Between Sisters

“Who is this?” It was Meghann’s voice but she sounded shrill and desperate. She was holding a framed photograph she’d taken off the wall.

Dr. Sussman frowned. “That’s a group of us from medical school. ” He turned back to Claire.

Meghann slammed the photograph on the desk so hard the glass cracked. She pointed at someone in the picture. “Who’s that guy?”

Dr. Sussman leaned forward. “Joe Wyatt. ”

“He’s a doctor?”

Claire looked at her sister. “You know Joe?”

“You know Joe?” Meghann said sharply.

“He’s a radiologist, actually. ” It was Dr. McGrail who answered. “One of the best in the country. At least he was. He was a legend with MRIs. He saw things—possibilities—no one else did. ”

Claire frowned. “Meghann, let go of it. We’re long past the need for a radiologist. And believe me, Joe wouldn’t be the one to ask for help. What I needed was a miracle. ”

Meghann looked steadily at Dr. McGrail. She wasn’t even listening to Claire. “What do you mean he was the best?”

“He quit. Disappeared, in fact. ”

“Why?”

“He killed his wife. ”

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE RIDE HOME SEEMED TO LAST FOREVER. NO ONE SPOKE. When they got back to the condo, Bobby held Claire so tightly she couldn’t breathe, then stumbled back from her. “I need to take a shower,” he said in a broken voice.

She let him go, knowing what he needed. She’d cried a few tears of her own in Meghann’s expensive glass-block shower.

She went to the sofa, collapsed on it. She was tired and dizzy. There was a ringing in her ears and a tingling in her right hand, but she couldn’t admit any of that to Meghann, who had that bulldog don’t-quit look in her eyes.

Meg sat down on the coffee table, angled toward her. “There are all kinds of clinical trials going on. There’s that doctor in Houston—”

“The one the government tried to prosecute?”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a fraud. His patients—”

Claire held up a hand for silence. “Can we be real for just a minute?”

Meghann looked so stricken that Claire had to laugh.

“What?” Meg demanded.

“When I was little, I used to dream about getting some rare illness that would bring you and Mama to my bedside. I imagined you crying over my death. ”

“Please, don’t . . . ”

Claire stared at her sister, so pale now, and shaky. “I don’t want you to cry over it. ”

Meg stood up so abruptly she banged her shin on the coffee table and swore harshly. “I . . . can’t talk about you dying. I can’t. ” She couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

“But I need you to,” Claire said to the empty room. A headache started behind her eyes again. It had been lurking nearby all day.

She started to lean back into the sofa when the pain hit. She gasped at it, tried to cry out. Her head felt as if it were exploding.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream her sister’s name.