My Sister's Keeper

The elevator doors open on the third floor, and there's Julia Romano. We stare at each other for a moment, and then Judge gets up and starts wagging his tail. "Going down?"

She steps inside and pushes the button for the lobby, already lit.

But it makes her lean across me, so that I can smell her hair—vanilla and ci

"Becoming supremely disappointed in the state of American health care. How about you?"

"Meeting with Kate's oncologist, Dr. Chance."

"I assume that means we still have a lawsuit?"

Julia shakes her head. "I don't know. No one in that family's returning my calls, except for Jesse, and that's strictly hormonal."

"Did you go up to—"

"Kate's room? Yeah. They wouldn't let me in. Something about dialysis."

"They said the same thing to me," I tell her.

"Well, if you talk to her—"

"Look," I interrupt. "I have to assume we still have a hearing in three days until A

"No," Julia says, and she starts to leave.

"Stop." When I grasp her arm, she freezes. "I know this is uncomfortable for you. It's uncomfortable for me, too. But just because you and I can't seem to grow up doesn't mean A

Julia folds her arms. "Did you want to write that one down, so you can use it again?"

I burst out laughing. "Jesus, you're tough—"

"Oh, stuff it, Campbell. You're so glib you probably oil your lips every morning."

That conjures all sorts of images for me, but they involve her body parts.

"You're right," she says then.

"Now that I want to write down …" When she starts walking away this time, Judge and I follow.

She heads out of the hospital and down a side street, an alley, and past a tenement before we break into the sunshine again on Mineral Spring Avenue in North Providence. By that time, I'm grateful that my left hand is wrapped tight to the leash of a dog with an excessive amount of teeth. "Chance told me that there's nothing left to do for Kate," Julia tells me.

"You mean other than the kidney transplant."

"No. Here's the incredible thing." She stops walking, plants herself in front of me. "Dr. Chance doesn't think Kate's strong enough."

"And Sara Fitzgerald's pushing for it," I say. "When you think about it, Campbell, you can't blame her logic. If Kate's going to die without the transplant anyway, why not go for it?" We step delicately around a homeless man and his collection of bottles. "Because the transplant involves major surgery for her other daughter," I point out. "And putting A

Suddenly Julia comes to a halt in front of a small shack with a hand-painted sign, Luigi Ravioli. It looks like the sort of place they keep dark, so that you don't notice the rats. "Isn't there a Starbucks nearby?" I ask, just as an enormous bald man in a white apron opens the door and nearly knocks Julia over.

"Isobella!" he cries, kissing her on both cheeks. "No, Uncle Luigi, it's Julia."

"Julia?" He pulls back and frowns. "You sure? You ought to cut your hair or something, give us a break."

"You used to get on my case about my hair when it was short."

"We got on your case about your hair because it was pink." He looks at me. "You hungry?"

"We were hoping for some coffee, and a quiet table." He grins. "A quiet table?" Julia sighs. "Not that kind of quiet table."

"Right, right, everything's a big secret. Come in, I'll give you the room in the back." He glances down at Judge. "Dog stays here."

"Dog comes," I respond.

"Not in my restaurant," Luigi insists. "He's a service dog, he can't stay outside."

Luigi leans close, a couple of inches away from my face. "You're blind?"

"Color-blind," I reply. "He tells me when the traffic lights change." Julia's uncle's mouth turns down at the corners. "Everyone's a wiseass today," he says, and then he leads the way.

For weeks, my mother tried to guess the identity of my girlfriend. "It's Bitsy, right?—the one we met on the Vineyard? Or no, wait, it's not Sheila's daughter, the redhead, is it?" I told her over and over it was no one she knew, when what I really meant was that Julia was no one she would recognize.

"I know what's right for A

I pick up another piece of antipasto. "If you think she's justified in filing the petition, then what's the conflict?"

"Commitment," Julia says dryly. "Would you like me to define that for you?"

"You know, it's impolite to unsheathe your claws at the di

"Right now, every time A

"What if I told you that by the time we have our hearing, she'll be able to make that decision?"

Julia glances up. "Why are you so sure that'll happen?"

"I'm always sure of myself."

She plucks an olive out of the tray between us. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I remember that."

Although Julia must have had her suspicions, I didn't tell her about my parents, my house. As we drove into Newport in my Jeep, I pulled into the driveway of a huge brick mansion. "Campbell," Julia said. "You're kidding."

I circled the loop of the driveway and turned out the other side. "Yeah, l am."

That way, when I pulled into the house two driveways down, the sprawling Georgian with its rows of beech trees and its slope to the Bay, it wasn't quite as imposing. At the very least, it was smaller than the first place.

Julia shook her head. "Your parents are going to take one look at me and pull us apart with a crowbar,"

"They're go