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  “But she wasn’t home when this happened?”

  Jesus. We’d been through this. “No.”

  “What makes you think she’ll be home now?”

  “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “She hasn’t answered any of our calls. The phone just rings and rings.”

  “It’s a big house,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to Susannah now. I know George said he’d stay with her, and he seems like a really nice guy, but the truth is, he’s virtually a stranger to us, and I think I should be there in case Susannah wakes up.”

  Cheryl Hillman stood and offered me a hand. But I shook my head; my legs worked just fine. I walked back down the hall, knowing she was watching. When I got to Susannah’s room, George gave up the bedside chair to me.

  Susannah was still sleeping. She looked so precious and so vulnerable lying there. A sheet had been pulled over her legs, and her torso was wrapped up in mummy-white gauze, like my hand. The singed end of her braid hung off the end of the pillow. She made a small sound when she inhaled, barely a squeak. Except for the machines, it was the only sound in the room.

  Once, Lennox’s mom Allyson had told us that when Lennox and Harper had each been newborns, she’d go into their rooms in the middle of the night to check that they were still breathing. She’d watch their chests moving up and down, up and down. And if they seemed too still for a second too long, she’d wake them. Their cries were a relief.

  At that moment I felt like I was Susannah’s mother, consumed with the responsibility of her life, hanging on her every breath.

  I wasn’t Susannah’s mom. I was her sister. She would never know she wasn’t my full sister. I would never tell anyone.

  I had no idea how much time had passed before I heard the clack, clack, clack of tap shoes in the hallway. Then the door opened, and Gigi came sweeping in, Brian right behind her. Her hair and clothes were wet. Brian took off his baseball cap, shook the rain off onto the floor, and put it back on.

  “Darlings!” Gigi said.

  “Shh, Gigi,” I said. “She’s sleeping.”

  But Susannah’s eyes had popped open. “You’re here,” she said. “Why are you all wet?”

  “It started raining,” Brian told her.

  “Cats and dogs out there,” Gigi said. “But not to worry. I love extreme weather. It makes me feel more alive.”

  “I don’t think anyone was worried about you,” I said.

  Gigi ran a dripping finger along Susannah’s pale cheek, leaving droplets that looked like tears. “Are you all right, my angel? What am I saying? Of course you’re not. Just look at you. Your poor little body.”

  “I’m all right,” Susannah said. “The doctor said I won’t even have bad scars.”

  “That’s because she’s tough as nails,” Brian said. He reached out to hold the hand that wasn’t tethered to an IV pole. I had to hand it to Brian. In the past few hours, he’d really come through. He had a working cell phone, which he’d answered when I’d called. He’d offered to track down Gigi, and now here they both were.

  “You do look like shit, though, babe,” he said. “If I’m being completely honest.”

  Now, there was the Brian we all knew and loved.

  “Oh, Susannah,” Gigi said. And then she started to sing softly. “Oh, Susannah, now don’t you cry for me.”

  The door swung open again. Cheryl Hillman with her smart suit and clipboard. “Excuse me,” she said. “Ms. Hollander, may I borrow you for a couple of minutes? We have some loose ends to tie up.”

  “I can’t think about all that while my niece is lying here helpless.”

  “I assure you, Susannah is receiving the help she needs,” Cheryl said. “There are just a few forms for you to fill out.”

  Gigi waved her away. “I should’ve had Brian drive me by the house so I could’ve picked up that afghan you like,” she told Susannah.

  “She wasn’t home?” I asked Brian.

  “Nope. I found her walking on Break Run, by that senator’s place.”

  “What? The Compound?” I asked, raising my voice.

  “Ms. Hollander,” Cheryl said. “At the very least I need to get Susannah’s insurance information. Lorrie said she thought you had a policy with Blue Cross, but we couldn’t get a working policy number.”

  “We’re between policies,” Gigi said. “And Mercury is in retrograde right now, so I can’t sign any new contracts.”

