Chapter 9: That Wasn't the Liver

I called Maisie from Cal's kitchen, and she answered on the fifth ring.

"I'm okay," she said before I spoke. "I took my feet out of the bath and they looked bad. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Cal's a nurse. He says it's fluid."

"Who's Cal?"

"The man who brought cornbread."

There was a short, startled silence, and then my sister laughed, a thin laugh that turned into a cough.

"The one who said that thing about the bed? Shanna. In front of Dad."

"That one."

"I'm so proud of you," she said, and her voice cracked.

She hung up, and a moment later she called back.

"Sorry. Dad's benefit dinner is tomorrow at the Elks. I'll be there. I promise."

"Maisie, come to the ER tonight."

"If I go to the ER tonight, Mom finds out. I need one more day."

"One more day for what?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

The line went dead.

I stood holding the phone, and Cal took it out of my hand and put it on the counter.

"She won't go," I said.

"She's twenty-two and she's choosing. We can't carry her out of the house."

He rubbed his thumb along my wrist.

"But she'll be in the room tomorrow. And so will you."

"Tomorrow I tell them," I said. "All of it. In front of the whole hall."

"Yes."

"I've been waiting for the right moment, and there isn't one."

"No." His eyes were steady. "There's only the one you make."

I put my hands flat on his chest.

I could feel his heart going hard under my palms.

"You said tonight you'd put me in your bed," I said.

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