Liberty Falling-pigeon 7 by Nevada Barr

Jesus, Frederick, couldn't you find some Guy Clark, some Etta James, something visceral? Enya would spirit away a beer-drinking good ol' boy." She turned down the transporting strains as Stanton arranged the pictures on a metal table near Molly's head. After he'd finished fussing, he sat in what Anna had come to think of in caps as The Red Chair. He took Molly's hand in his--a comfort Anna had dared not offer. "I'm here for the duration," he told her sister. "Should you wish to get rid of me, all you need do is open your eyes and say three times, 'Get thee behind me, Stanton.' You can dispense with swinging a dead cat around your head in the graveyard at midnight."
    A faint scratching arrested their attention: Molly scratching at the sheet with clipped unpolished nails. As they watched, she opened her eyes, a flash of hazel between papery lids.
    "Hi," Anna said. "We're here." Again the nails made their mute protest. "What?"
    "Undo her hand," Frederick whispered.
    Anna hurried to unfetter the hand away from Frederick. Mesmerized, they watched as it lifted. Hope turned to alarm as it strayed toward the feeding tube. As the fingers were closing around the plastic, Anna caught her sister's hand.
    "No you don't."
    The arm went back into its restraints. There was no resistance, and more alarming, not so much as a flicker of annoyance crossed Molly's face. Her eyes closed again.
    "Damn." Tired to the point of weeping, Anna slid to the floor, stretched out legs traumatized from too much concrete and leaned back against the bed. From where she sat she could see Frederick's face, but he didn't seem aware she was watching him. Molly was older than Frederick by five or six years. Lying in the hospital bed, she appeared older still, sixty or seventy. Molly looked bad, frail and worn and colorless.
    And Anna could see that to Frederick it didn't matter a damn.
    New York City was farther north than Anna had pictured it in her mind. This close to solstice, its latitude was manifest in the twilight. Light lingered in the western sky long after sundown. The timelessness of a summer evening was the only taste of immortality most humans ever got, and as Anna cherished the soft golden forever, she wished she could capture it, carry it across the harbor to Molly's windowless world.
    Dr. Madison had put Anna and Frederick out of the ICU at ten minutes past four. He'd walked with them as far as the elevator, making reassuring noises regarding Molly's progress. Anna had been grateful for his optimism and the extra attention, and for being rescued from three minutes alone with Frederick. She and Stanton parted ways at the hospital door, he seemingly as glad to be on his own as she.
    Anna had grabbed a deli sandwich and caught a boat to Ellis Island.
     

5
    Central Park, the city's one green space of any size, crossed her mind as a possible picnic spot, but the park had always depressed her. Many times, when she lived in Manhattan, Anna had gone there seeking the solace of nature only to be revolted by the mass of humanity swarming over its rocks and meadows. It put her in mind of the wedding feast in Great Expectations, a fine and wonderful thing spoiled by crawling vermin. Probably because she was in no particular hurry now, had no appointments to keep, the connections of trains and boats had been perfect. Just after five she was ensconced on the sunset side of Island III with a Coke and her cheese and tomato sandwich. Island III was on the southern shore of Ellis, separated from the Island II buildings by a wide grassy field that had been an outdoor recreation area in the old days, used for baseball, picnics and physical therapy. On this last "island" were housed the morgue, a kitchen, a lab, the infectious disease wards and the living quarters for the nurses and the island's Immigration Commissioner. Laid out in a line, the buildings paralleled those of Islands I and II. The Island III buildings were connected by a long walkway sheltered by walls