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Grant gave her a mischievous smile and kissed her again. “Give my love to your mother. She’s a fighter.”
Katrina drove up to the hospital with a massive lump in her throat, parked in the lot, and hurried inside. She visualized Agatha opening her eyes and tried to imagine what words she might say first after seventy-two hours of darkness. All she could hear were Agatha’s world-famous insults hurled at whoever was around.
As Katrina walked down her mother’s hallway, laughter rang out, echoing. She stalled in recognition, listening. One of the nurses who’d helped her mother a few days ago walked out of another hospital room, smiled, and said, “Your mother woke up a little earlier than planned! Luckily, your daughter was here to greet her.”
All Katrina managed to say was, “Oh. Isn’t that nice?” But she hardly recognized her own voice.
Katrina continued down the hallway and leaned against the doorway of her mother’s room. Sophie sat on the edge of a plastic chair with both hands around one of her grandmother’s. Her eyes glinted, and she spoke a mile a minute, telling Agatha a story Katrina didn’t have context for.
“And you should have seen him, Grandma,” Sophie was saying. “He had the biggest fish either of us had ever seen on this hook, and he was terrified. It was flopping around like crazy. I jumped over to grab it, but as soon as I touched its fin, itmanaged to whip itself off the hook and leap back into the waves. I swear, I could hear it screaming, ‘I’m free!’ as it jumped!”
Agatha smiled sleepily and nestled her head deeper into her pillow. It was bizarre to see her with her eyes half-open, her chest rising and falling more than it had since the coma. The bruises were softer, the purples fading to yellows and greens.
“That’s silly, Sophie,” Agatha rasped. “You were raised an islander. You know how to handle a fish better than that.”
Sophie giggled. Katrina was amazed. Hadn’t Agatha just criticized Sophie? Why was Sophie taking it to heart—the way she would have had Katrina said the same? But then again, the smile that played out across Agatha’s lips was far different from any look Agatha had ever given Katrina. She was playing with her.
“I know, Grandma,” Sophie said. “It’s embarrassing. I told you that.”
“Good morning.” Katrina surprised herself, shivering with fear at the sound of her own voice. It sounded formidable and strained in this cozy environment.
Sophie turned, and her smile melted slightly. “Happy New Year, Mom.”
“Happy New Year.” Katrina strode toward the opposite side of the bed and took her mother’s other hand. “How are you feeling, Mom?”
Agatha’s eyes were glassy. “A bit tired. A bit thirsty. They say I won’t feel so groggy in a few days.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” Katrina stuttered. “They told me it wouldn’t happen till ten.”
“It’s all right. Soph was here.” Agatha smiled back at her granddaughter.
“You’re up early, Sophie,” Katrina said. She hated how accusatory she sounded.
Sophie waved her free hand. “I wanted to be here for Grandma’s big day.”
Was it Katrina’s imagination, or was Sophie speaking slightly faster than normal? She narrowed her eyes, assessing Sophie’s expression, the tint in her gaze. Against her will, she’d been trained in the art of studying Sophie, looking for clues, signs that she was using again. She still remembered Christmas dinner twenty-four years ago, when Sophie had talked so quickly and told stories so sporadically, only to fall asleep with her face down on her plate. These were memories Katrina didn’t like to keep. They felt like curses.
If Sophie really was using again, what would Katrina do? The thought rattled through her. Would she corner Sophie and demand answers? Would she call Sam? Would she call the police? It all seemed hopeless. Maybe it was a lost cause, just as her father had been.
Katrina blinked out of her reverie and realized that Sophie and Agatha were talking about her brother, Norm. Sophie had watched a film he’d produced calledThe Storm Above Usand gushed about it, saying, “He has such an incredible eye for what will work artistically. He’s not the richest producer in the world, but he’s brought tremendous beauty to the film industry.”
Agatha looked dreamy. “My son is a very talented artist,” she said of Norm. “I wish you could have seen him on Broadway, Sophie. He was incredible. The minute he walked out on that stage, it lit up.”
“I’ve seen a few photographs,” Sophie said, lacing her fingers together. “How many productions was he in?”
“At least ten,” Agatha said, furrowing her brow.
“Eighteen, actually,” Katrina chimed in, flaring her nostrils. It took all her will not to glare at her ill mother. Agatha had conveniently forgotten her role in Norm’s Broadway career—in that, she and their father had done everything in their powerto keep him from going. The minute he’d become a success, of course, Agatha had changed her tune.
“I was just devastated when he said he wanted to move out to Los Angeles,” Agatha said. “I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to devote his entire life to being on stage.”
“Uncle Norm told me he wanted a hand in building culture rather than being a part of it,” Sophie said.
“But so far away from his family!” Agatha said. “That’s one thing about you, Sophie. You never went far away.”
Sophie gave her grandmother a sad smile. There was a hard, judgmental edge to what Agatha said, an admission of worry for Sophie’s wayward years. Of course, Katrina had done everything in her power to ensure Agatha never knew Sophie was using. Sophie had told her herself just last year. When Agatha brought it up with Katrina, Katrina stormed out of her mother’s house and drove home to sob into her pillow. These were memories she didn’t like, either.
“Your grandfather was so proud of our Norm,” Agatha said. “We taped every newspaper clipping we could on the refrigerator.”