  Cheryl Hillman’s eyes flicked to me for a second, but I looked away. I would not have her thinking that I was ready to confide in her about anything. “This is a private hospital, Ms. Hollander,” she said to Gigi. “We won’t turn away an emergent case for inability to pay, but for someone like Susannah, who is stable and simply requires observation—generally, in that situation, we order a transfer to the public hospital.”

  So this was how it went: Out in the hall, Cheryl had been full of concern. Now she was ready to ship us out. I was glad to not have trusted her, because I knew she didn’t really give a shit, and that once we were out the doors, she would simply check us off her list and never think of us again.

  But this was our life. My sister’s life. “You said this hospital was the best in the area,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” Susannah said, her voice thick.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I told her.

  “Of course not, darling girl,” Gigi agreed. She turned to Cheryl Hillman, looking her in the eye for the first time since she’d entered the room. “I insist on nothing but the best for my nieces. Just send me the bill.”

  “That’s not how this works,” Cheryl said.

  “You were going to bill the insurance company. So send it to me instead.”

  “We’re talking about an overnight stay, at the least.”

  “It’s going to be so expensive,” Susannah moaned.

  “Oh, Susannah,” Gigi said, her voice a song. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

  Cheryl had her eyes locked on my aunt as if she was in a one-person staring contest. I saw her taking in Gigi’s lace tunic, yellowed with age, her cloche hat, her tap shoes. Tap shoes! God, what a first impression Gigi made. I could tell Cheryl was fed up. I’ve put up with her for over a decade, I wanted to tell her. You’ve had five minutes.

  “I know Dr. Cortes wants to speak to you about the girls. I’ll have him paged now.”

  She left, and Gigi, seemingly unaffected, flopped onto the edge of Susannah’s bed. I saw Susannah wince slightly as the mattress shifted, but Gigi’s voice was all excitement and bounce. “Remember those cocktail umbrellas you used to take from my drinks when you were young?”

  “I wanted them for my hamsters,” Susannah said. “They were the perfect beach umbrellas for Coco and Mr. Shivers.”

  “Wouldn’t they be a perfect touch at my party?” Gigi asked. “I’m hiring a mixologist to develop a special drink. We’ll stick a little umbrella in each of the glasses, in honor of you, Susie. What do you think?”

  “I think this isn’t the time to talk about your party,” I cut in.

  “Nonsense,” Gigi said. “This is the best time. We could all use a distraction, and what’s better than a party?” She paused. “Party favors! The Copelands gave out tree ornaments for Christmas in July. Everyone got one to bring home.”

  “Was that why you were wandering by the Compound?” I asked. “To talk about party favors?”

  “I had a little business to take care of. That’s all,” she said.

  I felt the adrenaline start to surge again. “You had business at the Compound?” I asked.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “‘Nothing to worry about’ is your stock answer to everything,” I told her. I felt myself panting as the words came out, as if I’d just been running. “And it’s never true.”

  There were countless things to worry about whenever my aunt showed up anywhere. I pictured her at the base of the Compoun
d driveway, in front of the massive iron gates. She must’ve looked ridiculous dressed up the way she was, with rain pelting down around her.

  Oh God. What if Charlie had been there to see her? What if he somehow figured out she was my aunt? I shuddered at the thought.

  “Did you talk to anyone?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” my aunt said.

  “How can I not worry when you won’t give me an answer? Why were you at the Compound?”

  “Lorrie, stop,” Susannah said. Her voice was like a little kid’s at bedtime, fighting the urge to fall asleep.

  I clenched my fists, and my right one ached from my burn. “Just tell me one thing,” I said to Gigi. “You didn’t mention me to anyone, did you?”

  “You don’t want to get mixed up with the Copeland family,” she said, not answering the question.

  “Why? What the hell is going on?”

  “Why do you care so much about the Copelands?” Brian asked.

