My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult Read Free Book Online Page A

to Barnard's Loop and M42, glowing in Orion's sword.
Stars are fires that burn for thousands of years. Some of them burn slow and
long, like red dwarfs. Others-blue giants-burn their fuel so fast they shine
across great distances, and are easy to see. As they start to run out of fuel,
they burn helium, grow even hotter, and explode in a supernova. Supernovas,
they're brighter than the brightest galaxies. They die, but everyone watches
them go.
    Earlier, after we ate, I helped Sara clean up in the kitchen. “You
think something's going on with Anna?” I asked, moving the ketchup back
into the fridge.
    “Because she took off her necklace?”
    “No.” I shrugged. “Just in general.”
    “Compared to Kate's kidneys and Jesse's sociopathy, I'd say she's doing
fine.”
    “She wanted dinner over before it started.”
    Sara turned around at the sink. “What do you think it is?”
    “Uh… a guy?”
    Sara glanced at me. “She's not dating anyone.”
    Thank God. “Maybe one of her friends said something to upset
her.” Why was Sara asking me? What the hell did I know about the
mood swings of thirteen-year-old girls?
    Sara wiped her hands on a towel and turned on the dishwasher. “Maybe
she's just being a teenager.”
    I tried to think back to what Kate was like when she was thirteen, but all I
could remember was the relapse and the stem cell transplant she had. Kate's
ordinary life had a way of fading into the background, overshadowed by the
times she was sick.
    “I have to take Kate to dialysis tomorrow,” Sara said. “When
will you get home?”
    “By eight. But I'm on call, and I wouldn't be surprised if our arsonist
struck again.”
    “Brian?” she asked. “How did Kate look to you?”
    Better than Anna did, I thought, but this was not what she was
asking. She wanted me to measure the yellow cast of Kate's skin against
yesterday; she wanted me to read into the way she leaned her elbows on the
table, too tired to hold her body upright.
    “Kate looks great,” I lied, because this is what we do for each
other.
    “Don't forget to say good night to them before you leave,” Sara
said, and she turned to gather the pills Kate takes at bedtime.
    It's quiet, tonight. Weeks have rhythms all their own, and the craziness of a
Friday or Saturday night shift stands in direct contrast to a dull Sunday or
Monday. I can already tell: this will be one of those nights where I bunk down
and actually get to sleep.
    “Daddy?” The hatch to the roof opens, and Anna crawls out.
“Red told me you were up here.”
    Immediately, I freeze. It is ten o'clock at night. “What's wrong?”
    “Nothing. I just… wanted to visit.”
    When the kids were small, Sara would stop by with them all the time. They'd
play in the bays around the sleeping giant engines; they'd fall asleep upstairs
in my bunk. Sometimes, in the warmest part of the summer, Sara would bring
along an old blanket and we would spread it here on the roof, lie down with the
kids between us, and watch the night rise. “Mom know where you are?”
    “She dropped me off.” Anna tiptoes across the roof. She's never
been all that great with heights, and there is only a three-inch lip around the
concrete. Squinting, she bends to the telescope. “What can you see?”
    “Vega,” I tell her. I take a good look at Anna, something I
haven't done in some time. She's not stick-straight anymore; she's got the
beginnings of curves. Even her motions—tucking her hair behind her ear, peering
into the telescope—have a sort of grace I associate with full-grown women.
“Got something you want to talk about?”
    Her teeth snag on her bottom lip, and she looks down at her sneakers.
“Maybe instead you could talk to me,” Anna
suggests.
    So I sit her down on my jacket and point to the stars. I tell her that Vega
is a part of Lyra, the lyre that belonged to Orpheus. I am not one for stories,
but I remember the ones that match up with the constellations. I tell her about
this son of the