Between Sisters

“He didn’t hesitate for a second, Claire. Not a second. He said—and I quote—‘Fuck the song. I’ll be there tomorrow. ’?”

“This is th

e second time you’ve called a man to come save me. ”

“You’re lucky to be so loved. ”

Claire’s gaze was steady. “Yeah,” she said, smiling at her sister. “I am. ”

TWENTY-SEVEN

JOE WAS SITTING ON THE SOFA, STARING AT THE SMALL black-and-white television screen.

He was so caught up in the show, it was a moment before he noticed the footsteps outside.

He tensed, sat up.

A key rattled in the lock, then the door swung open. Gina stood in the opening, her fists on her hips. “Hey, big brother. Nice way you have of calling people. ”

He sighed. “Smitty gave you a key. ”

“We were worried about you. ”

“I’ve been busy. ”

She looked at the stack of beer cans and pizza boxes and smiled grimly. “Come on. You’re coming home with me. I have a roast in the oven and I rented Ruthless People. We are going to drink wine and laugh. ” Her voice softened. “I could use a laugh. ”

Something about the way she said it shamed him. He’d forgotten about her troubles. He’d been too busy swimming in the pool of his own. “Are you okay?”

“Come on,” she said, avoiding the question. “Smitty told me to drag your sorry ass out of here—his words. I intend to do just that. ”

He knew there was no point in fighting with her—she had that look on her face—and, truthfully, he didn’t want to. He was tired of being alone. “Okay. ”

He followed her out to her car; within minutes, they were in her bright, airy kitchen.

She handed him a glass of Merlot.

While she basted the roast and turned the potatoes, Joe wandered around the great room. In the corner, he found a sewing machine set up. A pile of bold, beautiful fabric lay heaped beside it. He picked up the garment she’d made, ready to compliment her, when he saw what it was. There was no mistaking the slit back.

“It’s a hospital gown,” Gina said, coming up behind him. “I should have put that stuff away. I forgot. I’m sorry. ”

He remembered the day Gina had come to his house, bearing pretty designer hospital gowns just like this one.

You shouldn’t have to look like everyone else, she’d said to Diana, who’d wept at the gift.

Those gowns had meant so much to Diana. It didn’t seem like a big deal—just a change of fabric—but it had brought back her smile. “Who are they for?”

“Claire. She’s undergoing radiation right now. ”

“Claire,” he said her name softly, feeling sick. Life was so damn unfair sometimes. “She just got married. ”

“I didn’t tell you because . . . well . . . I knew it would bring up memories. ”

“Where’s she getting the radiation?”

“Swedish. ”

“That’s the best place for her. Good. ” Radiation. He remembered all of it—the sunburned-looking skin, the puffiness, the way Diana’s hair started to fall out. In strands at first, then in handfuls.