While My Sister Sleeps by Barbara Delinsky Page A

known. Even if Robin planned to keep it from her, wouldn't something have accidentally slipped out? She racked her brain, trying to recover even the smallest mention. Yes, Robin had been more worried lately about being with people who were sick, but that was understandable. The stakes were higher than ever in the races she had entered.
    Frustrated, Molly tucked the letter in her pocket and turned on the computer. Here was something she could definitely do. So many notes of concern on both her and Robin's e-mail accounts, sweet notes from people who cared—all deserved an answer. She sent simple ones to acknowledge the kindness of the sender, but gave little medical detail. She sent similar notes to some of those who had left phone messages.
    When she finished, it was after one. Wide awake, with that letter sitting in her pocket like a hot stone, she went into Robin's room. It was as messy as always. Here, too, Kathryn might have wanted things left alone. But Molly had been cleaning up after Robin since they had moved in together, and Robin never seemed to mind. She liked being pampered. Neatening the room was something she would want. It was the least Molly could do.
    Finding penance in it, she carefully made Robin's bed, hung up a nightshirt, pushed dirty clothes into the laundry bag on the back of the door. She put away two fanny packs, took the book that was open facedown on the bed and closed it, using the cover flap as a marker. It was a book on self-motivation. Opening it again to the page Robin had been reading, Molly suddenly heard her sister's voice, deeper than her own and with a resonance born of passion.
Training is the tough part.
Not everyone can do it. When you do that long run, with no water stations, no TV crews, no crowds cheering you on, it's hard. But that's the point. The long run helps develop the mental toughness you need to run a marathon. It's during the long run that you learn how to cope.
    Realizing that Robin might be on her last long run now, Molly grew weepy; but along with tears came a glimmer of hope. If anyone had mental toughness, Robin did. If anyone could pull through, she could.
    Believe in yourself
, Robin always told running groups,
and you'll make it happen.
    Drying her eyes, Molly grabbed a large canvas bag and began filling it. There was the picture of Robin wearing the laurel wreath in Boston, and a framed article that had appeared in
People.
There was the running book she had coauthored and, from the corkboard, handwritten letters of adoration from would-be runners. There was the hat she had worn running London and the singlet and shorts she had broken in for New York. There was her lucky wristband. And her favorite running shoes. And her journal.
    Molly dug the journal from the closet, which was a total disaster. Narrow but deep, her closet was packed full of everything Robin didn't want to look at day to day. Robin claimed mice lived at the back. Molly hated mice—which was one reason she loved the Snow Hill cats and might be good reason to have a cat where she lived—but even aside from that, this closet would be the pits to pack. CDs were tossed in with a tangle of headset cords, MP3 players, and multiple generations of iPods. Tee shirts with race names were strewn about, along with plaques, rolled photos, and other memorabilia. And there were more diaries, dating back to Robin's childhood.
My Book
, Robin called each, and Molly had long since read every one,hoping in vain for a dramatic divulgence of her sister's darkest secrets. By the time Robin reached high school, she called them journals and filled them with reports on the races she had run. Once she graduated from college, she stopped writing.
    Molly took the very last journal. It was only about races. But running defined Robin. If these things helped make her hospital room more personal, if some hidden vibe could spark her back to consciousness, they should be there.
    CHRIS couldn't sleep. He didn't understand how a