Firefly Beach by Luanne Rice Page B

horizon. They reminded her of Skye’s last words the previous night.
    “Did you tell Skye that Joe Connor was here?” Caroline asked.
    “Oh, God,” Clea said. “Why?”
    Caroline was almost too angry to say. She felt tired and rumpled from spending the night at the hospital, and she hated these triangles of sisterhood, when two would know something the other wasn’t supposed to. When she confided a worry to Clea and heard it come back from Skye. Or when she told some gossip to Skye and two hours later got a phone call from Clea, reporting the big news. Secrets among sisters were dangerous and nearly impossible to keep.
    “Because she was on the way to see him,” Caroline said flatly.
    “She was?”
    “She thinks if she hadn’t been born, none of the rest would have happened.”
    “She was drunk. I thought she’d just go to bed,” Clea said. “When she asked me about Joe’s boat…I didn’t think she’d drive. I can’t stand thinking she crashed because of me,” Clea said.
    “Don’t blame yourself, Clea,” Caroline said.
    “I can’t help it. I should never have let her off the phone. Or I should have had her put Mom on the line.”
    “Blame has never gotten any of us very far,” Caroline said. “So don’t do it to yourself now.”
    They had arrived at Firefly Hill. The two sisters sat very still, staring at the door and wondering what kind of mood their mother was in. Would she be enthusiastic, ready to Visit the Sick with a big basket of freshly cut snapdragons? Or would she be frail, focused on her own arthritis or migraine headache to avoid noticing that her youngest child was going downhill fast?
    The sun shone through a layer of high gossamer clouds. Not quite bright enough to throw dark shadows, it bathed the house and yard in an overall muted whiteness. A cold front was moving in, and the wind blew hard. Augusta appeared in the kitchen window. She was dressed, ready to go. At the sight of Caroline and Clea, she gave a hearty wave.
    “Here we go,” Caroline said, opening the car door.
    “Have you seen Homer?” Augusta called, looking around.
    The old dog sometimes disappeared. No one knew where he went. He could be gone for hours, or even overnight, but he always came back. Caroline didn’t reply, knowing that Augusta’s defense and denial were already locked in place. She just walked across the yard, to kiss her mother and drive her to the hospital.
     

     
    At the hospital, all was quiet and blue. The lights at the psychiatric nurses’ station had a shaded violet tone. Various monitors beeped and whirred melodically. The white-clad nurse pushing the medicine cart along the hall seemed to be swimming in contemplative slow motion.
    From the far end of the hall, a patient let forth an eerie, ungodly howl, like someone in extreme agony. Standing with her mother and sister, Caroline had the impression of lurking in a strange undersea environment. For no reason at all, she wondered how it might feel to dive for treasure.
    When signaled by the charge nurse, Caroline and Clea took their mother’s hands and walked with her into Skye’s room. The sight of Skye so still and pale, even more so than last night, made Caroline draw a deep breath. But her mother actually gasped. Caroline recognized this as a moment of truth: Her mother hadn’t had time to polish, encode, or reinvent the situation. Unguarded, Augusta simply stared at Skye lying in her hospital bed. With frail fingers she touched her black pearls while tears ran down her cheeks.
    The heart monitor glowed green in the otherwise dark room. Caroline and Clea stood back, letting their mother bend close to Skye, kiss her bandaged forehead. Augusta was silently crying, her shoulders shaking under her mink coat. A storm of emotion shivered through her thin body, but Caroline watched her force it down. She wiped her tears. She squared her shoulders.
    “Skye. I’m here,” Augusta said out loud.
    “She can’t hear you,” Clea