No, Evie didn’t think her mother could stop drinking either, not even if she realized it was a question of life or death. “Is there no other treatment?”

“What we can do is keep her calm and comfortable. That’s what we’re doing now. She’s taking medication for anxiety and delirium. There’s more we can give her as the disease progresses.” Dr. Foran put her hand on Evie’s arm. “But you know of course, no one survives without a functioning liver. The damage is irreversible.”

Irreversible. Evie wrote the word down. Read it. And even though it was what she’d expected to hear, she felt as if she’d been sucker-punched.

“Does she know?”

“It’s difficult to tell what your mother”—Dr. Foran drew quote marks in the air—“knows. I’ve scheduled a brain scan for tomorrow. I’m guessing that will show that she’s already suffered significant brain damage.”

“Significant brain damage,” Evie murmured. She couldn’t bring herself to write down those words.

“The problem is that we have no baseline to compare. Your mother hasn’t been seeing a physician regularly. But a decline like this is generally gradual. Up to a point.”

Since when had her mother been beyond that point? Evie wondered. Years ago when she’d shown up drunk at Ginger’s wedding? Or ten years before that when she’d fallen down the stairs? Or what about when she’d run the family station wagon into a tree?

No one had put a gun to her mother’s head and forced her to drink. At first it had to have been a choice. At some point, though, Evie knew it hadn’t been.

“How long does she have?”

“You’d think with all the cases like this that we handle, we’d know the answer. But it’s surprisingly variable. Maybe a few months. Maybe weeks. What often happens is that the kidneys fail and the patient falls into a hepatic coma. After that, it’s usually a matter of days, depending on whether the patient wants us to use extreme measures to prolong life.”

“Extreme measures?” Evie’s voice was barely a whisper.

Dr. Foran shook her head and pursed her lips. “There’s no easy way to say this. There’s a good chance that she’ll linger. Possibly for weeks. It will be up to you and your sister to determine the course of treatment at that point.” She handed Evie some stapled pages. COMPASSION AND TREATMENT CHOICES was printed on the cover sheet.

Evie tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She’d known that this moment was coming, but now that it was here, she wasn’t ready for it. “What should we do?”

“Get her affairs in order. Be here for her. Watch and wait. She may surprise us all and rebound. But you need to prepare yourselves. Now is the time for you and your sister to talk to your mother about what will happen when she can no longer tell us what she wants. And this is important. Write down exactly what she says. It will make it easier for you later to respect her wishes.”

After Dr. Foran left, Evie stood at the window of the lounge, alone with her thoughts. As fat raindrops pelted the glass, the doctor’s words sank in. She and Ginger were not going to be able to prop their mother up on her pins this time. There’d be no miracle cure. No liver transplant. Not even a temporary reprieve until the next emergency, drop-everything-right-now phone call.

She called Ginger.

“So you talked to Dr. Foran?” was the first thing Ginger said.

“Yes, Ginger, I talked to Dr. Foran.” The words came out sharp. “I’m sorry. Yes. Just now. She says—” Evie’s insides wrenched, and a sob escaped from nowhere.

“Evie? Honey?”

“Hang on.” Evie put the phone down for a few moments until she could breathe again. Then she started over. “It’s not good.” She told Ginger what Dr. Foran had said, glad that she had taken notes.

“Significant brain damage,” Ginger said. “But I thought you said she recognized you?”

“Yesterday she did.”

“So how can they tell? I mean, they’ve got her on all kinds of drugs. And she’s in withdrawal. She’s got the DTs. How can they be sure that whatever this is isn’t temporary?”

“They’re giving her a brain scan.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And what if—”

“Ginger, she’s dying. And Dr. Foran says it could be soon.”

“Oh, God. How soon?”

Evie stared at her notes, the words swimming on the page. “Weeks. Maybe only days.”

“Days? I don’t believe it.”

“Ginger—”

“Oh, God. We should have done something. Dragged her to AA meetings. Gotten her a sponsor.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Insisted that she see a therapist, then. I don’t know. Done something.” Ginger paused, then added, “And maybe, just maybe if you hadn’t checked out months ago—”

“Stop right there,” Evie said, suddenly furious. “And maybe if her father hadn’t been such a shithead. Maybe if her mother hadn’t been depressed. Maybe if Daddy hadn’t died. And you’re right. Maybe if I’d been a better daughter.” She stopped and took a deep breath, counted to five, then added, “Do you really think anything either of us could have done would have made a difference? She’d have had to want to stop drinking.”

Ginger didn’t say anything, but Evie could hear her raspy breathing.

“Ginger?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.” Evie stared out the rain-streaked window. Cars were still going up and down the street. The red light on the corner turned green. As if nothing had changed.

“And I’m sorry, too,” Evie said. “Even if I couldn’t be there for her, I should have been there for you.”

Ginger sniffed. “Yeah, you should have been.”

“All right already, I get it, Gingey Wingey.”

“Sticks and stones, Fungus Face.”

“Oh, very original.”

“Brat,” Ginger shot right back.

“I’m rubber, you’re glue.” Evie tried to laugh, but she just couldn’t make it happen.

“So,” Ginger said, taking a long, audible inhale, “moving forward.”

“Moving forward,” Evie repeated. “We need to talk to her. Both of us. Together. And find out what she wants. For now. For later. The doctor said we shouldn’t put it off for even another day.”

After a long silence, Ginger said, “I wish Daddy were here.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

When Evie got back to the hospital room, her mother was staring off into space. She looked small and frail lying there in the big hospital bed. A lunch tray that had been left for her was untouched. Evie hadn’t eaten anything since the jelly doughnut this morning, and it was well past two. She should have been hungry, but the sight of food turned her stomach.

“Mom?” Evie touched her mother’s cheek. “Mom?”

Her mother gave her a tight smile. “Ginger?”

Evie didn’t know whether she was asking where Ginger was or thought Evie was Ginger. “I talked to Ginger. She’s on her way over.”

Her mother blinked, taking that in.

“How are you feeling?” Evie asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“Water.” The word came out a whisper. Her mother licked her chapped lips.

Evie gave her a drink from a glass of water on the table by the bed. Sandra took a few sips from the straw and gave a weak cough. When Evie dabbed at her chin with a Kleenex, her mother winced.

“Mom, I need to ask you something.”

Her mother gave a vague nod.

“I found checks and a lot of cash just lying around.”

Her mother gave a faint smile.

“The cash. Where’s it from?” Evie asked.

“My—” Her mother mumbled something.

“Your what?”

Her mother’s hand tightened on the sheets. “Safety net.”

That made Evie sad. As if a few envelopes of cash were all it took to make her mother safe. “Where is all that money coming from?”

“A friend.”

“What friend?”

Her mother pinched her lips shut. Evie knew that expression. It said, None of your business. Fair enough.