The greenhouse had been Molly’s childhood haven in times of stress, and though she no longer scrunched into corners or hid under benches, she found the surroundings therapeutic when she was upset. For all its technological advancement, it was still a greenhouse.
The cats greeted her with rubs and meows. Counting six, she scratched heads and bellies, then she uncoiled hoses and began watering plants. While the cats scampered, she moved from section to section, watering heavily here, lightly there. Some plants craved daily drink, others preferred to dry out. Molly catered to each.
A bench of overturned potted plants suggested that rabbits had visited during the night, likely chased off by the cats, who were effective guards, though not known for neatness. Setting the hose aside, Molly righted the plants, retamped soil, removed bruised leaves, then swept up. After spraying the last of the dirt down the drain, she resumed watering.
The sun wasn’t high yet, but the greenhouse was bright. This early hour, before the heat rose, was definitely the time to water. And Molly enjoyed it as much as her plants did. When the spray glistened in oblique rays of sun and the soil grew moist and fragrant, the greenhouse was peaceful. It was predictable.
She needed that today. Pushing Robin from her mind didn’t work for more than a minute or two at a time. It took constant effort.
Recoiling the hose and putting it where no customer could possibly trip, she wandered the aisles. She checked a new shipment of chrysanthemums for aphids, and carefully cut brown tips from several Boston ferns. Wandering deeper among the shade benches, she spoke softly to peperomias, syngoniums, and spathiphyllum. They weren’t showy plants, certainly nothing like bromeliads, but they were steadfast and undemanding. Carefully, she checked them for moisture. The shade cloth, regulated by a computer program, would rise later to protect them from the bright light they hated, but the worst of summer’s intensity was over.
Her African violets were thrilled at that. They consistently went out of flower to protest the heat, for which reason Molly carried fewer in July and August. She had just restocked and now rearranged the pots to showcase their blooms.
She picked up several tags from the floor, made note of a bench that needed mending, and, for a lingering moment, stood in the middle of what she saw as her realm. There was comfort in the warm, moist air and the rich smell of earth.
Then she saw Chris, who was never here this early. He stood under the arch separating the greenhouse from the checkout stands, and he didn’t look happy.
Heart pounding, Molly approached him. ‘Did something happen?’
He shook his head.
‘Were you at the hospital?’
‘No. Dad’s there. I just talked with him.’
‘Do they know anything more?’
‘No.’
‘Is Mom okay?’
Chris shrugged.
A shrug didn’t do it for Molly. She needed answers. She needed reassurance. ‘How could this happen?’ she cried in a burst of pent-up fear. ‘Robin is totally healthy. She should have woken up by now, shouldn’t she? I mean, it’s fine for her to be unconscious for a little while, but this long? What if she doesn’t wake up, Chris? What if there is brain damage? What if she never wakes up?’
He looked upset but said nothing, and just when Molly would have screamed in frustration, Tami Fitzgerald approached. Tami managed their garden products store. She was rarely in this early either, but there was purpose in her stride.
Molly wasn’t in the mood for a delivery problem. Not now.
Apparently, neither was Tami. ‘I heard Robin was in the hospital,’ she said, looking concerned. ‘How is she?’
Actually, Molly would have preferred a delivery problem. Snow Hill people were like family. What should she tell them? Not having run this past Kathryn or Charlie, she deferred to Chris, but his face remained blank. Curious, she asked Tami, ‘How did you hear?’
‘My brother-in-law works with the ambulance crews. He said something about her heart.’
So much for just saying Robin was ‘sick’.
Again, Molly waited for Chris, but he was silent. And someone needed to say something. ‘We don’t know much more,’ Molly finally said. ‘There was some kind of heart episode. They’re running tests.’
‘Wow. Is it serious?’
How to answer that? Too much, and Kathryn would be angry. ‘I just don’t know. We’re waiting to hear.’
‘Will you tell me when you do? Robin’s the last person I imagine having even a cold.’
‘Really,’ Molly said in agreement and added, ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
‘That’s good. Robin is absolutely the best. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
Molly waited only until Tami disappeared into the garden center before glaring at Chris. ‘I didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t you have helped?’
‘You did great.’
‘But what if it’s not true? What if she’s not fine?’
He put his hands in his pockets.
‘Last night?’ Molly hurried on, needing to confess. ‘When the hospital first called? I thought it was nothing. The nurse told me to come right away, but I didn’t want to have to wait for Robin, so I did things around the house for a while. She was in a coma, and I was taking a shower so I’d feel nice.’
He looked pained but remained silent.
‘She has to wake up,’ Molly begged. ‘She’s the backbone of this family. What would Mom do if she doesn’t wake up?’ When Chris shrugged, she cried, ‘You’re no help!’
‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked. ‘I don’t have the answers!’
Molly checked her watch. More than an hour had passed since she’d left the hospital. ‘Maybe Mom does. I’m going back to the hospital.’
Kathryn stood between her husband and the neurologist, studying MRI shots of a brain. The doctor said it was Robin’s, and yes, Robin had been wheeled out of intensive care and been gone the requisite amount of time. But based on what the doctor was saying about the shade and delineation of dead tissue, this film couldn’t be Robin’s. The damage here was profound.
Kathryn was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, and Charlie’s arm around her brought little comfort. She looked to the intensive care specialist for clarification, but he was focused on the neurologist.
We’ll get another specialist, she thought. Two specialists, two opinions.
But there was Robin’s name, clearly marked on the film. And there was all that dark area showing no flow of blood. There was nothing ambiguous about it.
The neurologist went on. Kathryn tried to listen, but it was hard to hear over the buzz in her
