The doctor had kind eyes, and she knew by the way he knotted his dark hands at his sides that he dreaded walking into the waiting room and saying the thing he did not want to say. He glanced around at the mostly empty waiting room. “Is your mother available?”
Dr. Williams had met with both her mother and her several hours ago and given them a truthful account of what Hillary was up against—she was unstable, her organs failing. Her mother had asked for other doctors, men and women she’d known once upon a time when her husband had worked in this very hospital. Dr. Williams had endured her mother’s rather rude queries, his dark eyes showing nothing but sympathy and weariness. He’d agreed to call one name he recognized, but so far, that had amounted to nothing.
“My mother stepped out. It’s been a rather, um, emotional night. I can—”
“I’ll look in the chapel,” Joseph interrupted, passing the doctor.
Tennyson’s friend didn’t look like anyone Melanie would expect her former friend to be seeing. She was certain the guy’s barber worked at Cheapcuts, he had no clue what Dolce & Gabbana was, and didn’t know what a Lamborghini felt like beneath his really nice rump. Tennyson had always dated and wed men who were of a certain type, or so she’d heard through the grapevine. Joseph was a guy-next-door type who could probably fix a leak and change the filter in a lawn mower. He was exactly what Tennyson needed—a bit of grounding. And it didn’t hurt that he was incredibly easy on the eyes.
“Would you like to sit?” Dr. Williams asked, gesturing to the chair beside Tennyson.
Melanie didn’t want to sit. She wanted to run. Just leave and go as far as she could manage. On foot. In a car. On a plane.
She didn’t want to be there without Kit. Without any member of her family.
It was hugely ironic that the only person sitting with her when she got the second worst news of her life was the person who she’d spent so much time hating for being part of her woes. But even so, something about Tennyson being there felt right. Like she needed someone in her corner, and her former friend might be that perfect person. Which sort of blew her mind.
Tennyson took her hand as if demonstrating that very point.
Melanie looked down at their linked hands. She’d painted her own nails a ladylike pink, and her manicurist had filed them short. She’d worn the plain gold band that Kit had given her on her wedding day to the bridal shower, leaving the big diamond in the safe almost to emphasize how sensible she was compared to Tennyson, whose nails were long and French tipped. Tennyson wore several rings, all of them big jewels with winking diamonds. At her thin wrist, a diamond tennis bracelet sparkled in the horrid fluorescent light.
So very different from one another.
“Mel,” Tennyson said, her voice soft.
Melanie looked at her friend. Tennyson’s blue-green eyes sparkled with tears, and her lips were bare for once. She hadn’t seen Tennyson without makeup since they were preteens, and honestly, the woman didn’t look bad without her war paint. In fact, she looked softer, more approachable, more the girl she’d once been. How could this Tennyson be the same one who did such a horrible thing?
Melanie sank onto the hard cushion of the waiting room chair.
The doctor hooked a chair with his foot and pulled it to him. He sat, knees spread, elbows sitting atop, face earnest . . . and sad.
Joseph appeared in the doorway, shook his head, and then shrugged before inching back to the wall, where he stood as if he were guarding the doorway.
Her mother was MIA.
“I don’t believe my mother will be joining us for this conversation, Dr. Williams. Just go ahead and tell me,” Melanie managed around a tongue that suddenly felt too big for her mouth. Her heart knocked against her ribs, a steady, hard thump that sounded in her ears. She was nearly certain a hooded executioner had poked a hook through her stomach and now scrambled her insides like a skillet of eggs.
Dr. Williams nodded. Gravely. “Your sister’s heart was pretty weak, and her organs had long since been compromised.”
Was. Had.
Tennyson hadn’t let go of her hand, and now Melanie clutched it like she was dangling over a cliff and that was her only hope to survive.
“Mrs. Layton, I’m sorry to say your sister wasn’t able to survive the cardiac arrest. We tried all we could to give her a chance, but nevertheless, she succumbed.”
He made it sound almost pretty. Succumbed didn’t sound as bad as bit the dust or turned up her toes or just plain ol’ died. It sounded like a good alternative to fighting. Much easier.
“I’m very sorry.” His expression was genuine, and she could see that he was sorry.
And like that, even though she knew what he’d been going to tell her, the bottom of her world dropped out, and she fell.
Tears slid down her cheeks. She had no way to stop them. In a small voice, she said, “Thank you for trying to save her.”
He reached out and took her other hand in his big, warm, soft hands and rubbed it. A kind gesture that only served to break her heart more. But sitting right beside her heartbreak, awaiting its turn, was anger. Deep, disturbing, crackling anger.
Because she sat here as Hillary’s only family.
Their bitch of a mother had walked away because of Tennyson. And, yeah, she understood why. Tennyson had outed her dad in front of everyone, but Tennyson hadn’t been the one to do the porn movie. Anne had pretended that night away and never let them speak of it. She’d made Albert lie to the hospital board, she’d suppressed every truth, all so everyone would think that none of the Brevards made mistakes. And it hadn’t stopped with her father.
She’d done the same with Hillary, helping her sister hide her sickness, never allowing Hillary to talk about her disease, never letting her have power over the bulimia and anorexia. Hillary agreed to therapy, but their mother never wanted it spoken of, like her sister was an embarrassment and her illness wasn’t a result of the incessant pressure put upon her to be perfect. No one could know that Anne was letting her oldest daughter kill herself. They also couldn’t know what a screwup Melanie could be. Her mother felt obligated to keep a close watch on her every move, scrutinizing every dress, every action, every mistake, as if Melanie was her last hope to prove the Brevards were above everyone else.
So, yeah, something seethed inside her.
Not to mention, Kit was still at the beach with Charlotte.
And her kids were probably stopping for effing Starbucks before coming to the hospital.
And here she sat, hearing about her sister’s death with Tennyson and a man she didn’t know. How wrong was that? How had she deserved to be the one to bear all the initial heartbreak?
Melanie pulled her hands away from both Tennyson and Dr. Williams. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled noisily. She stood. “Okay, I’m fine. What do I need to do next?”
The doctor hadn’t expected her to rebound so quickly. He blinked. “Uh, I will, uh, talk to—”
“Mel,” Tennyson interrupted, rising beside her and demanding her attention. Of course. That’s what Tennyson had always done best, right? But when she looked at her old friend, Melanie softened. Tears streamed down Tennyson’s cheeks, and her nose was ruby red. She looked unsteady and not like a woman who stormed mile-high walls without a blink. “Are you sure you’re okay?”