While My Sister Sleeps by Barbara Delinsky Page A

Catching a breath, she came out of her chair.
    Charlie was quickly by her side.
    “Did you see that?” Kathryn asked excitedly. “Her other hand. It moved.”
    “Are you sure? There's a lot of tape on that hand.”
    Kathryn's heart raced. “Did you do that, Robin? If you did, I want you to do it again.”
    She stared at the hand.
    “Come on, sweetie,” she ordered. “I know it's hard, but you're used to hard stuff. Think what it's like at that twenty-first mile when you hit the wall and feel dizzy and weak, and you're sure you can't finish. But you always do. You always manage to dredge up a little more strength.” The respirator breathed in, breathed out, but not a finger moved. “Do it now, Robin,” she begged. “Let me know you can hear me speak.” She waited, then tried, “Think of the games you play. When you run, you imagine that long, smooth stride. Imagine it now, sweetie. Imagine the pleasure you get from
moving.
”
    Nothing happened.
    Brokenly, she whispered, “Am I missing it, Charlie?”
    “If you are, I am, too.”
    Discouraged, she sank back into the chair and brought Robin's hand to her mouth. Her fingers were limp and cool. “I know I saw something,” she breathed against them, wanting only to keep them warm.
    “You're exhausted,” Charlie said.
    She looked at him sharply. “Are you saying I
imagined
it? Maybe your problem is that you don't
want
to see it as much as I do.”
    There was a pause, then a quiet, “Low blow.”
    Kathryn had known that the instant the words left her mouth. With his warm hazel eyes, shoulders that were broader in theory than fact, and a loyalty like none she had seen in any other person before or since, Charlie had been there for her from the start. The fact that she could accuse him of less showed how stressed she was.
    Stressed? She wasn't stressed. She was
devastated.
Seeing Robin like this was
killing
her, and that was even before she thought of the long-term meaning. This wasn't just a setback. It was a
catastrophe.
    Charlie understood. She could see it on his face, but that didn't excuse what she'd said. Slipping an arm around his waist, she buried her face in his chest. “I'm sorry. You did not deserve that.”
    He cupped her head. “I can take it. But Molly can't. She's trying, Kath. None of us expected this.” His hand lowered to massage her neck at just the spot where she needed it most.
    Kathryn looked up, haunted. “Did I push Robin too far?”
    He smiled sadly. “You didn't have to push. She pushed herself.”
    “But I've always egged her on.”
    “Not egged. Encouraged.”
    “If I hadn't, maybe she wouldn't have pushed so hard.”
    “And never run a marathon in record time? Never traveled the country inspiring others? Never eyed the Olympics?”
    He was right. Robin lived life to the fullest. But that knowledge didn't ease Kathryn's fear. “What are we going to do?”
    “Ask for an EEG.”
    Her panic shot up. “What if it shows no activity?”
    “What if it doesn't?”
    Charlie was the face of quiet confidence. Always. And she loved him for it. But this was too soon. “I can't take the risk. Not yet.”
    “Okay,” he said gently. “Then what about friends? They can't get through to you, so they're calling me. We need to tell them the truth.”
    “We don't know the truth.”
    He chided her with a sad smile. “You aren't asking to have her transferred, which tells me that you accept the MRI results.”
    How not to, when the pictures were so clear? “Okay,” she conceded. “Let's tell them there are irregularities. That's the truth. We don't have to tell them everything, do we? I can't bear having the world think the worst.”
    “These are friends, Kath. They want to talk to you. They want to help.”
    But Kathryn didn't want sympathy. She wasn't the type to talk for the sake of talking; she couldn't
bear
the thought of giving progress reports to friend after friend, especially when there was no progress to report. And what were