‘But I don’t love him,’ Rachel said in an agonised whisper.
‘Then don’t marry him for pity’s sake!’ Susannah said, without thinking. ‘He’s a terrible drunk!’
‘Shush, Susie, you don’t understand,’ Kate warned her. ‘Rachel has to marry Silas. It’s the right thing to do.’
‘But why, if she doesn’t like him…’ Susannah’s voice trailed off as she looked down at Rachel. The way she had her hand on the belly, and the very tiny but pronounced bump. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘We only did it the once,’ Rachel told her, her voice passionate with defence. ‘He took me up the granite slabs in his father’s Buick and he had a bottle of liquor. I got a bit tipsy. Told him no, but then he called me frigid.’ Rachel’s voice shook. ‘I didn’t want him to think there was something wrong with me, so I let him.’
Susannah didn’t know what to say to Rachel. Part of her wanted to tell her how stupid she was to fall for Silas’ lines. She didn’t, though, because another part of her felt very sorry for Rachel indeed. It could easily be Susannah herself sitting on the side of that bath, throwing up in the Youngs’ toilet and facing a lifetime with Silas Young.
‘It’ll be okay,’ Kate was consoling Rachel. ‘When the baby comes, you’ll be happy. You’ll see.’
Susannah couldn’t help glancing at her sister’s stomach now, but it was as flat as ever.
‘You’re being careful aren’t you, Katie?’ Susannah turned to her sister.
‘Yes, Matthew doesn’t push me. He never has.’
At least that was something.
‘But I think he’ll propose soon,’ she said, clutching Rachel’s hand. ‘And then we’ll be like sisters,’ she said to her friend.
Kate’s words wounded Susannah, despite the fact they clearly cheered Rachel up. Even within two months, Susannah’s place on Vinalhaven had completely shifted. She had somehow become an outsider. Rachel was even usurping her position as Kate’s new sister. Susannah didn’t know how to stop it, apart from give up on Harvard and stay – and there was no way she could do that. Not just because she had worked so hard to get there, but also because of Ava.
18
Emer
5th August 2011
Emer and Lars had met at work – not on the ward or in surgery, but standing at the vending machine in the reception of the Mass Gen. She had been waiting for him to put his money in, pick an item, but all he seemed to do was stare at the rows of chips and chocolate bars.
‘I can’t decide what to get,’ he commented, turning to her. She couldn’t help but notice his eyes were the clearest blue she’d ever seen.
‘This is all junk but sometimes it hits the spot.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I’ve lost my appetite. Bad morning.’
Emer knew not to ask further questions. They were in a hospital, after all. He slipped the quarter back into his pocket.
‘Want to get some food in the canteen instead of this crap?’ he said.
Just like that. They walked together into the hospital canteen, Emer in her nurse’s pink scrubs, Lars in his surgeon’s blue. Over lunch, Lars confided he’d lost his first patient that morning since qualifying as a heart surgeon. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard.
‘Sometimes shit just happens,’ Emer said as she sipped her tea.
‘So you don’t believe everything happens for a reason?’
‘Not when you work on a paediatric oncology ward.’ She found she wanted to tell him about Orla. ‘And when your sister is in the ward above fighting cancer.’
‘Fuck!’ Lars said. ‘That’s bad. How old is she?’
‘Twenty-six.’
Emer told him Orla’s story. Their journey with the chemo. All the positive vibes and healing energy she, Ethan and all their friends had surrounded Orla with. The raw juicing, and the Chinese medicine. The joy at the news of remission in the spring. The devastation at the return of the cancer the week before. He didn’t feed her the usual platitudes, tell her Orla would pull through. Not when Emer explained how much the cancer had spread.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to her. ‘That is very tough for you.’
‘She’s all I’ve got.’
It became a ritual for Lars and Emer to share dinner together in the hospital canteen every night when they were both on shift. At first, they talked about Orla a lot, and work. But then the conversation broadened. Lars began to tell her a little about his family in Bergen, in Norway. How he’d come to America to study medicine and had never returned once he’d qualified.
‘My father’s American, my mother Norwegian,’ he explained. ‘They’re divorced.’
Right from the first day, her attraction to him had been immediate. Even though she’d had no make-up on and was in her scrubs, she’d felt her whole being awaken in his presence. He had been up for twenty-four hours and had two days’ growth on his chin, but in Emer’s eyes he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. If he ever touched her – a hand brushing hers as she passed the salt, their legs knocking together as they sat down at the canteen table, a reassuring hand on her shoulder when she opened up about Orla – the memory of the touch resonated throughout her body for hours. Thoughts of Lars filled her mind. Her desire for him. Her hope that he desired her. It was the only thing which distracted her from the horror of what was happening to her little sister, as Orla faded away before her eyes.
They had never even so much as kissed until she’d banged on his door in the middle of the night. Even then, Lars had tried to slow things down. Wanted her to talk to him, but her pain had been past words. She needed to lose herself in passion. It was the only way to blot out the heartache of what was happening.
‘Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?’ he’d asked her, his hair standing on end,
