“I’m thrilled that your health metrics are exceeding projected benchmarks.”
“That’s ten times worse.” But she’s grinning, and her dark hair swings as she steps into the parking garage. She’s no longer moving with the careful shuffle she’d adopted when the fatigue was brutal. She’s my sunshiney sister again, and I’m so fucking happy.
I hold open the passenger door of the Range Rover, and she gives me a look. “You know I can drive myself to these appointments now.”
“I also know your car shakes above sixty and the AC barely works.”
“My 4Runner has character.”
“Your 4Runner is almost twenty years old and should be put out of its misery.” I round to the driver’s side. “We could stop at a dealership on the way?—”
“I like my car, Jeremy.” She buckles her seatbelt. “And I can handle my own life.”
I know that. I’ve watched her handle a cancer diagnosis, a stem-cell transplant with side effects that would have flattened most people, and now a drug trial. Not to mention theindignity of her overbearing brother attempting to manage her through all of it. My sister is the least fragile person I’ve ever met.
“I’m aware you’re capable.”
“Then stop hovering.”
“I’m not hovering. I’m driving.”
“You hover while driving. It’s a skill.” She adjusts the air vent. “The whole town treats me like I’m one strong breeze away from the ICU. You should see Taylor’s face if I sneeze. She’s ready to dial 911 before the tissue hits the trash.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“You have acute lymphocytic leukemia. People are going to worry.”
“My A-L-L is responding to treatment, and people can worry from a respectful distance.” She points a finger at me. “Including you.”
“I’m your brother. Respectful distance isn’t in my job description.”
“God complex shouldn’t be either.”
I grip the steering wheel and merge onto I-70 heading west. “If it means making sure my sister gets to her appointments safely, then sign me up.”
“You’ve got more money than God.” Her voice softens. “But you can’tplayGod, Jeremy. That’s not how life works.”
“It should.” I don’t bother to hide my growl. “And to keep you safe and healthy, I’m going to try.”
She’s quiet for a beat, rare for Sloane. Then she reaches over and squeezes my arm. “And I love you for it, even when you’re insufferable.” She lets go, leans her head against the window, and within five minutes her breathing evens out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.
I turn the music down and check the mirrors, like the road might somehow betray us if I’m not vigilant. Sloane sleeps with her mouth slightly open, one hand curled against her chest, andshe looks so much like the little girl version of herself that something fiercely protective unfurls in my chest. I’d never admit the feeling out loud. It would ruin my reputation as an emotionally unavailable robot. But it’s there.
Avah did the same thing on the way home from the Johnsons, like my Range Rover is a four-thousand-pound sedative. I’m starting to wonder if it’s the car or me, and I don’t know which answer I’d prefer.
My sister stirs as I slow for the Skylark exit, blinking awake with a disoriented squint.
“How long was I out?”
“Thirty minutes.”
She straightens, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ears. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“You were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
