“But if it’s serious, Bree . . .”
“It’s not. Not enough to worry him.” Her voice hardened. Her gaze met Sarah’s and held. “Look at Dad. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. He’s running himself ragged. It just doesn’t seem right, or fair, to lay this on him now. There’s only so much a person can take.”
Brianna had made a good point. And yet Sarah knew that Dad was all about being a dad, and he took his role as a parent seriously. “But your health—”
“Is improving.”
“Is that bullshit, or are you telling me the truth?”
Brianna cracked a smile. “It’s the truth.”
“How do I know?”
Brianna held out an arm. “Look at me. Don’t I look better?”
“No. You look like a skeleton.”
“Hey! I resemble that,” Bree joked, but a shadow darkened her eyes and her chin wobbled. “And okay, I know I’m still really thin, but I’m getting better. I’ve got a doctor here, an amazing doctor. A pioneer in the field, and one of the top specialists in the country. He wasn’t taking new patients but Mom made a call—”
“Do you have AIDS?”
“No! God, no. It’s just hep C.”
Sarah stared blankly at her.
Brianna gestured impatiently. “Hepatitis C. No biggie.”
Sarah shook her head. “Hepatitis C is serious, and it’s chronic, and it can cause liver failure, so don’t act all nonchalant with me!”
“Okay, fine. I’ve got a fairly serious case, but I’m getting help now and I should be as good as new soon.”
“Then why do you look like you’re still at death’s door?”
“Because . . . it’s . . . a serious case . . . but I’ve got the right doctors now, I’ve got a good team—”
“You just said a moment ago it wasn’t serious. Now you say it’s a serious case. What is it?”
“Serious. Pretty damn bad. Happy now? Is that what you want to hear?”
“I want the truth.”
“Great. The truth is, I’m sick. The truth is, I might need a new liver. But I also might not. Happy?”
“No! No. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You should have come home sooner. You should have gotten your ass back here the moment you knew you were sick. Jesus, Bree, we live in San Francisco. Some of the top medical research is done right here, just around the corner from our house at UCSF—”
“I know. I’m being seen there now.”
“But why did you wait? Why wait until it might be too late? Liver failure? Really?”
Brianna lifted her chin. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Yet. But it could. You could be on dialysis forever, or needing a donor liver. And those give out. They don’t always work—”
“Thanks for the optimistic thoughts, Sarah.”
“I have a right to be angry! I’ve just lost Mom, and Jack’s gone, and now I find out you’re seriously sick.”
“Sick, but not dead, and that’s an important distinction, sis.”
“Maybe. But I know you. I’m looking at you. You’re . . . you’re . . .” Sarah shook her head, her throat aching, her chest so tight it was hard to breathe. “You’re a ghost, Brianna. And it’s not right. You are you. You’ve always been bigger than life, so full of life. My entire life I’ve looked up to you for being adventurous and fierce and alive. Alive.” She knocked back tears. She was furious. Beyond furious. And the words were tumbling out of her mouth, one after the other. “How could you be so careless? And selfish? We love you, Brianna. We need you—”
“What’s going on out here?” Dad’s big, booming voice cut Sarah short.
Sarah looked away, bit into her lip, arms crossing her chest to hide her shaking.
Brianna didn’t speak.
And Sarah couldn’t.
“Girls?” Dad prompted impatiently, and his no-nonsense tone made Sarah feel like a child again. She glanced at Brianna, and then at her father.
“Nothing’s going on,” Sarah said tightly as Brianna extracted her hand from hers.
“I heard enough to know something’s wrong,” he answered, walking toward them, hands in his pockets, expression somber, watchful.
Brianna’s lips compressed. Sarah tapped her foot, anxious, restless, feeling trapped. Everyone had known since late March that Brianna wasn’t well. It was all they’d talked about when she first arrived from the Congo, but with Mom’s death, and then Jack’s accident, they’d stopped discussing her, stopped worrying about her.