The Photographer by Barbara Steiner

Harlow—Cynthia— What did the doctors say?”
    â€œMegan, oh, Megan.” Tears flowed down Mr. Harlow’s cheeks. “He thinks we’re losing her. There’s hardly any pulse, and she’s been unconscious since noon.”
    Cynthia dying? No. No! Megan sat down. She put her head in her hands to keep from sobbing out of control. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t!

Chapter 13
    A nurse—Megan didn’t know her name—sat beside her. “Maybe you’d better go home, Megan. There’s been no change for hours. Your parents might worry.”
    Megan looked up. It had gotten dark and was almost six o’clock. Her watch ticked away the seconds. Time—Cynthia needed more time. Megan needed more time to solve this situation. She went to call her parents.
    â€œMegan, where are you? We’ve been worried sick,” her mother said.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mom. I’m at the hospital. Cynthia is worse, and I lost track of the time. Can someone come and get me? I’ll wait at the entrance.”
    Megan’s mother said her father would come. As Megan waited, thoughts of what she could do for Cynthia bombarded her brain. She had to do something. She was the only one who knew what could save Cynthia, but would anyone believe her? Her dad? Should she tell her father? Robert? She had told Robert in the beginning and he didn’t believe her, but she had to talk to someone.
    After dinner, when her parents were quiet, respecting her worry, she went to her room and dialed Robert’s number. Once, twice, three times. Be there, be home, Robert. She knew he was home. He answered on the fifth ring.
    â€œRobert, I need to talk to you. Right now. Please don’t say no. I need you.”
    â€œMegan, I have a math exam tomorrow, but I confess you keep coming between me and my studying. I can’t stop thinking about you. Are you all right?”
    Megan was tired of people worrying about her . She needed to find someone to help her worry about Cynthia, about Derrick.
    â€œI’m fine, Robert, but Cynthia isn’t. The exam isn’t important. Leave it and come—no, meet me at the hospital. In the lobby.”
    â€œIs Cynthia worse?”
    â€œYes, she—she—may not make it.” Megan couldn’t bring herself to say the word die . It was something that old people did. Megan’s grandfather had died. He was the only person she’d known who had.
    â€œOkay, Megan. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
    â€œMom, Dad, I know neither of you wants to go back out, but I need to get back to the hospital. Can I have the car?”
    â€œI don’t want you driving in this state of mind, Megan,” her mother said. “I’ll take you. Are you sure you want to go back, Megan? What can you do just sitting there?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I have to be there. Cynthia is worse. Robert will bring me back.”
    â€œDo they have any more ideas about why Cynthia is sick?” Mrs. Davidson asked.
    â€œNo, the doctors are baffled.” What would her mother say if Megan told her what she thought was wrong with Cynthia?
    â€œDo you want me to come in with you?” Mrs. Davidson asked when she stopped the car to let Megan out. “I don’t want to be in the way, but—”
    â€œNo, Mom. I’ll call if I’m going to be late, and Robert is coming over.”
    Robert wasn’t in the lobby. Megan found him pacing the floor in the intensive-care waiting room. Megan looked at his face and knew. “Megan, I just checked the desk.”
    â€œShe’s gone.” Megan realized she’d known it before she saw Robert. She’d known it the minute she walked into the hospital. A picture had flashed into her mind. Cynthia, cold and pale, lay in a bower of cut flowers. All the flowers were white. Cynthia was in her Homecoming dress. So beautiful. She looked so beautiful, as if she were