Луна. История будущего. Оливер Мортон

which set off the security alarm.

      “Yoo-hoo! Andrea? It’s just me. I can’t believe I caught you at home. Wait till I show you what I found for your kitchen! Wait a second until I turn off your alarm. I can’t believe you set that alarm during the day!”

      Andrea groaned and closed her eyes, but try as she might, she could not come up with a single plausible reason she could give Madge for not getting out of bed…except the truth.

      So much for her plan.

      Trouble was, she had less than sixty seconds to come up with another one.

      Chapter Three

      M adge tapped the code, 1919, into the pad to deactivate the house alarm. She turned and glanced around the living room that crossed the front of Andrea’s five-room bungalow and headed straight for the kitchen, clutching her “find.” Her heels tapped on the gleaming red oak floors. “I didn’t bother to wrap it. I was going to—”

      She took two steps into the antiques-filled kitchen, paused and pursed her lips. No Andrea. If she was in her home office, she could have met Madge in the living room. Must be in the bathroom? Madge set her pocketbook down, unwrapped the newspaper from the pitcher she had found at the thrift store, and set it in the center of the black-and-white enamel table. “A perfect match,” she whispered, quickly tucking the newspaper into the old enamel slop pail Andrea used as a trash can. “Filled that right up, didn’t I?” Frowning, she made a mental note to find a decent-sized trash can for Andrea, one that would match the rest of the black-and-white enamelware that served a dual purpose in Andrea’s kitchen.

      All of the pieces her sister had collected over the years, from the small antique stove to the washstand and the enamelware hanging on the walls, were both decorative and functional, unlike the appliances in the ultramodern kitchen that Madge claimed was her favorite room in her house. How Andrea could manage without a dishwasher or a refrigerator with an ice dispenser in the door was no mystery. She barely cooked for herself and rarely entertained. She was not home long enough, not with running that real-estate agency of hers.

      Madge shrugged. To each her own. Tapping her foot, she checked her watch. She had half an hour before her meeting with the Welleswood Beautification Committee, to plan the fall plantings for the avenue. She had hoped to spend that time with her sister. She grabbed her pocketbook, turned, walked back into the living room and gazed toward the small hallway that led to the bathroom, two small bedrooms and the office. The bathroom door was open.

      Maybe Andrea was on the phone. Madge had taken only a few steps toward the hallway on her way to the office when she finally got a response from her sister.

      “I’m in here. In my bedroom. Come on in.”

      Madge smiled with relief and hurried her steps. “Finally redecorating? I warned you that you’d get tired of that dark green paint.” She stopped just inside the doorway of Andrea’s bedroom. The light in the room itself was far too dim, with the shades pulled tight behind the white lace curtains. Andrea was not checking new paint colors or hanging new curtains or even changing the sheets on the bed. She was lying flat on her back in bed with her cats settled beside her.

      All three cats looked up at Madge, stretched or yawned and settled back down with Andrea, who offered a weak smile and patted the bed next to her. “It’s just a headache. I was trying to nap. Here. Come sit and talk to me while I wait for the aspirin to kick in.”

      Madge narrowed her eyes. Her heart began to race the moment she remembered that Andrea had been waiting for the results of her biopsy. “You don’t get headaches. You never sleep on your back. And you…you haven’t taken a nap since you were six months old.”

      Andrea closed her eyes. “How would you know I stopped napping when I was six months old? You weren’t even born yet,” she teased.

      “Mother told me. And don’t try to change the subject. What’s really wrong?”

      Andrea let out a sigh. “I told you. I have a headache. Maybe it’s…it’s my first.”

      Madge tiptoed to the bed, set her pocketbook down on the mattress and eased herself to sit beside her sister. Gently, she stroked the top of Andrea’s head, and she knew—she just knew—that the results of the biopsy were not good. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Emotion choked her throat. “You’re sick. You’re sick again, aren’t you?”

      Andrea moistened her lips, opened her eyes and took hold of Madge’s hand. “I feel fine. I’ll be fine. The nodules they removed…well, I have to have a few treatments and then I’ll be good as new again. I had my first one this morning. That’s why I’m in bed. I have to lie in four different positions for half an hour each to coat the inside of my bladder. I set the alarm—”

      The alarm in the bedside clock went off, interrupting Andrea but startling Madge. As Andrea sat up, all three cats scattered. One knocked Madge’s pocketbook to the floor and the contents spilled out. Her keys hit the floor with a clang and something, presumably her lipstick, rolled away, but all Madge could think about was the fear that wrapped around her heart.

      Andrea had cancer.

      Again.

      “Why? Why does this have to happen again?” Madge cried, and dissolved into tears as Andrea’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

      “Hush now. It’s not so bad. Really,” Andrea crooned.

      When Madge’s tears were spent, she sat back, hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a baby.”

      “Yes, you are,” Andrea teased. “But you’re a lovable baby.”

      Madge hiccuped again and swiped at her cheeks. “Jenny’s supposed to be the baby. She’s the youngest. I’m older. I should be…more in control.”

      “You’re younger than I am.”

      Madge chuckled. When it came to age, she had no desire to be a single day older than she really was.

      “And you certainly look a lot younger than me,” Andrea said.

      Madge ruffled her sister’s hair. “You could look younger, too,” she whispered, then realized Andrea had done it again. “You’re changing the subject. Just like you always do.”

      “You’re not crying anymore, are you?” Andrea countered.

      For some unknown reason, fresh tears welled and Madge tugged on her sister’s hand. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair. We just lost Sandra. We can’t lose you, too. We just can’t!”

      “God has His plan for each of us, and with His grace, I’ll make a full recovery,” Andrea responded.

      Madge listened attentively while Andrea explained what the course of the next year would be like. Doubt tugged at her spirit even as her heart grew hopeful. “Your doctor does sound more positive than Sandra’s did,” she ventured.

      “She is. All cancers are not the same. I’m blessed to have a good one.”

      Madge leaned back, pulled her hand away and stared at Andrea as a chill raced up and down her spine. “A good one? There’s no good cancer, Andrea. There’s awful cancer. Horrid cancer. Debilitating cancer. Disfiguring cancer…”

      “And curable cancer. Mine’s curable. Or it should be. And it will be,” Andrea added. She took a deep breath and her expression grew serious. “I’ll…I’ll need a little help.”

      Madge brightened, hiccuped again and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘help’? You’ll need a little help?”

      Andrea sighed. “Yes, I did. A little. Only a little help.”

      “Caretaker duty is all mine,” Madge insisted.

      Andrea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to drive me back and forth to the doctor’s office for treatments. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.