Read Online While My Sister Sleeps by Barbara Delinsky - Free Book Online Page B

talent, focus, and hard work.

HE FRIENDS IN THE LOUNGE WERE RUNNERS , clustered at a small table in a knot of denim, spandex, and backpacks. Molly recognized them as Dartmouth graduate students with whom Robin often worked out. They had no connection to Jenny Fiske.
    Had she known that, she wouldn't have rushed out. But it was too late. She was surrounded before she could retreat.
    “My cousin was in the ER last night with her little boy,” one explained. “How's Robin?”
    “Uh, we're not sure,” Molly managed.
    “I ran with her three days ago and she was fine,” said another.
    And a third, “We talked in the bookstore just yesterday.”
    “I heard it from Nick Dukette,” put in a fourth.
    “Nick?”
    “Newspaper Nick. He saw it on the police blotter this morning, and he knows I know Robin. He said she's in critical condition.”
    Molly was taken aback. Nick claimed they were good friends; but if that was so, he should have called her first. Granted, she had her cell phone on vibrate and had been distracted enough to miss it.
    Pulling the phone out now, she scrolled down. Okay. There it was. A missed call from Nick. No message.
    Nick was a reporter for the state's largest paper. On general assignment when Molly first met him, he had since been named to head the local news desk; but with his strength in sniffing out a story, he was a shoo-in for investigative editor at the next change in command. Like Robin, he had star written all over him. And he was hungry for it. He had piercing blue eyes that could either drill or charm, and he used them well. Had he been a lawyer, he would have chased ambulances; he was that addicted to breaking news.
    Molly admired his doggedness, but there was a downside. What Nick knew, the world might soon know.
    Kathryn would be horrified and would surely blame Molly. She had to talk with him.
    But first these runners. Denying Robin's official condition was absurd. The question was how much more to say, and the key was saying it quietly. The lounge wasn't empty. A woman and her daughter dozed on one sofa, a family huddled on another.
    Molly leaned into the group. “The official status still is critical condition,” she said, because anyone calling the hospital would hear that. “We're waiting for follow-up tests.”
    “Was she hit by a car?”
    “No. It's an internal thing.”
    “Internal, like
organs?
”
    Molly gave a quick nod.
    “Will she be okay?”
    “We hope so.”
    There was a moment's silence, then a quiet barrage.
    “Is there anything we can do?”
    “Can we make calls?”
    “Does she need anything?”
    “Positive thoughts,” Molly said and was momentarily startled when one of the women she didn't know gave her a hug. She was even more surprised to miss the warmth when the woman pulled back. Unable to speak, she waved her thanks and, cell phone in hand, made for the door.
    Waiting just outside in the hall, standing half a head taller than Molly, was the Good Samaritan. His tie was loose, collar unbuttoned. He was visibly relieved when she stopped. With the earlier scene rushing back, how could she not? Her first thought was to apologize for her mother's abominable behavior, but he spoke first.
    “How is she?”
    Molly scrunched up her nose and shook her head.
    He made a defeated sound. “I knew it was bad. She was clammy and cold. It was terrifying. As soon as the paramedics took over, I left.” He seemed tormented. “I just freaked out. Her name was right there on her shoe tag, and after I read it, I recognized her face. She's every runner's idol, and there I was, trying to get her to breathe. It didn't help, did it.”
    Molly hesitated, then shook her head.
    “Brain dead?” he whispered.
    She lifted a shoulder—couldn't quite deny it to this man, who clearly connected the dots.
    He seemed to deflate. “I keep thinking that if I'd been doing a faster pace, I'd've gotten there sooner.”
    Molly hugged herself. “If you'd been on a different road, you'd