And I hope so hard that that’s true.

*

Sam, red-eyed and sullen, comes through the kitchen door.

“She wants to speak to you.”

He hands me my phone back without making eye contact, then leaves.

I draw a steadying breath and raise the phone to my ear.

“Abigail?”

She exhales.

“Gillian.” She pauses. “I…I have to say thank you. For taking care of him and, well, for the email.”

“That’s okay.”

A silence.

“Gillian?…”

And there’s something in her tone that takes me back to childhood. Back to when I used to reach my skinny wrists down into our mailbox to get those detention notices before Mom could see them. I try to keep the trepidation out of my voice.

“What is it?” I say.

“He wants to meet her.” Abigail pauses. “Sam wants to meet her.”

That seems natural.

“Gillian…I haven’t told him that she’s sick. I can’t now, after everything. But if we wait…she might not even be around this summer, Gillian. Or if she is…” Abigail swallows. “We just don’t know. Right now she’s doing well. She looks good, healthy. But she might not even want visitors, if things…you know. Deteriorate.”

I start to understand. If things go downhill fast, even if Sam can visit her, it might not be the same. He might be visiting someone very sick. And if he does get the chance to make memories, they might be sad memories, or scary ones.

“He really wants to meet her, Gillie.”

That crackling, nervous feeling comes back into the air.

“Abigail…” I hesitate. “What are you asking?”

She takes a deep breath.

“There’s a flight leaving Albany for Miami at five-thirty today.”

“Abigail…” I say, my mouth going dry. Involuntarily, I glance at the time. It’s noon. Albany airport is thirty minutes away.

“Please, Gillie. I’ll book the tickets right now if you say yes.”

“Abigail, I can’t…”

I hear her breath quiver on the line.

“Gillian…if he doesn’t meet her now, he might never. And he’ll blame us all for it.” I hear her breath on the line. “I just don’t want him to have regrets, Gillie, like I do about Dad. About what we never got to say.”

That cuts me to the quick, and I think she knows it.

“Just ask him, Gillie. And if he says no then it’s no. But just ask him.”

I pause. I can feel myself being dragged closer to this wild plan, as if my sister’s will is a whirlpool drawing me in. I’ve felt this feeling before many times. Sometimes it’s led good places; other times, bad.

“What about Dennis?” I say finally.