I looked at Alex, at her bottled rage, and felt my own fall away. How had we come to this?

“She said that she loves me, Alex. In spite of everything, she still loves her big brother. So, you see, I don’t need power over her. I don’t want it. She called me and I saved her life. Just like I did before she met you. Think on that. Then let’s figure out what we can do to help this person we both love so much.”

If I’d expected Alex to back down, I should have known better.

“That’s not what I meant, Work, and you know it. Stop being such a fucking lawyer.”

She turned and left, her bare feet soundless as she fled the truth. I heard the door slam, the muffled sound of her car, and then I was truly alone in the great house I’d known for so long. I looked at the rug spread beneath the stairs, the lake of blood that filled the space with its own peculiar scent. Footprints led away from it, and tracks from the gurney, growing lighter, transparent, and then disappearing altogether. I saw Jean’s cell phone and picked it up. I held it, studied the dried blood on it, and then placed it on the small table by the door.

I told myself I should go to the hospital, but I knew from bitter experience that Jean would live or die whether I was there or not; and I was so tired, so unable to deal with Alex again. I thought of the big bed upstairs, pictured myself on its snowy sheets; I wanted to roll into them, touch their cleanness, and pretend that I was a child again and had no worries. But I could not; I was not that person anymore, not a child and not a deceiver. So I lay down on the carpet, next to the drying wasteland of my sister’s life.

CHAPTER 22

At the hospital, they told me that she would live. If I’d been a minute later, she would not have. That’s how thin the margin was, around seventy heartbeats. They would allow only one visitor at a time, so I had the nurse ask Alex for five minutes. We passed each other in the hall outside Jean’s room and both of us tried to be nice. It was awkward, and we looked like victims in the bright, clean light.

“How is she?” I asked.

“They say she’ll make it.”

“Brain damage?”

Alex shook her head, pushed her hands farther into the pockets of her grubby jeans. I saw where Jean’s blood had dried between her toes. “They don’t think so, but they won’t swear to it.”

“They sound like lawyers,” I said, but Alex did not smile.

“Yeah.”

“Has she regained consciousness?”

“No.”

“Listen, Alex. When Jean wakes up, she’ll need to see people who care about her, not people who hate each other. I’d like to give her that.”

“You mean fake it.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do it for Jean, but the line’s been drawn for us. Don’t let my act fool you. You’re bad for her, even if she doesn’t see it that way.”

“All I care about is getting her better, and I want her to know that people love her.”

Alex looked down the hall, away from Jean and from me. “I’m going for coffee. I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She took two steps and turned. “I wouldn’t have shot you,” she said.

Her statement surprised me. Until then, I’d forgotten all about the gun in her hand and how steady it had seemed. “Thank you,” I said.

“I just wanted you to know that.”

Jean’s hospital room was exactly like every other one in which she’d awakened after a failed suicide attempt. The bed was narrow and mean, with steel rails, stiff sheets, and a bright spread that somehow appeared colorless. Tubes snaked into her body, green in the light of her monitors, and the curtains were drawn. I walked around her bed and opened them. The morning light was warm, and in it Jean looked like a wax figure, pallid and incomplete. I wanted to mold her into something else, a survivor; but I lacked that qualification, and could still feel the barrel under my own chin. Only then did it occur to me how close we both had come, and standing above her, I tried to make sense of it all. I knew only that we lived, an immense but lonely truth. I sat and took her hand. When I looked at her face, I found her eyes open and watching me. Her lips moved, and I leaned closer.

“Am I alive?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” I answered in a cracked voice. “You are.” I bit down on my lip. She was so weak. “It was a close thing.”

She turned her head away from me, but not before I saw tears slip from beneath her tightly shut eyes. When Alex returned, she was asleep again, and I left without saying a word about it. Maybe I was selfish. I didn’t care.

I leaned against the wall in the corridor for what felt like a long time. Before I left, I looked into the room, through the small window with wire in the glass. The curtains were pulled again, and Alex sat where I had, holding Jean’s hand. Jean had not moved; she faced the wall, and I wondered if she was still asleep. Would she turn from Alex as she had from me? Or was Alex truly her life, whereas I was welcome only at the ending of it?

I almost left, but I saw Jean move; she turned, saw Alex, and covered her face with her hands. Alex said something and Jean began to tremble, the tubes dancing beneath her forearms. Then Alex was on her feet, leaning over her; she pressed her face to Jean’s and they both grew still. So I left, an unwelcome member of our sad little family.

I had the elevator to myself, but when it opened into the lobby, I saw Detective Mills standing by the exit. She was looking out the window, but I knew she was waiting for me. I walked toward her and saw a marked patrol car idling at the curb. A uniformed officer leaned on the hood, his hand on the butt of his pistol. He was young and looked eager.

“Are you here for me?” I asked. Mills turned at the sound of my voice and studied me. I was bloodstained and filthy. Next to me, she looked every inch the instrument of justice; her shoes shone and I could still see the crease in her pants. When she spoke, I smelled her mouthwash.

“I am,” she said.

“What about him?” I gestured at the young cop outside. Mills shrugged but did not respond.

“Cheap theatrics,” I said. “There’s no need.”

Outside, the cop got into his cruiser and left. He did not look at Mills or at me. Mills watched him drive away before she turned back to me.

“A little jumpy, aren’t you, Work?”

“Whatever.”

She smiled. “I never said he was with me.”

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“I heard about your sister,” she said. “I figured you’d be here.”

“Thanks for your consideration.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

“Your sarcasm isn’t necessary.”

“I’m not in the mood for you, Detective. Not this morning. Not in this hospital. So if you’ll excuse me.”

I stepped around her, walked through the exit and into the parking lot. The morning had warmed and the sky was clear and blue. Traffic was loud from the road beyond the manicured hedge, and people moved around me, but I felt Mills behind me. She wore heels, and her footsteps were loud and fast. I knew she wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily, so I spun around to confront her.

“What do you want, Detective?”

She stopped a few feet away from me, a safe distance, and I saw the pistol butt hanging from beneath her jacket. She gave me the same cold smile.

“I hoped we might have a chance to talk. There are some things I need to discuss. Maybe there are some things you’d like to say. Either way, I’ve got nothing better to do right now.”

“I do,” I said, and turned.

“What happened to your face?” Mills asked.

“What?” I turned back.

“Your face. It’s cut.”

My fingers moved to my face as if guilty of some sin. “Scratches,” I said. “Just scratches.”

“How’d you get ‘em?” Mills asked lightly.

“I went for a walk in the woods.”

She looked away and nodded. “Is that where you got so muddy?” she asked.