"Sometimes I screw up. I tend to think I know everything."

Claire smiled. "Are you waiting for an argument?"

"I just want you to remember that. I'm trying to do the right thing."

"Okay, Meg. I'll remember. Now go to work. I don't want to miss Judge Judy Judge Judy. She reminds me of you."

"Smart-a.s.s." Meg looked at her a moment longer, then opened the condo door. "Bye."

"This is the longest farewell in history. Bye, Meg. Go to work."

Meghann nodded and walked away.

When Claire heard the ping of the elevator, she went into the condo, closing the door behind her.

Inside, the stereo was on. Dwight Yoakam's "Pocket of a Clown" pumped through the speakers.

Claire turned the corner and there he was.

Bobby.

Her hand flew to her bald spot.

She ran to the bathroom, flipped open the toilet lid, and threw up.

He was behind her, holding what was left of her hair back, telling her it was okay. "I'm here now, Claire. I'm here."

She closed her eyes, holding back tears of humiliation one breath at a time.

He rubbed her back.

Finally, she went to the sink and brushed her teeth. When she turned to face him, she was trying to smile. "Welcome to my nightmare."

He came toward her, and the love in his eyes made her want to weep. "Our nightmare, Claire."

She didn't know what to say. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she'd burst into tears, and she wanted to look strong for him.

"You had no right to keep this from me."

"I didn't want to ruin everything. And I thought . . . I'd get better. You'd dreamed of singing for so long."

"I dreamed of being a star, yeah. I like singing, but I love love you. I can't believe you'd hide this from me. What if . . ." you. I can't believe you'd hide this from me. What if . . ."

Claire caught her lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't trust me. Do you know how that feels?" His voice was tight, not his voice at all.

"I was just trying to love you."

"I wonder if you even know what love is. I'm in the hospital every day, honey, battling for my life, but don't you worry about it, just sing your stupid songs. I'm in the hospital every day, honey, battling for my life, but don't you worry about it, just sing your stupid songs. What kind of man do you think I am?" What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I just . . ." She stared at him, shaking her head.

He grabbed her, pulled her toward him, and held her so tightly it made her gasp. "I love you, Claire. I love love you," he said fiercely. "When are you going to get that through your head?" you," he said fiercely. "When are you going to get that through your head?"

She wrapped her arms around him, clung to him as if she might fall without him. "I guess my tumor got in the way. But I get it now, Bobby. I get it."

Hours later, when Meghann returned to the condo, the lights were off. She tiptoed through the darkness.

When she reached the living room, a light clicked on.

Claire and Bobby lay together on the sofa, their bodies entwined. He was snoring gently.

"I waited up for you," Claire said.

Meghann tossed her briefcase on the chair. "I had to call him, Claire."

"How did you know what he'd do?"

Meghann looked down at Bobby. "He was in the recording studio when I called. Actually recording a song. Honestly, I didn't think he'd come."

Claire glanced down at her sleeping husband, then up at Meg. A look pa.s.sed between the sisters; in it was the sad residue of their childhood. "Yeah," she said softly, "neither did I."

"He didn't hesitate for a second, Claire. Not a second. He said-and I quote-'f.u.c.k the song. I'll be there tomorrow.'"

"This is the second time you've called a man to come save me."

"You're lucky to be so loved."

Claire's gaze was steady. "Yeah," she said, smiling at her sister. "I am."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

JOE WAS SITTING ON THE SOFA, STARING AT THE SMALL black-and-white television screen. black-and-white television screen.

He was so caught up in the show, it was a moment before he noticed the footsteps outside.

He tensed, sat up.

A key rattled in the lock, then the door swung open. Gina stood in the opening, her fists on her hips. "Hey, big brother. Nice way you have of calling people."

He sighed. "Smitty gave you a key."

"We were worried about you."

"I've been busy."

She looked at the stack of beer cans and pizza boxes and smiled grimly. "Come on. You're coming home with me. I have a roast in the oven and I rented Ruthless People Ruthless People. We are going to drink wine and laugh." Her voice softened. "I could use a laugh."

Something about the way she said it shamed him. He'd forgotten about her troubles. He'd been too busy swimming in the pool of his own. "Are you okay?"

