What's Yours Is Mine by Tess Stimson Page B

“Your mother can’t respond, but she may be able to hear you,” he says. “We need you to keep your tone upbeat. Encourage her. She needs to know you’re here.”
    â€œI’d like to spend some time alone with her,” David says.
    â€œDad—”
    â€œPlease, Grace. Just go back to the waiting room. I’ll find you when I’m ready for you to come back in. I’d like to talk to your mother in private.”
    Susannah and Grace bend over the bed, and I close myeyes and try to imagine the feel of their lips against my skin. I remember how they smelled when they were babies: that warm yeasty mix of milk and talcum powder. I can’t leave just yet. Not while Susannah still needs me so much.
    As the door closes, David pulls up a stark black plastic chair and collapses into it.
    â€œI won’t let them give up on you,” he says fiercely. “No matter what, I won’t let you go.”
    â€œI know.” I sigh. “
That’s
why I gave Susannah my power of attorney.”
    He picks up my limp hand, mindful of the IV line, and strokes it gently. “Don’t leave me, Cathy. I know I don’t tell you enough, but I love you so much. I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the end of the pier. You lit up the world.”
    He chokes off a sob. I wrap my arms around him from behind, and lay my cheek against his. A shudder runs through him, and he touches his shoulder, almost as if he can feel me there.
    â€œI love you, too,” I whisper. “More than you know. I don’t want to leave you. If I can come back, I will. But there’s something I have to do first.”
    Through the glass door, I see the nurse returning. As it slides open, I straighten up and slip past her. Perhaps I can walk through walls, the way ghosts are supposed to, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to try that yet.
    I glance back at David. I wish with all my heart that I could stay with him, but I don’t have a choice.
    Sighing inwardly, I go in search of my daughters.

{  
CHAPTER SIX
  }

Grace
    Music drifts over the garden wall as I park my low-slung BMW roadster—a thirty-fifth birthday present to myself; I’m not giving it up, even for Tom’s green cause—behind the house. I climb out, shivering slightly in the crisp March air, and fight down an acid wash of resentment.
    Three weeks. She’s been here three weeks, and in that time, she’s achieved what I couldn’t in seven years.
    I let myself through the gate and walk towards the kitchen door as a roar of masculine laughter reverberates across the garden. I don’t want to be that person, the girl who’s jealous of her sister for daring to enjoy herself. I don’t want to be petty and small-minded. But this is
my
house, in
my
village; these are
my
friends. I’ve lived here seven years. In less than a month, Susannah has made me feel like the interloper, an extra in my own life.
    Tom’s thrown open the French doors and turned on the solar-powered patio heaters, so that the conservatory is open onto the back lawn. I stand for a moment in the shadows watching, unseen.
    My sister is at the center of both table and attention; as always. On one side of her is Tom, and on the other, Blake. Claudia is chatting earnestly to a neighbor, Paul, while his boyfriend, Ned, pours everyone another glass of wine. As I watch, Blake regales them with some witty, gossipy anecdote about the modeling world, to which his cutting-edge photography gives him unquestioned entree. His gaze is on my sister; I can tell that even from this distance. Even without being able to see his face. Perhaps that’s why Paul is so conscientiously keeping Claudia entertained.
    Blake’s a natural flirt. Unlike Tom, he always notices if I’ve had my hair cut, or when I wear a new dress. His hand lingers on my back a fraction longer than it should when he guides me into one