While My Sister Sleeps by Barbara Delinsky

If Robin wasn't there, what was the point?
    Molly pushed the cake down the disposal. Thus purged, she heated a turkey frank, wrapped it in pita, drizzled it with mustard, and downed it in two seconds flat. Craving somethingwarm to drink, she took an envelope of hot chocolate from her side of the cabinet. Like the cake, though, it lacked appeal. So she brewed a cup of Robin's ginseng tea and carried it into the den.
    It was a small room, just big enough for bookshelves and a desk. Molly had already packed the books that had been on her own shelves, but Robin's were still full. The top one held a neat lineup of sneakers, one pair more worn than the next. The shelf beneath held a random arrangement of books, and, on the lowest shelf, carelessly placed accordion files bulging with papers.
    Sitting on the floor, she opened one. It was stuffed with term papers, tests, and class notes from a decade before. Replacing that file, she took another. This one was jammed with race entry forms, speeches Robin had given, and newspaper clippings of her own wins, the wins of her friends, and articles on every aspect of running. There were even several running magazines crammed in. Nothing was chronologically arranged.
    She had to open more files before she found bills—electricity, gas, rental. Robin had lived in two other apartments before they moved here together. Molly found leases for two of the three. She found credit card bills, dental bills and, yes, medical bills referencing Robin's endless little mechanical problems; but none mentioned her heart. Molly was thinking that Jenny Fiske had to be wrong, perhaps had mistaken something Robin had said, when she found an envelope from Robin's primary care physician. It was tucked a little too neatly at the very back of the file. Molly might have missed it if she hadn't put the folder on her lap to stuff the bills back inside.
    “Dear Robin,” the doctor wrote, “I'd like to reiterate your cardiologist's optimism. As frightening as a cardiomegaly diagnosis can be, since you've been asymptomatic, the prognosisis good. You're one of the lucky ones who are alerted by a hereditary condition. If your father hadn't told you about the problem, you might have ignored symptoms down the road. Forewarned is forearmed. The cardiologist has discussed medication with you. Your running shouldn't be affected, but it is crucial that you see one of us immediately if you experience any of the symptoms we've mentioned. If all is well, I'll see you at your regularly scheduled appointment.”
    The letter was dated eighteen months earlier. But it made no sense to Molly. Charlie had denied a history of heart problems. Either he was lying, or Robin was.
    Dropping the letter, she scrambled up and went into the bathroom. Having always ceded the medicine chest to Robin's running remedies, she had no idea what was inside. Looking now, she found over-the-counter products, and a single bottle of prescription painkillers. Not surprisingly, it was barely used. Robin hated taking anything but vitamins.
    Rushing to the kitchen, Molly searched her sister's stash of vitamins, thinking she might keep a bottle of heart medication there to pretend it was just another healthy thing to take each day, but each bottle Molly found appeared to be nothing but vitamins. Back down the hall, she rummaged through the night-stand by Robin's bed, then through her dresser drawers. No pills.
    Of course, discussing medication with a doctor didn't necessarily lead to taking it, especially where Robin was concerned.
    Temporarily at a standstill, Molly returned to the den. After putting the bills back, she put the file back on its shelf. She reread the doctor's letter before returning it to its envelope. The woman practiced out of Concord. Molly could contact her.
    Right, Molly.
If the goal was helping her mother, calling eitherCharlie or Robin a liar wouldn't help. Besides, the heart damage was done.
    Molly didn't understand how she couldn't have