The Good Wife by Jane Porter Page B

You’re the one always feuding with her.”
    “We’ve called a truce.”
    “Is that because she looks like she’s dying?”
    Meg suddenly looked stricken. “Don’t say that!”
    “I was
joking
.”
    “But she does look terrible. She’s skin and bones.”
    “And jaundiced.”
    “What do you think it is?” Meg asked.
    “I don’t know. Dad told Kit he thought Bree had malaria.”
    “Malaria?”
    Sarah chewed on her bottom lip. “Kit thinks it’s hepatitis.”
    “And Brianna won’t say.” Meg sighed. “That’s the part that worries me. If it was nothing, she’d tell us. But she’s not talking about it, which makes me wonder if it isn’t more serious.”
    “Like what? Cancer?”
    “Or she’s HIV positive.”
    “Meg, stop.” Sarah jerked upright. “That’s not . . .” Her voice drifted off as she considered the possibility. Brianna did live in the Congo. She was a nurse specializing in infectious diseases. Brianna was the family wild child and admitted to experimenting with drugs, as well as enjoying . . . “adventurous” . . . sex. But Brianna was also street-smart. She knew how to take care of herself. Didn’t she?
    The kids returned just then, their laughing voices echoing in the hall just before they emerged into the dimly lit theater, carrying buckets of popcorn and cold drinks with boxes of candy tucked under their arms.
    Sarah watched Tessa stop and help Ella up the stairs. What a good cousin Tessa was, she thought, before glancing at Meg. “Do you really think it could be HIV?” she whispered.
    Meg whispered back, “I don’t know, but my gut says it’s serious.”
    * * *
    A fter the movie, they stopped at a playground so Brennan could burn off some energy before they returned to the house. The late afternoon gleamed gold with the lingering sun.
    “Love the longer days,” Meg said, taking a seat on the park bench closest to the swings where Tessa was pushing Ella while Gabi and Brennan raced up and down the slides. “Have been craving more sunlight.” She looked at Sarah, who was standing next to the bench. “You don’t get a shortage of light in Florida, though, do you?”
    “No, but I miss the light here in Northern California. It’s different. And you still get seasons here, and none of our humidity.”
    “Do you think you’ll stay in Tampa when Boone retires?”
    “Hope not.” Sarah saw Meg’s expression and hurriedly added, “I’ve made good friends there and Tampa’s a great city, but I miss being near family.”
    “Will you come back here, then?”
    “I don’t know. Boone doesn’t love the Bay Area. It doesn’t feel like home to him.”
    “Where would he like to go?”
    “Back to New Orleans. He loves the big mansions in the Garden District.”
    “That’s where he grew up.”
    “Yes, but in a smaller house, at the outskirts of the Garden District. He’d love to return and get a proper house . . . a real Southern mansion.”
    “What do you think?”
    “I think it’d be great, provided the house doesn’t come with any ghosts.”
    Meg laughed. “I don’t think I’d want a haunted house either.”
    Gabi suddenly let out a piercing squeal and then Brennan was crying as Gabi flung herself on top of him, punching him for shoving her off the top of the slide.
    “Hey!” Sarah practically leaped over the bench to get to the kids. “Brennan, don’t push Gabi, she could have been hurt. And Gabi, no punching,” she said, hauling Gabi off Brennan and setting her firmly on her feet. “Brennan is still a couple of years younger than you.”
    “I could have broken my leg,” Gabi said, brushing bark chips off her knees and butt.
    “But you didn’t.” Sarah turned to Brennan and picked him up. “Brennan, what were you thinking, pushing your cousin off the slide like that?”
    “Just playing,” he said, smiling angelically.
    “That’s not playing, that’s dangerous. Don’t do it again,” she said, wagging her finger in his face.