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest, not answering. Gigi had turned away from me, toward Brian. “I’ve been thinking, maybe you can invite one of your friends to my party so Lorrie will finally have a date.”

  “Sure, I think Lorrie’d love that,” he said.

  “Hear that, Lorrie?” Gigi said.

  Brian grinned at me.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I told him.

  “You need to learn to lighten up,” he said.

  “Is that what I need? Because we’re in Susannah’s hospital room right now, and that seems rather heavy.”

  “What are your friends’ names, Brian?” Gigi asked.

  “Stop it,” I protested. “I don’t need Brian’s help finding a date.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Gigi went back to fawning over my sister. A few minutes later, Cheryl Hillman came back into the room with Dr. Cortes. He gave us the rundown on what I already knew about Susannah—the burns on her abdomen were first and second degree. They were keeping her overnight to make sure she didn’t get an infection. “Just add it to my bill,” Gigi said brightly.

  “Let me call the billing department,” Cheryl said. “If that’s amenable to them, that’s fine. If not, we can arrange a transfer, as we discussed.”

  I couldn’t count on Mom’s trust fund anymore—wherever it was, if it even still existed. But I could feel the lump of cash in my pocket. I’d planned to pay for so many other things. But none of them was as important as Susannah.

  “I have money,” I said, pulling the lump from my pocket. It was a small miracle it hadn’t fallen out and gone up in flames. But there it was, and I could use it. If you could throw money at a problem, it wasn’t a problem at all.

  “Lorrie!” Gigi said.

  “I got an advance from the barn.”

  “Shit,” Brian said. “You make a lot at that barn.”

  Gigi jumped up to give me a hug. “I’ll pay you back, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. Gigi didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm.

  Dr. Cortes gave Susannah another shot for the pain. “That had a little sedative in it. Why don’t you all head out, and come back in the morning?”

  “I have to meet the guys anyway,” Brian said. “They’re probably right where I left them, and I could use a beer, you know.”

  Oh, yes, Brian had had an especially hard night.

  “I don’t want Susannah to stay alone,” I said.

  “Of course we don’t!” Gigi said. She flopped back onto Susannah’s bed, and Susannah gave a little wince. “We’ll stay over. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

  “I think the patient needs to get some rest,” Dr. Cortes said.

  “You go,” I told Gigi. “Brian can drop you at home. I’ll stay here.”

  I waited for Cheryl Hillman to say I was still a minor and couldn’t stay the night at my sister’s bedside, but she stood there silently with her clipboard tucked under her arm.

  “If you’re sure, darling,” Gigi said, leaning back toward Susannah.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Susannah said. She was already halfway to dreamland.

  Naturally Gigi made a big show of kissing us both good-bye. Brian patted the top of Susannah’s head. And then they were gone, and so was Dr. Cortes. Cheryl Hillman gave me a pillow and a blanket and pulled in another chair to push against the one I’d been sitting in so I could stretch out.

  “George is on all night, and he’ll check in on your sister,” she told me. “And I’ll be following up with you. All right, Lorrie?”

  “All right.”

  The door closed behind her. I watched my sister’s eyelids droop and close until she was sleeping. I stared at her, this child of light, thinking of the parts of Susannah that were like me, and the parts that weren’t, and how those parts made a little bit more sense now.

  But I’d still do anything for her. Anything. And I couldn’t let her go back to Edgewater and live in the dark. My grandmother’s silverware had brought in less than two grand from the pawnshop, and I probably wouldn’t get much for a cracked set of antique dishes or busted lamps or once-priceless, now-moldy works of art. But there was one thing I owned that I knew was worth a significant amount.

  I didn’t want to wake up Susannah, so I crept out of the room. The hallway was eerily quiet. Even the lights had been dimmed for the night. I had the strangest feeling of being alone in a ghost story. I walked down the corridor. As I turned the corner, I saw a man standing at the end of the hallway, under a bright red EXIT sign. I stopped and focused my eyes. It was Victor Underhill.

