cottage faced south, bringing year-round sun to the loft, while the forest behind the backyard shaded the bedrooms and scented the air with pine. Molly had learned of it by accident when its owner, who was leaving New Hampshire for Florida, came to the nursery looking for a home for dozens of plants. Now the owner wanted to renovate and sell, so Molly and Robin were being kicked out.

Molly thought the vintage kitchen was just fine. She loved the weathered feel of the wide-planked floors and casement windows. Although Robin complained that the place was drafty and the rooms dark, she didn’t really care where she lived. She was gone half the time–to Denver, Atlanta, London, L.A. If she wasn’t running a marathon, half marathon, or 10 K, she was leading a clinic or appearing at a charity event. Most of the boxes in the living room were Molly’s. Her sister didn’t have many things to pack.

Robin was happy to move. Molly was not, but she would go along, just to have Robin be her old self again.

Waiting for her mother’s call, Molly slept with the phone in her hand, far from soundly. She kept jolting awake with the hollow feeling of knowing something was wrong and not remembering what it was. Too soon she’d recall, then lie awake, frightened. Without Robin getting up to ice one body part or another, the house was eerily quiet.

At six a.m., needing companionship, Molly looked for the cat. It had eaten and used the litter. But the creature was nowhere to be found, though Molly searched even harder than she had the night before. She had been wasting time then, wanting Robin to wait for her for a change. How petty that had been. Brain damage was light years worse than a torn-up ankle or knee.

Of course, Robin may have woken up by now. But who to call? Molly couldn’t risk dialing her mother, didn’t want to waken her father, and Chris was no use. The station at the ICU would give only an official status report. Critical condition? She didn’t want to hear that.

So she watered and pruned the philodendron in the loft, picked hopeless leaves off an ill ficus, misted a recovering fern–all the while whispering sweet nothings to the plant until she ran out of sweet nothings to say, at which point she put on jeans and drove to the hospital. Preoccupied, she went straight to intensive care, hoping against hope that Robin’s eyes would be open. When they weren’t, her heart sank. The respirator was soughing, the machines blinking. Little had changed since she’d left the night before.

Kathryn was asleep in a chair by the bed, her head touching Robin’s hand. She stirred at Molly’s approach and, groggy, looked at her watch. Tiredly, she said, ‘I thought you’d be at the nursery by now.’

Molly’s eyes were on her sister. ‘How is she?’

‘The same.’

‘Has she woken up at all?’

‘No, but I’ve been talking to her,’ Kathryn said. ‘I know she hears. She isn’t moving, because she’s still traumatized. But we’re working on that, aren’t we, Robin?’ She stroked Robin’s face with the back of her hand. ‘We just need a little more time.’

Molly remembered what the doctor had said about the lack of response. It wasn’t a good sign. ‘Have they done the MRI?’

‘No. The neurologist won’t be here for another hour.’

Grateful that her mother wasn’t yelling about the wait, Molly gripped the handrail. Wake up, Robin, she urged and searched for movement under Robin’s eyelids. Dreaming would be a good sign.

But her lids remained smooth. Either she was deeply asleep or truly comatose. Come on, Robin, she cried with greater force.

‘Her run was going well until she fell,’ Kathryn remarked and brought Robin’s hand to her chin. ‘You’ll get back there, sweetie.’ She caught a quick breath.

Thinking she had seen something, Molly looked closer.

But Kathryn’s tone was light. ‘Uh-oh, Robin. I almost forgot. You’re supposed to meet with the Concord girls this afternoon. We’ll have to postpone.’ As she glanced up, she tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Molly, will you make that call? She’s also scheduled to talk with a group of sixth graders on Friday in Hanover. Tell them she’s sick.’

‘Sick’ was a serious understatement, Molly knew. And how not to be sick in this place–with lights blinking, machines beeping, and the rhythmic hiss of the respirator as a steady reminder that the patient couldn’t breathe on her own? Between phones and alarms, it was even worse out in the hall.

Molly had had a break from it, but Kathryn had not. ‘You look exhausted, Mom. You need sleep.’

‘I’ll get it.’

‘When?’ she asked, but Kathryn didn’t answer. ‘How about breakfast?’

‘One of the nurses brought me juice. She said that the most important thing now is to talk.’

