Between Sisters

He laughed at that. “Yes. ”

“I’ll take the chance. ”

“Then I will, too. I’ll be there tonight. I’ve scheduled the surgery for eight A. M. tomorrow. ” His voice softened. “I don’t mean to be negative, Claire. But you should put your affairs in order today. If you know what I mean. ”

“I know what you mean. Thank you, Dr. Weissman. ”

All that day, Claire said good-bye to her friends. She did it one at a time, feeling that each of them deserved that kind of attention.

To Karen, she joked about the gray hairs Willie was sure to cause her in the upcoming years and begged her friend to make this third marriage work. To Charlotte, she said, Don’t give up on babies; they’re the mark we leave in this world. If you can’t have one of your

own, find one to adopt and love her with all you’ve got. Gina was more difficult. For almost an hour they were together, Claire dozing off every now and then, Gina standing by the bedside, trying not to cry.

Take care of my family, Claire said at last, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Take care of them yourself, Gina had responded, her voice spiking for humor that it couldn’t reach. Then, softly, she said, You know I will.

They were awkward, painful partings, full of things unsaid and boundaries upheld. They all pretended Claire would still be here tomorrow night, laughing and screwing up as she always had. She left her friends with that faith, and though she wanted to own it for herself, hope felt like a borrowed sweater that didn’t quite fit.

She was bone tired, but most of all, she was afraid. Dr. Weissman had been guarded in his optimism and blunt in his assessment of the risk. A bad outlook all the way around, he’d said. The worst part of her fear was how alone it made her feel. There was no one she could tell.

Time and again throughout the long, drawn-out day, she found herself wishing that she’d died already, simply floated from this world unexpectedly. There was no way to be stealthy now, not with all her loved ones in the waiting room, praying for her, and the thought of the good-byes she still had left was devastating. Bobby and Sam would hold her and cry; she’d have to be ready for that. Meg would get angry and loud.

And then there was Ali. How could Claire possibly get through that?

The hospital had a small nondenominational chapel on the second floor.

Meghann stood outside it, paused in the open doorway. It had been years since she’d gone to a church in search of comfort; decades, in fact.

Slowly, she went inside, let the door ease shut behind her. Her footsteps were hushed and even on the mustard-colored carpet. She slid into the middle pew and knelt on the floor. There was no cushion for her knees, but she knelt anyway. It seemed right to be on her knees when she asked for a miracle.

She clasped her hands together and bowed her head. “I’m Meghann Dontess,” she said by way of introduction. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten me. I haven’t talked to you since . . . oh . . . the ninth grade, I think. That’s when I prayed for enough money to get Claire ballet lessons. Then Mama got fired again and we moved on. I . . . stopped believing you could help. ” She thought of Claire upstairs, so pale and tired-looking in that hospital bed, and of the risks the surgery entailed. “She’s one of the good ones, God. Please. Protect her. Don’t let Ali grow up without her mom. ”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slid down her cheeks and plopped on her hands. She wanted to say more, maybe find a way to bargain, but she had nothing to offer beyond desperation.

Behind her, the door opened, closed. Someone walked down the aisle.

Meghann wiped her eyes and eased back onto the pew.

“Meg?”

She looked up, surprised. Sam stood beside her, his big body hunched in defeat, his eyes a watery red. “She’s saying good-bye to her girlfriends. ”

“I know. ”

“I can’t stand watching each one come out of her room. The minute they close the door, their smiles fade and the crying starts. ”

Meghann had run from the same thing. “She’s lucky to have so many friends. ”

“Yeah. Can I join you?”

She sidled to the right, making room. He sat down beside her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but they didn’t touch, didn’t speak.

Finally Sam said, “I was thirty years old when you called me. ”

She frowned. “Oh. ” What did he want her to say?

“I had no brothers and sisters and no other children. ”