  I didn’t move; I didn’t even breathe. I just stood there and stared at him, like a deer in headlights.

  “Lorrie, can I help you?” someone said.

  The words came as if across an ocean.

  “Lorrie?” It was George. I turned to face him. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  I couldn’t think straight to answer the question. I turned back, and Underhill was gone. It was as if he’d never been there in the first place.

  But I had seen him. I was fairly certain hallucinations weren’t a side effect of getting a minor burn or taking Tylenol. He was there. What the hell was he doing in the hospital? Could it have anything to do with why Gigi was at the Compound?

  “Lorrie?” George said. “Are you all right?”

  A hospital is as public as a bus stop, I told myself. Underhill probably had a reason for being there that had nothing to do with my family. This was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with me. “I . . . I need to make a phone call.”

  George walked me to the nurses’ station and pulled over a large corded phone. “Here, you can use this.”

  I picked up the receiver and dialed. Somewhere in North Carolina, I imagined the phone ringing. And ringing.

  No one was picking up. Perhaps it was a sign to hang up.

  “Hello?”

  I turned away from George and faced the space in the hallway where Victor Underhill had been standing moments before. “Beth-Ann?” I asked. “It’s Lorrie Hollander. I have a proposition for you.”

  19

  LAST

  THIS TIME I WAS THERE TO PREPARE ORION.

  It was three days after Susannah had been released from the hospital and was settled at home, and I got to Oceanfront before sunrise. Orion’s head hung over the stall door as if he’d been expecting me. Down the dimly lit corridor, my footsteps seemed to beat out: last, last, last. But to Orion, it was like any other day, and he wanted his morning treat.

  There weren’t many sugar cubes left in the box. Not that I’d need to buy more. I dug in for one and held my palm flat out to him. His lips made their wonderful smacking sound. “I’m sorry for what’s going to happen today, boy,” I told him. “I’m sorry for so many things—for you having to stay behind at Woodscape when I came home, and then for you to have to come back here, just to be shipped out again.” My v
oice cracked. For better or worse, for richer or poorer. But people don’t always keep their vows.

  Orion pawed the floor of his stall, hoping for another cube. I obliged, and then I opened his stall door and stepped inside to be with him. He moved aside to give me room. He’d grown up to be a gentleman, my Orion. I reached up to embrace him, pressing my face into that fuzzy white spot on his neck. The scent of him made me weak in the knees. This horse, the love of my life.

  I was losing the thing that mattered most all over again.

  The morning after Mom and Nigel had left, Gigi had gathered Susannah and me in her bed to tell us that we wouldn’t be going back to the city after the weekend, that we’d be living with her from then on. Mom’s watch was dangling from my wrist. I shook my hand, trying to get the band to circle my wrist like a hula hoop. But at five years old, it was just as hard to get a watch to circle around my wrist as it was to get an actual hula hoop to circle my middle.

  “We’re going to have so much fun, girls,” Gigi said. “Starting right now. We’ll have chocolate for breakfast, and tonight you won’t have to eat your broccoli before you get dessert. How does that sound?”

  But the truth was, it didn’t matter how it sounded, because I was five years old, and I didn’t have a choice. Now I did. The decision was mine. Sure, I could rationalize that there wasn’t anything else to do, that this was the only thing. But at the end of the day, I had to live with the fact that I’d been the one to pick up the phone and call Beth-Ann.

  I’d been the one who decided that Orion was expendable.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, tracing a finger along the contours of his face to the bridle path between his forelock and mane. Orion pawed the ground again, hoping for another treat. Nothing I’d said had any meaning to him, and perhaps that was better. Humans spend so much time analyzing words and coping with changes. But my horse would simply wake up the next morning in a different stall, in a different state, under the care of a different owner.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What do you say to a last ride?” I asked.