My Sister's Prayer (41 page)

“Celeste?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was thinking, is all. I don't need the night to decide.” She lifted her head and gazed into his blue eyes.

His voice wavered as he asked, “What is your answer?”

“Yes.” She dropped her arms to her side. “Yes, Jonathan. I'll marry you.”

A smile crept over his face, and then he swept her up in a hug, holding her close as he had in London so many times. As they pulled away, Jonathan swiped at his eyes. “I'll go talk to Mr. Edwards. I'll buy your contract and pay for Sary too. You have my word.”

With the Court convening in a few days, and all the extra travelers that would bring to town, Celeste couldn't imagine Mr. Edwards would be happy about letting her go, but surely he already had plans in the works for finding a new cook.

Mr. Edwards and Jonathan negotiated in the sitting room while Celeste tackled the remaining dishes in the kitchen, even though the burns on her hands made the task difficult. Sary came down to help her put everything away, using her left hand. Celeste didn't dare tell her about Jonathan's plans lest she raise false hopes.

When they were finished, Mr. Edwards hadn't yet returned to the kitchen, so Celeste followed Sary up the ladder, where they both collapsed on their pallets without speaking. As exhausted as she was, Celeste couldn't fall asleep. She went over and over what Jonathan had said to her. He loved her.

She couldn't help but remember their passion in London when they were together, the intense longing she'd felt for him. She hadn't felt that tonight, not even an inkling of it when he held her. But she was exhausted. Surely, in time, those feelings would return.

She rolled toward the window, focusing on the shimmering stars against the black sky that she could make out through the warped glass, and fell into a fitful sleep.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

Maddee

T
he day after my conversation about her accident with the less-than-honest Nicole, I talked to Debra about the situation, and she helped me put it into perspective. She reminded me of various psychological studies that showed how lying could become habitual in a person, to a point where it was second nature. “This is something that can be changed,” she said. “She may not even necessarily be trying to deceive you about the accident. She's just doing what she always does, giving out half-truths and making omissions and generally obscuring reality through force of habit.”

I had a feeling she was right. And though that didn't excuse my sister's behavior, at least it helped calm me down enough to let it go for now. As long as her chronic lying could be successfully treated with therapy, there was hope.

That night, I had just finished locking up my bike and helmet when Greg appeared in the doorway of the carriage house, a broad grin on his face.

“I'm glad you're here,” he said. “We have a surprise for you. Are you ready?”

Before I could even respond, he swung the door open wide and stepped back to reveal Nicole, standing with the aid of a walker a few feet away, a smile on her face—and no casts on her legs.

“What?”

I guess that was the reaction she wanted, because she squealed and laughed in return. Then she explained how Dr. Hill's office had called this morning and said they'd had a cancellation and she could get her casts off a few days early. Wanting to surprise me, Nicole hadn't contacted me to let me know but instead had simply asked Inez to take her there, and that was that. Her bad leg, the one she'd had surgery on, was now in a canvas boot, but it ended below the knee.

As she spoke, she inched her way over to the wheelchair, Greg hovering nearby, and gingerly lowered herself into it. Judging by her movements, she wouldn't be running sprints anytime soon, but this was still a vast improvement. Now that the casts were gone, no longer would she be held prisoner by those two huge, obtrusive, pain-in-the-neck orange and yellow Popsicles.

Thinking of them made me think of Austin. I put down my stuff, crossed to the table, and flipped around one of the chairs so I could sit. Something was niggling at the back of my mind, something disturbing that I couldn't quite articulate.

“Explain this to me again,” I said, checking out her legs more closely. “What happened to wearing the casts for nine or ten weeks?”

She shrugged. “Dr. Hill said it wouldn't hurt anything to take them off a few days early.”

“
Five
days,” I corrected. “Five days early. Today is Friday. They weren't supposed to come off till next Wednesday at the very soonest.”

She shook her head, impatient for me to get with the program and just be happy for her. “Whatever. He was sweet and really careful, and once the casts were off he examined my legs and said they both looked great. I still have a ways to go, of course, and I'll probably be in this boot for a while, but otherwise it's all good.”

I swallowed hard, hoping against hope that this was a coincidence, that her premature cast removal had nothing to do with me. I looked to Greg and asked if he concurred with Dr. Hill on the timing. “I mean,”
I added, “I'd hate to think he acted prematurely just because of a scheduling matter.”

Or, more importantly, to free up his new girlfriend's dating roster.

“I'm sure it's fine,” Greg said. He went on to explain about variations in the healing process and the pros and cons of limiting immobilization and so on, and though I had trouble paying attention to everything he was saying, I told myself he was the expert here, not I. If he wasn't worried about it, then I wouldn't worry either. Austin Hill was one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. It was ridiculous for me to think he might somehow endanger the health of a patient just to make it easier to date her sister.

