“Oh.” The word was a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m afraid, Harriet,” Meghann finally admitted. “What if … I can’t do it?”
“Do what?”
“Stand by her bed and hold her hand and watch her die? I’m terrified I’ll let her down again.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ah, Meghann. The only person you ever let down is yourself. You’ll be there for Claire. You always have been.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She wished it were. She wanted to be the kind of person who could be depended upon.
“If I were ill, there’s no one I’d rather have in my corner, Meghann. You’re so busy swimming in old sorrows that you haven’t bothered to come up for air. You’ve made up with Claire, whether you two have said the words or not. You’re her sister again. Forgive yourself and go forward.”
Meghann let the advice sink in. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was true. This wasn’t the time for fear and regret; she’d spent too many years on that already. These were days that called for hope and, for once, she was going to be strong enough to believe in a happy ending for Claire. No running away from potential heartache. That was the mistake Meg had made in her marriage. She’d feared a broken heart so keenly that she’d never given the whole of her love to Eric.
“Thanks, Harriet,” she said at last. “I could have bought a Mercedes for what you charged me, but you’ve helped.”
Harriet smiled. It surprised Meg, made her realize that she’d never seen her doctor smile before. “You’re welcome.”
Meghann stood up. “So. I’ll see you next week, same time?”
“Of course.”
She walked out of the office, went down the elevator, and emerged into the July sunlight.
Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, she headed for home.
She was almost there when she happened to look up. Across the street, the small park near the Public Market was a hive of activity. College-age kids playing hacky sack, tourists feeding the dive-bombing seagulls, shoppers taking a rest. She wasn’t sure what had caught her eye and made her look.
Then she saw him, standing at the railing. His back was to her, but she recognized his faded jeans and denim shirt. He was probably the only man in downtown Seattle to wear a cowboy hat on a sunny day.
She crossed the street and walked up to him. “Hey, Bobby.”
He didn’t look at her. “Meg.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“She’s sleeping.” Finally, he turned. His eyes were watery, red. “She threw up for almost an hour. Even when there was nothing left to vomit. Don’t worry, I cleaned it up.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Meg said.
“She looks bad today.”
“Some days are worse than others. I bet Nashville looks pretty good about now,” she said, trying to lighten his mood.
“Is that supposed to be funny? My wife is puking and her hair is falling out. You think I’m worried about my career?”
“I’m sorry.” She touched him. “I’ve always been as sensitive as a serial killer.”
He sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I needed someone to yell at.”
“I’ll always give you a reason, don’t worry.”
He smiled, but it was tired and worn. “I’m just … scared shitless, that’s all. And I don’t want her to know.”
“I know.” Meghann smiled up at him. Her sister was lucky to be loved by such a man. For no apparent reason, that made her think of Joe, of the day she’d found him weeping over his divorce. Joe was the kind of man who knew how to love, too. “You’re a good man, Bobby Jack Tom Dick. I was wrong about you.”
He laughed. “And you’re not half the bitch I thought you were.”
Meghann slipped an arm around him. “I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”
“It was.”
“Good. Now let’s go make Claire smile.”
The days passed slowly; each new morning found Claire a little more tired than the night before. She strove to keep a positive attitude but her health was deteriorating rapidly. She visualized rays of sunlight instead of radiation. She meditated for an hour a day, imagined herself in a beautiful forest or seated beside her beloved river. She ate the macrobiotic diet that Meghann swore would help heal her body.