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myself answer.

She sits down on the other side of the bed from me. Her hair – lighter brown than June’s, and wavy like mine – is tied up in a messy ponytail and she looks exhausted, circles ringing her cornflower-blue eyes, her face pale and stark without her usual lashings of makeup. She strokes the dyed blue ends of June’s hair, her bottom lip starting to tremble.

‘She dyed her hair blue,’ she stammers, tears spilling down her cheeks.

My throat constricts, tears welling in my own eyes. ‘Did Laurie and Dave pick you up?’ I ask, trying to turn the focus from June because it’s too much.

Hannah nods. ‘Laurie called me this morning. I got the first flight I could.’

The door opens again. This time it’s Gene, looking exhausted, with a day’s worth of stubble, still wearing the clothes I saw him in last night. He’s carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Hey,’ he says when he sees Hannah.

He puts the coffee down on a side table and shuffles towards her, but she doesn’t get up and so his intended hug becomes a pat on her shoulder. He frowns and backs away, picking up his coffee and coming to stand behind me.

I would have thought the animosity between them might have softened given the circumstances but it’s still there, going strong. Hannah has had an issue with Gene ever since he moved into the apartment over the garage, since before that really. She’s had it out with me on more than one occasion – she thinks he’s spoiled and gets away with everything. She’s the one who got a 4.0 grade point average, she’s the one who scored an academic scholarship, she’s the one who’s worked the hardest, so why is Gene the one who gets rewarded all the time?

It’s classic jealousy between siblings and I get her point of view. But it’s not a competition. We bought her a car. We pay for the tuition that isn’t covered by her scholarship as well as her accommodation, and NYU is one of the most expensive colleges in the country. She’s not exactly getting a bum deal.

‘Where’s your dad?’ I ask Gene.

‘He’s in with the insurance person – I think there’s a problem with the paperwork.’

I sigh. For God’s sake. We were victims of a burglary. Our daughter is in a coma fighting for her life. And they’re expecting us to fill out forms? The whole healthcare system in this country is insane.

‘I’m telling you, we should have moved to Canada years ago,’ Gene says.

It’s something we joke about a lot – given the backward state of healthcare and the rising number of gun-toting crazy people in the US.

‘Why don’t you move there?’ Hannah asks. ‘Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t be able to live rent free if you did.’

‘You gave a statement to the police?’ I ask Gene, trying to change the subject.

He glances my way, distracted. ‘To that Sheriff guy.’

‘Where were you last night?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

‘I went out with a friend.’ He swallows hard as he stares at June.

‘What friend?’

Gene shakes his head. ‘No one you know,’ he mumbles, then his eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been home. I could have . . .’

‘I’m glad you weren’t,’ I say, taking his hand, and hearing Hannah sigh loudly in the background. She’s got it into her head that Gene’s my favorite, which is frankly ridiculous. I don’t have favorites. That should be clear to all of them.

Gene brushes his hand over his face to force back the tears.

‘I’m going to find Dad,’ Hannah says, getting up and rushing out of the room, letting the door bang shut angrily behind her. Gene takes her empty chair and slides his hand into June’s and we sit there in silence, locked in our own thoughts.

The doctor, a woman a couple of years younger than me, comes in a few minutes later and runs some tests on June. I wait, biting my tongue, hoping that she’ll turn to me smiling and tell me that June is showing signs of improvement, but when she does finish writing up her notes, her expression is grim.

‘Is there any change?’ I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Walker. We’ll let you know the minute there is.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Gene says to me when the doctor leaves.

I don’t answer. It used to infuriate me when people told me that while she was going through chemo and it infuriates me just the same now. He’s not clairvoyant. How could he know she’s going to be fine?

‘You remember the time her hair started to fall out?’ Gene asks quietly.

I nod. All her beautiful hair. How can I forget that moment when she screamed at me and I came running, terror making me fly so fast my feet barely touched the ground? We knew, of course, it was a side effect of the chemo. But June hadn’t fully understood what would happen to her; how sick she was. Not until then.

‘She was so upset,’ I whisper, stroking her hair back from her face, remembering how fair and straight it used to be.

‘Yeah,’ says Gene, smiling.

I smile too. June woke up the next morning and declared she was going to shave all her hair off for charity. Gene and Robert both shaved their heads too, in solidarity with her. I would have done mine as well, but June made me promise I wouldn’t because she said I’d look ugly if I did.

She didn’t flinch or cry when the clippers got to work and her hair started to drift in clumps to the ground, her lip didn’t even tremble – and she was only six years old. I had never felt so proud in my life as I did that day.

‘She’s going to be fine,’ Gene whispers again.

Chapter 11

A nurse comes to get me a few minutes later to take me back to my room. The doctor wants to check my stitches and make sure I’m healing properly.

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