I gave Nicole the smile and hug she'd been waiting for and said we should celebrate.

“One step ahead of you, sis,” she replied. “Pizza for three will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Once I decided to go with things the way they were, it didn't take long to become genuinely excited about this momentous change. Tiny as Nicole was, with the added weight and awkwardness of her casts, shifting her around had been exhausting.

As the two of them finished their session, I ran upstairs to change into my favorite sweatpants and an old but extremely comfortable flannel shirt. This was my secret only-when-I'm-home-alone outfit, but somehow it seemed fitting for tonight. I decided to take this as a sign of growth, that perhaps my antiperfectionist plan had begun to work well enough that I was now willing to look this way in front of others.

Back downstairs, the pizza arrived, we ended up having a wonderfully fun evening together. I was happy to see that Greg fit right in, laughing and talking and cracking us up with stories about his family. Between a hyperorganized mother, an absentminded professor father, and four rambunctious, practical joke-loving brothers, what he described sounded like one long, happy, rollicking childhood. As he talked, I found myself wondering how many children, if any, he hoped to have someday. With four siblings, chances were he would like a big family too.

Before leaving, he took a few minutes first to explain to me what
this change would mean as far as Nicole's therapy and how they would be proceeding from here. Starting on Monday, he said, she would no longer need in-home visits but instead would come to his office during the days so that they could work in the gym there and take advantage of all the equipment. Though I was happy for her, the thought made me sad. Coming home to find Greg here three nights a week had grown into a very pleasant habit, one I now realized I was going to miss.

“How can I stay in the loop?” I asked, thinking of how helpful it had been to observe part of their sessions and talk afterward.

“You have my number, right? As long as Nicole leaves her release on file, I can continue to discuss her case with you whenever you want.” He asked for pen and paper, and then he jotted down his schedule, marking the times during the week when he would most likely be free to talk. “Really and truly, don't hesitate to call,” he said, sliding the cap back on the pen and handing it and the paper over to me. “Any questions, concerns, clarifications, whatever. I'm your man.”

“Thank you, Greg,” I said, and then I impulsively gave him a hug. He'd been such a blessing to both of us.

Later, in bed, I thought of him again and what a wonderful boyfriend he would make for Nicole. I still felt strongly that she wasn't ready for a relationship and wouldn't be for a long while, but when that time eventually came, if he were still available, they really should give it a try.

A line from a song by the Simpson Sisters came to me, “Say it again girls, good men are hard to find.” Maybe that should be his ringtone. I'd need to give it more thought first, but if the sentiment fit anyone, it definitely fit him.

Nicole was excited for Nana to see her without the casts, and our Saturday visit started out well. She seemed genuinely pleased with Nicole's progress, and the three of us chatted happily around the table over coffee and a small fruit and cheese platter I'd thrown together. Unfortunately, our father had told Nana the news from the lawyer,
and as soon as she brought it up, our pleasant conversation began to unravel. She and Nicole got into an argument about rehab versus jail, but I was determined to follow Greg's advice and stay out of it. As the fight went on, I actually left the room, slipping upstairs, where I stayed until they had calmed down.

I rejoined them with the hopes that things would get better from there. But then Nana asked if we'd read all the letters in the packet, the ones written by our ancestors, and we answered simultaneously:

“We haven't started them yet,” I said.

“We're almost finished with them,” Nicole said.

She shot me a glare, but what could I do? I wasn't going to lie, especially not to my own grandmother. I knew that she was eager for us to read them—and we were looking forward to it—but she would just have to understand that between physical therapy and daily meetings and my work and Nicole's doctors appointments and even my dates with Austin, things were a little crazy around here right now. I tried explaining that to her, and she seemed to accept what I was saying—especially when she heard that Austin and I had gone out not once but twice.

“Yes, I can imagine you are quite busy these days, Maddee. Caring for your sister is a full-time job, and then on top of that you
have
a full-time job.” With a wink, she added, “Not to mention your new young man.”

She patted me on the arm. I thanked her for understanding and assured her that we really did want to read them and would do so as soon as we had a chance.

“Thank you, dear. As for you, Nicole,” she said, turning toward my sister, her brow furrowing, “there is no excuse. You promised you would read them. You've had them an entire week. What else do you have to do all day except lie around in a bed?”

A part of me wanted to jump to Nicole's defense, saying that things weren't all that easy for her right now either, that she'd been dealing with a lot of pain, and considering the shape her body was in, just the pace of getting to daily meetings was enough to wear her out, not to
mention the physical therapy. But for some reason, I held my tongue. My sister was a liar, and she deserved to hang out to dry.