While My Sister Sleeps Read Online Free PDF

hysteria. Robin had never worked a forty-hour week in her life. She ran, she coached, she waved, she smiled—all in her own time. She had an office at the nursery and, nominally, was in charge of special events, but her active involvement was minimal. On the day of those events, she was away more often than not. She was an athlete, not a wreath-maker or a bonsai specialist, as she had told Molly more than once.
    But to repeat that to Kathryn now would be just as cruel as asking aloud what would happen if Robin never woke up.
    SNOW Hill had been family-owned since its inception over thirty years before. Spread over forty acres of prime land on New Hampshire's border with Vermont, it was renowned for trees, shrubs, and garden supplies. But its crown jewel—with solar panels that stored summer heat for winter use, a mechanism for recycling rainwater, and computer-regulated humidity control— was a state-of-the-art greenhouse. That was Molly's domain.
    Even after stopping to see Robin, she was the first to arrive at Snow Hill. The greenhouse had been Molly's childhoodhaven in times of stress, and though she no longer scrunched into corners or hid under benches, she found the surroundings therapeutic when she was upset. For all its technological advancement, it was still a greenhouse.
    The cats greeted her with rubs and meows. Counting six, she scratched heads and bellies, then she uncoiled hoses and began watering plants. While the cats scampered, she moved from section to section, watering heavily here, lightly there. Some plants craved daily drink, others preferred to dry out. Molly catered to each.
    A bench of overturned potted plants suggested that rabbits had visited during the night, likely chased off by the cats, who were effective guards, though not known for neatness. Setting the hose aside, Molly righted the plants, retamped soil, removed bruised leaves, then swept up. After spraying the last of the dirt down the drain, she resumed watering.
    The sun wasn't high yet, but the greenhouse was bright. This early hour, before the heat rose, was definitely the time to water. And Molly enjoyed it as much as her plants did. When the spray glistened in oblique rays of sun and the soil grew moist and fragrant, the greenhouse was peaceful. It was predictable.
    She needed that today. Pushing Robin from mind didn't work for more than a minute or two at a time. It took constant effort.
    Recoiling the hose and putting it where no customer could possibly trip, she wandered the aisles. She checked a new shipment of chrysanthemums for aphids, and carefully cut brown tips from several Boston ferns. Wandering deeper among the shade benches, she spoke softly to peperomias, syngoniums, and spathiphyllum. They weren't showy plants, certainly nothing like bromeliads, but they were steadfast and undemanding. Carefully, she checked them for moisture. The shadecloth, regulated by a computer program, would rise later to protect them from the bright light they hated, but the worst of summer's intensity was over.
    Her African violets were thrilled at that. They consistently went out of flower to protest the heat, for which reason Molly carried fewer in July and August. She had just restocked and now rearranged the pots to showcase their blooms.
    She picked up several tags from the floor, made note of a bench that needed mending, and, for a lingering moment, stood in the middle of what she saw as her realm. There was comfort in the warm, moist air and the rich smell of earth.
    Then she saw Chris, who was never here this early. He stood under the arch separating the greenhouse from the checkout stands, and he didn't look happy.
    Heart pounding, Molly approached him. “Did something happen?”
    He shook his head.
    “Were you at the hospital?”
    “No. Dad's there. I just talked with him.”
    “Do they know anything more?”
    “No.”
    “Is Mom okay?”
    Chris shrugged.
    A shrug didn't do it for Molly. She needed answers. She