Meghann tossed and turned all night, finally falling into a troubled sleep around dawn. When she woke up again, bleary-eyed and exhausted, she was surprised to see that it was 9:30. A quick check of the condo told her that Sam and Ali had already gone to the hospital. Bobby hadn’t come home last night. She forced herself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. By the time she got to the hospital and parked, it was 10:00.
The waiting room was already full.
Gina sat in a chair by the windows, knitting a delicate pink blanket. Beside her, Karen and Charlotte were playing cribbage. Bobby stood at the window, staring out. At Meghann’s entrance, he looked up. She could tell by his eyes that Claire had had a bad night. Ali sat at his feet, coloring.
“Aunt Meg,” the little girl cried out, scampering to her feet.
Meghann scooped her niece into her arms and hugged her.
“Grandpa’s in with Mommy. Can I go now? Can I?”
Meg looked at Bobby, who sighed and shrugged, as if to say, I can’t take her.
“Sure,” Meg said. Slowly, dreading every step, she carried Ali down the long hallway.
At the closed door, she paused, pulled up a bright smile, and went inside.
Sam stood by Claire’s bedside. He was crying and holding her hand.
Ali wiggled out of Meg’s arms and slid to the floor. She immediately went to her grandfather, who picked her up. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Do you have something in your eye? One time Sammy Chan got poked in the eye and then Eliot Zane called him a crybaby. ”
Meghann and Claire exchanged a look.
“Leave my baby with me,” Claire said, opening her arms. Ali didn’t notice the way her mother winced at every movement, every touch.
Sam wiped his eyes and managed a smile. “I better go call that plumber. The pool filter sounds bad. ”
Ali nodded. “Like shit. ”
Claire smiled. Tears glittered in her eyes. “Alison Katherine, I’ve told you not to copy Grandpa’s bad language. ”
“Oops. ” Ali grinned.
Sam and Meg looked at each other, and a question hung between them, clear as a sunny day. Who will tell Ali things like that . . . ?
Meg backed out of the room, left the three of them alone. She went back to the waiting room and thumbed through a magazine.
An hour or so later, a commotion in the hall got her attention. She looked up.
Mama had arrived. Sheathed in elegant, flowing black, she marched forward carrying a tiny dog in a beaded carrier and leading the way. Behind her was a cluster of people; one of them was snapping photographs.
Mama came to the waiting room and looked around. When she saw Meghann, she burst into tears. “How is our girl?” She pulled a silk handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
A photographer flashed a photo.
Mama offered a brave smile. “This is m’other daughter, Meghann Dontess. D-O-N-T-E-S-S. She’s twenty-nine years old. ”
Meghann counted silently to ten. Then, in a steady voice, she said, “Dogs aren’t allowed in the hospital. ”
“I know. I had to sneak him in. You know, Elvis, he—”
“Elvis is going to be as dead as his namesake in about ten seconds. ” At Mama’s affronted gasp, Meghann looked at the man standing slightly apart from the crowd. Dressed in black, neckless, he looked like a WWF combatant. “You. Mr. Bodyguard. Take the dog to the car. ”
“The hotel,” Mama said with a dramatic, suffering sigh. “The suite has plenty of room. ”
“Yes, ma’am. ” Neckless took the dog carrier and walked away.
That left just Mama, the photographer, and a thin, mouse-faced man with a tape recorder. The reporter.