‘I can talk,’ Molly offered, desperate to help. ‘Why don’t you take my car and go home and change? Robin and I have lots to discuss. I need to know what to do with the boxes of sneakers in her closet.’

Kathryn shot her a look. ‘Don’t touch them.’

‘Do you know how old some of them are?’

‘Molly…’

Molly ignored the warning. There was normalcy in arguing. ‘We have to be out in a week, Mom. The sneakers can’t stay where they are.’

‘Then pack them up and bring them home with the rest of your things. When you find another place, we’ll move them there. And then, of course, there’s the issue of her car, which is parked on the side of the road somewhere between here and Norwich. I’ll send Chris to get that. I still can’t believe you didn’t drive her there.’

Molly couldn’t either, but that was hindsight. Right now, Robin made absolutely no show of hearing the conversation. And suddenly, for Molly to pretend that any part of this was normal didn’t work. To be talking about old sneakers, when the runner was on life support?

Heart in her throat, she searched Robin’s face. As a child, Molly had often waited for her sister to wake up, eyes glued to her face, hopes rising and falling on each breath. Molly would be grateful for any movement now.

‘If you need help packing,’ Kathryn offered, ‘ask Joaquin. Check his schedule when you get to Snow Hill.’

‘I really want to stay here,’ Molly said.

‘This isn’t about what you want, Molly. It’s about what’ll help most. Someone has to be at Snow Hill.’

‘Chris will be there.’

‘Chris can’t communicate with people. You can.’

Molly felt tears spring up. ‘I’m a plant person, Mom. I communicate with plants. And this is my sister lying here. How can I work?’

‘Robin would want you to work.’

Robin would? Molly fought hysteria. Robin had never worked a forty-hour week in her life. She ran, she coached, she waved, she smiled–all in her own time. She had an office at the nursery and, nominally, was in charge of special events, but her active involvement was minimal. On the day of those events, she was away more often than not. She was an athlete, not a wreath-maker or a bonsai specialist, as she had told Molly more than once.

But to repeat that to Kathryn now would be just as cruel as asking aloud what would happen if Robin never woke up.

Snow Hill had been family-owned since its inception over thirty years before. Spread over forty acres of prime land on New Hampshire’s border with Vermont, it was renowned for trees, shrubs, and garden supplies. But its crown jewel–with solar panels that stored summer heat for winter use, a mechanism for recycling rainwater, and computer-regulated humidity control–was a state-of-the-art greenhouse. That was Molly’s domain.

Even after stopping to see Robin, she was the first to arrive at Snow Hill. The greenhouse had been Molly’s childhood haven in times of stress, and though she no longer scrunched into corners or hid under benches, she found the surroundings therapeutic when she was upset. For all its technological advancement, it was still a greenhouse.

The cats greeted her with rubs and meows. Counting six, she scratched heads and bellies, then she uncoiled hoses and began watering plants. While the cats scampered, she moved from section to section, watering heavily here, lightly there. Some plants craved daily drink, others preferred to dry out. Molly catered to each.

A bench of overturned potted plants suggested that rabbits had visited during the night, likely chased off by the cats, who were effective guards, though not known for neatness. Setting the hose aside, Molly righted the plants, retamped soil, removed bruised leaves, then swept up. After spraying the last of the dirt down the drain, she resumed watering.

The sun wasn’t high yet, but the greenhouse was bright. This early hour, before the heat rose, was definitely the time to water. And Molly enjoyed it as much as her plants did. When the spray glistened in oblique rays of sun and the soil grew moist and fragrant, the greenhouse was peaceful. It was predictable.

She needed that today. Pushing Robin from her mind didn’t work for more than a minute or two at a time. It took constant effort.

Recoiling the hose and putting it where no customer could possibly trip, she wandered the aisles. She checked a new shipment of chrysanthemums for aphids, and carefully cut brown tips from several Boston ferns. Wandering deeper among the shade benches, she spoke softly to peperomias, syngoniums, and spathiphyllum. They weren’t showy plants, certainly nothing like bromeliads, but they were steadfast and undemanding. Carefully, she checked them for moisture. The shade cloth, regulated by a computer program, would rise later to protect them from the bright light they hated, but the worst of summer’s intensity was over.