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“Sure, but I can’t imagine that they would be any different,” I said.
“You’re probably right, but I want to leave no stone unturned,” Rose said.
They were careful not to look at me when she said that, since it wasn’t true.
There was one huge, fat fucking stone that they were not turning… because they didn’t dare to turn it.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
CHAPTER19
Shane
From that point on, the day went even more steeply downhill. Red was white-face, tight-lipped, unreachable. Rose stayed for dinner, which was a subdued meal, forks clinking in the gloom, hushed conversations, no laughter. Everyone was trying to be positive, to think pro-actively, but there was a feeling of dread in the air. The square of Angela’s fabulous lasagna sat on Red’s plate, untouched.
Freya and Rose were looking over the list of medical specialists they were considering. They tried to involve Red in the conversation, but they had to keep calling her over and over before she heard them. She was locked inside a nightmare in her head.
I could relate.
We helped Angela clear off the dinner dishes, and then she brought out some hot Dutch apple pie and a tub of ice cream.
“Honey?” Angela called out to Red, holding out a loaded dessert plate. “Want some dessert? Sweetheart? Cass?”
“Hmm?” Red saw the pie and shrank back. “Thanks, but I’m full.”
Angela’s eyes darted to her untouched place. “Hmm. All right. I’ll dish some of this up for the girls, and we can… oh! There you are, sweetheart. Speak of the devil. You two ready for some pie?”
We turned and saw Holly standing in the dining room entryway. She looked frightened.
“What happened?” Red leaped up, her chair scraping. “Is Reggie okay?”
“She fell asleep during the movie,” Holly said. “And when she woke up, she seemed confused. She was calling for her mom. Isn’t her mom, um…”
“Dead. Yes.” Red hurried around the table. “Two years now. She’s delirious.”
“She does feel really hot,” Holly offered, as Cass hurried past her.
We trailed after her, crowding into the TV room. Cass was crouched in front of her sister, talking softly. I kneeled down next to her.
“Baby?” she repeated. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Mommy?” Reggie’s voice sounded weak, higher and younger than before, like a five-year-old. “Is that you?”
“No, it’s Cass, sweetie-pie. I’m right here.”
“Is Mommy coming?”
“I’m here, baby.” Red pressed her hand to her sister’s face and shone her cell phone’s flashlight into the neckline of Reggie’s sweatshirt. “She’s hot, and she’s starting to get that rash again. Do you guys have a thermometer?”
“Right away. And I’ll bring the Tylenol drops.” Angela scurried away.
“Tylenol’s not going to do it.” Red’s voice was bleak. “It didn’t help her the last time. And saline solution certainly won’t. I’ve got squat to help her.”
“I’ll call Demiguel.” Ethan pulled out his phone, backing out of the room.
I stood there, outside the bubble of Red’s great storm of trouble, watching her hunched over her sister, her back shaking as she stroked Reggie’s hair. Angela bustled in with the thermometer and the Tylenol drops. Ethan was talking in low, urgent tones in the corridor, and I was helpless and inert, watching from behind six inches of glass.
Ethan closed his call and met my eyes. I walked out and beckoned for him to follow me. We went to the sunroom, which was chilly and dark and private.