"Come on," she said, avoiding the question. "Smitty told me to drag your sorry a.s.s out of here-his words. I intend to do just that."

He knew there was no point in fighting with her-she had that look on her face-and, truthfully, he didn't want to. He was tired of being alone. "Okay."

He followed her out to her car; within minutes, they were in her bright, airy kitchen.

She handed him a gla.s.s of Merlot.

While she basted the roast and turned the potatoes, Joe wandered around the great room. In the corner, he found a sewing machine set up. A pile of bold, beautiful fabric lay heaped beside it. He picked up the garment she'd made, ready to compliment her, when he saw what it was. There was no mistaking the slit back.

"It's a hospital gown," Gina said, coming up behind him. "I should have put that stuff away. I forgot. I'm sorry."

He remembered the day Gina had come to his house, bearing pretty designer hospital gowns just like this one.

You shouldn't have to look like everyone else, she'd said to Diana, who'd wept at the gift.

Those gowns had meant so much to Diana. It didn't seem like a big deal-just a change of fabric-but it had brought back her smile. "Who are they for?"

"Claire. She's undergoing radiation right now."

"Claire," he said her name softly, feeling sick. Life was so d.a.m.n unfair sometimes. "She just got married."

"I didn't tell you because . . . well . . . I knew it would bring up memories."

"Where's she getting the radiation?"

"Swedish."

"That's the best place for her. Good." Radiation Radiation. He remembered all of it-the sunburned-looking skin, the puffiness, the way Diana's hair started to fall out. In strands at first, then in handfuls.

He and Gina had spent their fair share of time in the cancer end zone. He couldn't imagine how Gina could handle it again.

"Claire flew all around the country seeing the best doctors. I know she's going to get better. It won't be like . . . you know."

"Like Diana," he said into the uncomfortable silence.

Gina came up behind him, touched his shoulder. "I tried to protect you from this. I'm sorry."

He stared out the window at the backyard designed for children. Once, he and Diana had dreamed of bringing their babies here to play.

"Maybe you'd like to go see Claire."

"No," he said so quickly, he knew Gina understood. "My time in hospitals is done."

"Yeah," Gina said, "now let's go watch a funny movie."

He slipped an arm around his sister and pulled her in close. "I could use a laugh."

Meghann sat in the chair that had once felt so comfortable and stared at Dr. Bloom.

"It was all bulls.h.i.t," she said bitterly. "All my appointments with you. They were just a way for a self-obsessed woman to vent about the mistakes she'd made in her life. Why didn't you ever tell me that none of it mattered?"

"Because it does matter."

"No. I was sixteen years old when all that happened. Sixteen. None of it matters-my fear, my guilt, her resentment. Who cares?"

"Why doesn't it matter anymore?"

Meghann closed her eyes, reaching for a bitterness that had moved on. All she felt was tired, lost. "She's sick."

"Oh." The word was a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"I'm afraid, Harriet," Meghann finally admitted. "What if . . . I can't do it?"

"Do what?"

"Stand by her bed and hold her hand and watch her die? I'm terrified I'll let her down again."

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Ah, Meghann. The only person you ever let down is yourself. You'll be there for Claire. You always have been."

It wasn't entirely true. She wished it were. She wanted to be the kind of person who could be depended upon.

"If I were ill, there's no one I'd rather have in my corner, Meghann. You're so busy swimming in old sorrows that you haven't bothered to come up for air. You've made up with Claire, whether you two have said the words or not. You're her sister again. Forgive yourself and go forward."

Meghann let the advice sink in. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was true. This wasn't the time for fear and regret; she'd spent too many years on that already. These were days that called for hope and, for once, she was going to be strong enough to believe in a happy ending for Claire. No running away from potential heartache. That was the mistake Meg had made in her marriage. She'd feared a broken heart so keenly that she'd never given the whole of her love to Eric.

"Thanks, Harriet," she said at last. "I could have bought a Mercedes for what you charged me, but you've helped."

Harriet smiled. It surprised Meg, made her realize that she'd never seen her doctor smile before. "You're welcome."

Meghann stood up. "So. I'll see you next week, same time?"

"Of course."