Between Sisters

“Have you ever seen me rest?”

“No. That makes my point, not yours, counselor. Where are you going to go?”

“Bangladesh, maybe. I hear the hotels are dirt cheap. ”

“Funny. Why don’t you use my condo in Hawaii? A week by the pool is just what the doctor ordered. ”

“No, thanks. I can’t drink anything that comes with an umbrella. I think I’ll just watch Court TV or CNN. Listen for my voice on Larry King Live. ”

“I won’t change my mind, no matter how pathetic you seem. Now, go. Your vacation time can’t start if you don’t leave. ”

“The O’Connor case—”

/>

“Continuance. ”

“Jill Summerville—”

“Settlement conference on Friday. I’m handling it personally, and I’ll conduct the Lange deposition next Wednesday. Everything is handled, Meg. Go. ”

“Where?” she asked quietly, hating the neediness in her voice.

Julie moved toward her, touched her shoulder. “You’re forty-two years old, Meg. If you don’t have anywhere to go and no one to visit, it’s about time you reassessed. This is a job. A damn good one, to be sure, but just a job. You’ve made it your life—I let you, I’ll admit it—but it’s time to make some changes. Go find something. ”

Meghann pulled Julie into her arms, gave her a fierce hug. Then, feeling awkward with the uncharacteristic display of emotion, she stumbled backward, turned around, and strode out of the office.

Outside, night was closing in, drawing the warmth from a surprisingly hot day. As she neared the Public Market, the crowds increased. Tourists stood in front of flower shops and outside bakery windows. She cut through Post Alley toward her building. It wasn’t a route she often chose, but she didn’t want to walk past the Athenian. Not now, when she felt vulnerable. This was the kind of night where it would be easy to slip from grace and, honestly, she was tired of the fall. It hurt too much to land.

In the lobby of her building, she waved at the doorman and went up to her condo.

She’d forgotten to leave the radio playing. The place was jarringly silent.

She tossed her keys on the entryway table. They clanged into a floral-carved Lalique bowl.

Her place was beautiful and neat, with not so much as a paper clip out of place. The cleaning lady had been here today and carefully removed all evidence of Meghann’s natural disorder. Without the books and folders and papers piled everywhere, it had the look of an expensive hotel room. The kind of place people visited, not where they lived. A pair of blue-black brocade sofas faced each other, with an elegant black coffee table in between. The west-facing walls were solid glass. The view was a blue wash of sky and Sound.

Meghann opened the antique black-and-gold lacquered armoire in the television room and grabbed the remote. As sound blared to life, she slumped into her favorite suede chair and planted her feet on the ottoman.

It took less than five seconds to recognize the theme music.

“Oh, shit. ”

It was a rerun of her mother’s old television show—Starbase IV. She recognized the episode. It was called “Topsy-Turvy”; in it, the crew of the floating biodome was accidentally transformed into bugs. Mosquito-men took control of the laboratories.

Mama hurried on-screen wearing that ridiculous lime-green stretch suit with black thigh-high boots. She looked alive and vibrant. Beautiful. Even Meg had trouble looking away.

“Captain Wad,” Mama said, her overly plucked eyebrows frowning just enough to convey emotion but not enough to create wrinkles. “We’ve received an emergency message from the boys in the dehydratin’ pod. They said somethin’ about mosquitos. ”

Dehydratin’.

As if a microbotanist on a Martian space station had to be from Alabama. Meg hated the fake accent. And Mama had used it ever since. Said her fans expected it of her. Sadly, they probably did.

“Don’t think about it,” Meghann said aloud.

But, of course, it was impossible. Turning away from the past was something Meg could do when she was strong. When she was weak, the memories took over. She closed her eyes and remembered. A lifetime ago. They’d been living in Bakersfield then. . . .

“Hey, girls, Mama’s home. ”