“Euthanasia is a prettier word than manslaughter.”
Some of the steam went out of her at the soft sadness in his voice. She’d learned about that kind of sorrow in the past month. “Look, Joe. In an ordinary world, I’d talk to you about what you did. I might even take you in my arms and tell you that I understand, that anyone with a drop of compassion in their soul would have done the same thing. That’s what your acquittal meant. I might even ask you about the road you’ve been on, the journey that led one of the country’s best radiologists to this place. But it’s not an ordinary world for me right now. My sister is dying.” She tripped over the word, felt the sting of tears. She tossed the oversize manila envelope on the coffee table in front of him. “These are her MRI films. Maybe you can help her.”
“I let my license lapse. I can’t practice medicine anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry? You have the power to save people’s lives and you hide out in this dump of a cabin drinking cheap scotch and feeling sorry for yourself? You selfish son of a bitch.” She stared down at him, wanting to hate him, hurt him, but she couldn’t imagine how to do either one. “I cared about you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I’ll send you an invitation to the funeral.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.
“Take this with you.”
She stopped, gave him one last withering look. “No, Joe. You’ll have to touch them. Throw them in the trash yourself. Try looking in the mirror after that.”
Then she left. She made it all the way to her car before she started to cry.
Outside the trailer, Meg sat in her car, trying to compose herself. Every time she opened her compact to fix her makeup, she looked at her watery eyes and it made her cry all over again.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, but at some point it started to rain. Drops thumped on the convertible’s soft top and tapped on the windshield.
Finally, she got out of the car and walked up to the trailer.
Sam opened the door before she even knocked. He stood there, frowning, his eyes already watery. “I wondered how long you were going to sit out there.”
“I thought you didn’t know I was here.”
He tried to smile. “You always did think you were smarter than me.”
“Not just you, Sam. I think I’m smarter than everyone.” She wanted to smile but couldn’t.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad.” When she said it, the tears came back. She wiped them away.
“Come here,” Sam said gently, opening his arms.
Meg hesitated.
“Come on.”
She surged forward, let him hold her. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. Then he was crying, too.
When they finally drew back, they stared at each other. Meg had no idea what to say.
Suddenly there were footsteps in the hallway. Ali came running out, dressed in pink footed pajamas, carrying her Groovy Girl. She looked up at Meg. “Do we get to go see Mommy now? Is she all better?”
Meg knelt down and pulled her niece into her arms, holding her tightly. “Yeah,” she said in a throaty voice. “You get to see Mommy tomorrow.”
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.”