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Jack nods. “I’ll let you get your sister settled, then. Don’t come into work tomorrow, okay? Spend some time with her.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
“Thanks.”
“Of course, ciaróg.”
When we return to the living room, Clara is in the same spot on the couch with Sebastian curled up beside her. Jack and I look at each other with raised eyebrows, and I feel a spark of jealousy that Sebastian seems to like my sister as much as he likes me.
“I’m gonna head on,” Jack says. “It was nice to meet you, Clara. I hope I’ll get to see more of you while you’re here.”
“You most definitely will.”
Jack laughs, and I feel that jealousy zip through me again as he heads for the door.
Once Jack leaves, the flat is quiet. Clara doesn’t look at me as she pets Sebastian. We share the Pringles between us.
“Clara, I’m glad to see you but... why are you here?”
“I’m on sabbatical,” she says.
“That’s... not a thing for medical students.”
She sighs. “Fine. I quit school.”
“You...” I stare at her, but the words don’t make sense. Clara doesn’t quit anything she starts. “No you didn’t.”
Clara rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. She crosses her legs at the ankles and, in this moment, my sister is a contradiction. All guarded sarcasm and yet there’s something vulnerable about the way she lies there, face up, her feet in my lap. “I’mgoingto drop out of medical school. I just have to make it official.”
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”
She laughs. “No! Of course not!”
“Why are you dropping out of medical school?”
She shrugs. “I don’t want to be a doctor.”
She’s lying. Clara isn’t like me. She didn’t just go to medical school because our parents wanted her to. She’s always loved medicine. Clara loves blood and guts as much as she does Audrey Hepburn movies and cleaning products. While most aspiring surgeons want to specialize in plastic surgery or neurosurgery, Clara has always known she wanted to have her hands in a little bit of everything and become a general surgeon.
But if Clara doesn’t want to tell me the real reason, then I’m not going to prod. Not tonight anyway. I file it away asConversations to have when Clara is not jet-lagged.
“How long are you here for?” I ask.
“How long are you going to stay here?”
I almost say,As soon as I replace all my gear, and then I remember I haven’t told her about everything that happened.
“Four weeks, give or take.”
“Then that’s how long I’ll be here,” Clara says.
“And then what will you do?”
“Where are you going next?”
“I... don’t know. I was thinking I might do Galway, but it’s all up in the air still.”
