“With complex brain surgery we expect complications—”
“Such as?” Madison leaned forward as if getting closer would pull the information from the doctor faster.
The doctor ticked off the points on her fingers as she spoke. “Swelling of the brain.”
“Oh dear,” Darynda exclaimed and sagged against Gia.
“Brain swelling is . . .” Dr. Hollingway held her hands parallel in front of her, palms cupped as if cradling a human brain. “Part and parcel of brain surgery. So please, don’t get overly alarmed.”
Gia rubbed her hand up and down Darynda’s back to soothe herself as much as the older woman. Darynda was trembling. So was Gia.
“Continue.” Madison’s gaze never left the doctor’s face.
“Because of the swelling, we’ve put her in a medically induced coma. Brain surgery is a lot for the human body to cope with and recovery takes time. When she regains consciousness, we need to watch out for complications—”
“Such as?” Madison tapped a fingernail on the couch arm.
“Weakness, dizzy spells, poor balance, seizures.”
“She had those symptoms before the surgery,” Darynda said.
Madison shot Darynda the side eye. “She had seizures?”
“Once. A big one. At Walmart. There was this flashing sign—”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you call me?” Madison’s voice sounded like gravel dragged across concrete.
Darynda seemed to shrink into the couch. “Helen asked me not to.”
Madison pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes. She looked as if she had gone Marie Kondo on her closet, sorting things into a “keep” or “discard” pile based on how much joy the items brought her and Darynda had fallen solidly in the discard pile. Gia kept quiet for fear of joining Darynda in the reject heap.
Madison whipped her gaze back to the doctor. “Survival rates?”
“From the surgery itself or the cancer?” The doctor steepled her fingertips, studying Madison with cool eyes. She was not afraid of ending up in any discard pile.
“Both.”
“Her heart is in excellent shape, and she has a ninety percent chance of recovering from the surgery.”
“And the cancer?”
“Talk to her oncologist about that,” Dr. Hollingway deferred. “But I can share that resecting the tumor has bought her extra time.”
“She could live for years, right?” Gia’s knee bumped up and down in a nervous jerking of its own accord. “If we got her on a healthy diet and juiced vegetables and gave her supplements and fed her probiotics. There was a woman on YouTube who—”
“Anecdotal.”
“What does that mean?” Gia asked.
“There’s no proof that juicing cures cancer.”
“But we could try, right? It’s something.” Gia’s knee bounced higher, the muscles in her leg drawn tight.
“It won’t hurt,” the doctor conceded. “But I caution you against getting your hopes up.”
“That’s what hopes are for, right? To give you strength when all seems lost—”
“There’s hope . . .” Dr. Hollingway’s voice softened, but the look in her eyes said it all. She was a surgeon. She cut. Bedside manners weren’t her jam. “And there is delusion.”
“So the cancer will kill her.” Madison’s face was flint.
Dr. Hollingway’s lips pulled taut. “Talk to her oncologist.” She took three business cards from her lab coat, passed them out. “If anything comes up concerning her surgery, please call my office.”
“When can we see her?” Darynda asked.
“She’s in the postanesthesia recovery unit and she’ll be there overnight. The nurses are at her bedside constantly. You’d only be in the way. You can visit her in the morning when they take her up to the neuro intensive care unit. There’s nothing more you can do tonight except go home and take care of yourselves. I know she’d want that.” The doctor got to her feet.
They did too.
Madison shook the doctor’s extended hand. “We appreciate what you’ve done for our grandmother.”
“Thank you,” Darynda said.
“We’re so glad you’re in our corner.” Gia made a mental note to send the doctor and her staff a thank-you fruit basket.
“You’re most welcome.” The doctor nodded and swept out a side exit, leaving them to go out the way they’d come in.
Madison opened the door and ushered them ahead of her; Gia went first but stopped dead in her tracks.
There, in the middle of the waiting room, dressed head to toe in gossamer white, shouldering a raggedy backpack, and sporting beat-up Birkenstocks, stood a woman Gia barely recognized.
Waist-length blond hair frizzed around her face, her cheeks hollowed, her limbs way too thin, her eyes glazed and spaced out, as if she’d just jolted wide awake from a long, dreamless sleep.
She looked lost in a fundamental way. As if she no longer had an internal compass and no way to get her bearings.
It was Shelley.
Chapter Five
Shelley
TRIAD: Any three colors equally spaced on the color wheel, one of which usually takes precedence in a color scheme.
DOES ANYONE HAVE two hundred dollars?” Shelley mumbled, the bedrock of her shame as hard and unyielding as marble. This was not the triumphant return she’d dreamed of for five long years. “I need to pay the taxi.”
Gia’s gaze jumped from Shelley to Madison.
“Seriously?” Madison sneered.
Donning emotional armor, Shelley drew herself up tall underneath Madison’s withering gaze. Height. The one advantage she had over her older sister. Even if it was only an inch. “The driver is waiting.”
“Why didn’t you take an Uber?” Maddie scolded. “It’d have been cheaper.”
“Complicated story.” Yeah, like she didn’t even have a cell phone or credit card, much less an Uber account.
Maddie rolled her eyes hard. “With you, isn’t it always?”
“Are you going to give me the money or not?”
“I’ve got fifty dollars.” Gia dug in her purse. “Can you chip in, Darynda?”
“I’ll handle it.” Madison gritted her teeth. “Where’s the driver?”
Shelley hung her head. “He’s at the emergency room entrance.”
Shouldering her purse, Madison marched off.
Shelley felt like shit and longed for the days before their rivalry started back in high school. Back then, it was a subtle thing, the middle child’s insecurity, as Shelley attempted to find her place in the limelight that shone continuously on Madison.
She’d tried the proper channels but repeatedly fell short. She’d run for class president and lost, whereas Madison won class president four years in a row. Shelley enrolled in AP courses like her older sister, but her grades plummeted, and the principal moved her back to regular classes. She snagged second chair clarinet in the band, but Madison sat first chair.
By her junior year, Shelley surrendered. Waved the white flag. Took up with the rebels. Skipped school. Smoked. Drank. Wore short skirts and too much makeup. Frolicked with the summer tourists. Earned a reputation as the “fun” Moonglow sister, although she’d never caused any real trouble . . .