only malnourished; she looked like she had been at the losing end of more than one fight. Her little body was poised, as if she expected another blow.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ Molly whispered assuredly and, giving the cat space, returned to the hall. She trickled water on the philodendron–too much too soon would only drain through–then took it to the loft and set it out of direct light. It, too, needed TLC. But later.
First, a shower. It would have to be a quick one–she could put off the hospital only so long. But the greenhouse was hot in September, and after a major delivery of fall plants, she had spent much of the afternoon breaking down crates, moving pots, reorganizing displays, and sweating.
The shower cleared her mind. Back in her room to dress, though, she couldn’t find the cat. Calling softly, she looked under the bed, in the open closet, behind a stack of boxes. She checked Robin’s room, the small living room, even the basket of gourds–which was one more thing to pack, but it filled an aesthetic need and could easily hide a small cat.
She would have looked further, if her conscience hadn’t begun to nag. Robin was in good hands at the hospital, but with their parents somewhere between Atlanta and Manchester, and with her own name first on that tag, Molly had to make tracks.
Letting her long hair curl as it dried, she put on clean jeans and a t-shirt. Then Molly drove off with the cell in her lap, fully expecting that Robin would call. She would be resilient and sheepish–unless it truly was an Achilles rupture, which would mean surgery and weeks of no running. They were all in trouble if that was the case. An unhappy Robin was a misery, and the timing of this accident couldn’t be worse. Today’s fifteen-miler was a lead-up to the New York Marathon. If she placed among the top ten American women there, she would be guaranteed a spot at the Olympic trials in the spring.
The phone didn’t ring. Molly wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but she didn’t see the point of leaving a message for her mother until she knew more. Kathryn and Robin were joined at the hip. If Robin had an in-grown toenail, Kathryn felt the pain.
It was lovely to be loved that way, Molly groused and, in the next breath, felt remorse. Robin had worked hard to get where she was. And hey, Molly was as proud of her as the rest on race day.
It just seemed like running monopolized all their lives.
Resentment to remorse and back was such a boringly endless cycle that Molly was glad to pull up at the hospital. Dickenson-May sat on a bluff overlooking the Connecticut River just north of town. The setting would have been charming if not for the reasons that brought people here.
Hurrying inside, Molly gave her name to the ER desk attendant and added, ‘My sister is here.’
A nurse approached and gestured her to a cubicle at the end of the hall, where she fully expected to see Robin grinning at her from a gurney. What she saw, though, were doctors and machines, and what she heard wasn’t her sister’s embarrassed, Oh, Molly, I did it again, but the murmur of somber voices and the rhythmic beep of machines. Molly saw bare feet–callused, definitely Robin’s–but nothing else of her sister. For the first time, she felt a qualm.
One of the doctors came over. He was a tall man who wore large, black-framed glasses. ‘Are you her sister?’
‘Yes.’ Through the space he had vacated, she caught a glimpse of Robin’s head–short dark hair messed as usual, but her eyes were closed, and a tube was taped over her mouth. Alarmed, Molly whispered, ‘What happened?’
‘Your sister had a heart attack.’
She recoiled. ‘A what?’
‘She was found unconscious on the road by another runner. He knew enough to start CPR.’
‘Unconscious? But she came to, didn’t she?’ She didn’t have to be unconscious. Her eyes might be closed out of sheer exhaustion. Running fifteen miles could do that.
‘No, she hasn’t come to yet,’ said the doctor. ‘We pulled up hospital records on her, but there’s no mention of a heart problem.’
‘Because there isn’t one,’ Molly said and, slipping past him, went to the bed. ‘Robin?’ When her sister didn’t reply, she eyed the tube. It wasn’t the only worrisome thing.
‘The tube connects to a ventilator,’ the doctor explained. ‘These wires connect to electrodes that measure her heartbeat. The cuff takes her blood pressure. The IV is for fluids and meds.’
So much, so soon? Molly gave Robin’s shoulder a cautious shake. ‘Robin? Can you hear me?’
Robin’s eyelids remained flat. Her skin was colorless.
Molly grew more frightened. ‘Maybe she was hit by a car?’ she asked the doctor, because that made more sense than Robin having a heart attack at the age of thirty-two.
‘There’s no other injury. When we did a chest X-ray to check on the breathing tube, we could see heart damage. Right now, the beat is normal.’
‘But why is she still unconscious? Is she sedated?’
‘No. She hasn’t regained consciousness.’
‘Then you’re not trying hard enough,’ Molly decided and gave her sister’s arm a frantic jiggle. ‘Robin? Wake up!’
A large hand stilled hers. Quietly, the doctor said, ‘We suspect there’s brain damage. She’s unresponsive. Her pupils don’t react to light. She doesn’t respond to voice commands. Tickle her toe, prick her leg–there’s no reaction.’
‘She can’t have brain damage,’ Molly said–perhaps absurdly, but the whole scene was absurd. ‘She’s in training.’ When the doctor didn’t reply, she turned to her sister again. The machines were blinking and beeping with the regularity of, yes, machines, but they were unreal. ‘Heart or brain–which one?’
‘Both. Her heart stopped pumping. We don’t know how long she was lying on the road before she was found. A healthy thirty-something might have ten minutes before the lack of oxygen would cause brain damage. Do you know what time she started her run?’
‘She was planning to start around five, but I don’t know whether she made it by then.’ You should have known, Molly. You would have known if you’d driven her yourself. ‘Where was she found?’
The doctor checked his papers. ‘Just past Norwich. That would put her a little more than five miles from here.’
But coming or going? It made a difference if they were trying to gauge how long she had been unconscious. The location of her car would tell, but Molly didn’t know where it was. ‘Who found her?’
‘I can’t give you his name, but he’s likely the reason she’s alive right now.’
Starting to panic, Molly held her forehead. ‘She could wake up and be fine, right?’
The doctor hesitated seconds too long. ‘She could. The next day or two are crucial. Have you called your parents?’
Her parents. Nightmare. She checked her watch. They wouldn’t have landed yet. ‘My mom will be devastated. Can’t you do something before I call them?’
‘We want her stabilized
