Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [125]
She went up to the desk again. “It's been more than an hour. Are you sure everything is okay with my sister? Claire—”
“Austin, I know. I spoke with radiology five minutes ago. She's almost finished.”
Meghann refrained from pointing out that she'd received the same answer fifteen minutes earlier. Instead, she sighed heavily and went back to her seat. The only magazine left to read was Field & Stream. She ignored it.
Finally, Claire came out.
Meghann rose slowly. On the right side of her sister's head was a small area that had been shaved. “How was it?”
Claire touched her bald spot, feeling it. “They tattooed me. I feel like Damien—that kid from The Omen.”
Meg looked at the tiny black dots on the pale, shaved shin. “I could fix your hair so you couldn't even see the . . . you know.”
“Bald spot? That would be great.”
They looked at each other for a minute or so. “Well, let's go, then,” Meghann finally said.
They walked through the hospital and out to the parking garage.
On the short drive home, Meghann kept trying to think of what to say. She had to be careful from now on, had to say the right thing. Whatever that was.
“It didn't hurt,” Claire said.
“Really? That's good.”
“It was hard to keep still, though.”
“Oh . . . yeah. It would be.”
“I closed my eyes and imagined the rays were sunlight. Healing me. Like that article you gave me.”
Meg had given her sister a stack of literature on positive thinking and visualization. She hadn't known if Claire had read them until just now. “I'm glad it helped. The lady at Fred Hutch is supposed to be sending me another box of stuff.”
Claire leaned back in her seat and looked out the window.
From this side, she looked perfectly normal. Meghann wished she could say something that mattered; so much was unsaid between them.
With a sigh, she pulled into the underground lot and parked in her space.
Still silent, they went upstairs. In the condo, Meghann turned to Claire. She stared at the bald spot for a second too long. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No.” Claire touched her briefly, her fingers were icy cold. “Thanks for coming with me today. It helped not to be alone.”
Their gazes met. Once again, Meghann felt the weight of their distance.
“I think I'll lie down. I didn't sleep well last night.”
So they'd both been awake, staring at their separate ceilings from their separate rooms. Meghann wished she'd gone to Claire last night, sat on her bed, and talked about the things that mattered. “Me, either.”
Claire nodded. She waited a second longer, then turned and headed for the bedroom.
Meghann watched the door slowly close between them. She stood there, listening to her sister's shuffling footsteps beyond the door. She wondered if Claire was moving slower in there, if fear clouded her eyes. Or if she was staring at that small, tattooed pink patch of skin in the mirror. Did Claire's brave front crumble in the privacy of that room?
Meg prayed not, as she went to the condo's third bedroom, which was set up as an in-home office. Once, files and briefs and depositions had cluttered the glass desk. Now it was buried beneath medical books, memoirs, JAMA articles, and clinical trials literature. Every day, boxes from Barnes & Noble.com and Amazon arrived.
Meghann sat down at her desk. Her current reading material was a book on coping with cancer. It lay open to a chapter called “Don't Stop Talking Just When You Need to Start.”
She read: This time of tragedy can be one of growth and opportunity, too. Not only for the patient, but for the family as well. It can be a time that draws you and your loved ones closer.
Meghann closed the book and reached for a JAMA article about the potential benefits of tamoxifen to shrink tumors.
She opened a yellow legal pad and began to take notes. She worked furiously, writing, writing. Hours later, when she looked up, Claire was standing in the doorway, smiling at her.