The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(67)

With that he stands, then looks at the doctor. “Can I go?” he demands.

“Sure,” Dr. Hateswomen says. “Try to keep the stress level low.”

“Great advice,” I can’t help saying. Corinne wrings her hands.

The good doctor turns an impassive gaze on me. “Do I know you?”

“Um…I was in a while ago.” I feel my cheeks warming.

“Oh, yes. Hallucinations. Gotcha. Ciao.”

With that he leaves, his white coat flapping after him.

“Chris, honey, you can’t…I didn’t…” my sister attempts, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Corinne, I need a little space. Okay? We’ll talk soon.” My brother-in-law looks at me. “Maybe she can stay with you tonight,” he says in a gentler voice.

“Sure,” I answer.

Then Christopher is gone, and Corinne falls apart for real.

A FEW HOURS LATER, Corinne is sleeping on my couch, wrapped in an afghan. She’s zonked, thanks in large part to the Valium Dr. Hateswomen saw fit to give her upon hearing her wails after Chris left. Ethan made a run to Corinne’s house to fetch the portable crib, diapers and thirty-six other things that Corinne listed as absolutely necessary for an overnight away from home.

I’m in the kitchen with Emma, who’s taking her first bottle like a champ. Corinne keeps a can of formula in the diaper bag in case of her own death, and Emma is glugging away, eyes closed. Her skin is miraculously gorgeous…all shades of pink perfection, and her fingernails have completely charmed me. She holds my pinkie as she drinks, and it’s fair to say I’m madly in love with my little niece.

“Hey.” Ethan’s voice is soft. With some effort, I tear my eyes off of Emma and look up at him. “I set up the portable crib in your room. Figured Corinne needed some sleep.”

“Great,” I answer. “Thanks, Ethan.” I look back down at Emma and ease the nipple out of her mouth. Her lips purse, but her eyes stay closed.

“You’ll make a great mom,” Ethan murmurs, and I don’t look at his face. My heart twists painfully, afraid that he’s about to say something more. It’s just not something I can think about right now, not after imagining another husband dying tonight. Instead I look back down at Emma and adjust her blanket.

“I guess I’ll head upstairs,” Ethan says.

“Okay,” I agree, then look back at him. “Thank you, Ethan. You’ve been great.”

He gives a little smile. “Sleep tight.”

Sighing, I ease out of the chair and carry Emma carefully into my room. Ethan made the little portable crib with a sheet and a pink blanket, which is folded neatly at the bottom. A stuffed pink giraffe is there, too. Nice touch. He really does have that fatherhood thing down.

I lay my niece in the crib and cover her, moving the giraffe well away from her face. She gives a little murmur, and again, my heart catches. I stay for a moment, resting my hand on her little shoulder to reassure her, then straighten up slowly, my back muscles protesting. It’s been a long, long day.

Corinne is awake. “Is she okay?” she asks as I come out of my bedroom.

“She’s great,” I answer. “Sleeping like a little angel.”

Corinne smiles a little at that. “Did Christopher call?” she whispers.

I motion for her to sit on the couch, then curl up in the chair opposite her. “No, honey. Not yet.”

“We’ve never fought,” she says, two tears spilling out of her eyes.

I blink. “And you’ve been married for three years?”

“Three years, six months and nine days,” she says, and that’s what breaks my heart, because I, too, always knew exactly how long Jimmy and I were together.

“That’s a long time to go without a fight,” I murmur.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” she says, wiping her eyes. “What if we have a fight and then he dies? What if the last thing I say to him is ‘I hate your mother’or ‘Can’t you ever remember to take out the trash?’ What if I was like Mom, yelling at him to get out of the bathroom? I’d never forgive myself.” Corinne weeps. I get up and fetch a box of tissues and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, blowing her nose. We’re both quiet for a minute or two. Outside, the wind gusts off the ocean, catching that particular hollow under the bridge in an unearthly, mournful howl.

“I’m so scared of ending up like you,” Corinne says softly. Her mouth wobbles. “And I’m so sorry for you, Lucy.”

I sigh, feeling about a hundred years old. “It was horrible,” I admit. “But, Corinne, I…I lived, you know?” I look square at my sister. “And you know what I miss the most?” She shakes her head and wipes her eyes. “I miss…I miss the everyday stuff. The not-perfect stuff.”

My own eyes fill abruptly. “We had this fight,” I say, my voice wobbling. “It was over me doing the desserts at Gianni’s. Marie did them all, you know?” Corinne nods. “And I just wanted them to carry one thing of mine, this limoncello tart with raspberries…well, heck, it doesn’t matter. But he took his mother’s side, and we fought that night, and I was folding laundry and I threw a pair of socks at his head.”