Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Sister's Keeper: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

WHEN I OPENED THE DOOR, Sam slapped a search warrant into my hand and walked in without invitation. As a photographer followed, a knot tightened in my gut. There are times when you draw the line and dare someone to cross it, and times when you open wide and take the drill. This was a root canal without Novocain. Staten went immediately to dusting the den for fingerprints. Lizard Lips headed for the kitchen and the photographer stuck out his hand to shake.“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mr. Baimbridge. Danny Butler.” He carried a fairly inexpensive digital camera with a Metz strobe. I forced the warrant into the pocket with the panties and shook his hand. “I really hope to have my own studio someday,” he said, “and do the kind of work you do.”“Don’t wait too long to get started,” I said, my voice flat. “Dreams have a way of slipping away.”“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.&

AFTER DIRECTING A SUCCESSFUL run of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire my first year back, and Neil Simon’s California Suite the second, I was asked by the Board of Directors of the Thalian Association to direct Stephen Patterson’s brilliant new play, Laying Down the Law, making its world premiere that fall in Wilmington. It was the break I needed. It would open a great many doors for me and might even change the way my father saw me.Unlike most directors, I insisted on longer rehearsal periods and, since the theatre’s rehearsal halls were not available yet, used my own studio. I pushed all the equipment in the 40x60 camera room back against the walls, arranged a couple pieces of furniture in the center of the room, and aimed a few lights down from overhead to simulate a “stage.”As Sam and his team pawed through my house, I headed off to our first rehearsal. From the moment the first actor arriv

PEARL BAIMBRIDGE SAT on the edge of her daughter’s bed as the Channel 3 News began: “A local photographer was taken into custody for questioning earlier tonight in the case of missing twenty-three-year-old Ashleigh Matthews.”Pearl clutched Martha’s hand. “This is going to devastate your father.”“Teresa Hedge has more in this live report.”The picture changed to a female reporter standing in front of Ashleigh’s house holding a microphone.“Police arrested Wilmington photographer Richard Baimbridge earlier this evening on suspicion of murder in connection with the case of missing twenty-three-year-old Ashleigh Matthews.”Martha had taken a Percocet tablet that left her groggy and thick-tongued. “Oh, Richie,” she moaned as they played video of Richard being paraded through a crowd of reporters and pushed into the back of a police car. Tears strea

WHEN I CAME TO, the pain in my head was so intense I couldn’t open my eyes. I lay on my back on the cold stone floor and tried to focus, but my brain wasn’t ready to function. The side of my face rested in a gooey puddle and my shirt collar was wet and sticky. As I lifted my head, nausea settled over me. Holding my breath and waiting for it to pass, I remembered going to rehearsal, talking with Dad, and finding the reporters all gone when I got home. Had someone struck me as I came through the door?The house was dark except for the silvery moonlight coming in the windows. The room spun around me as if I’d pulled a cheap drunk. I sat up drawing deep breaths to clear my head. My hair, shirt, and jacket were wet. I pressed a hand against the back of my head and found a lump at the base of my skull. The room seemed to wheel up on its side. I braced myself to keep from tipping over and vomited between my knees.I was shaking, dizzy, and weak. I c

FIRST THING THE NEXT MORNING, I called Scott and left a message on his voicemail telling him what Mrs. Winslow had said about Ashleigh walking off later that Sunday night. The way I figured it, that changed everything. All my appointments for Friday had been canceled and the phones were silent all day. I set up prices for Sydney’s photo packages, ran off twelve hundred order forms, and dropped them off at the dance studio on my way home. The lobby was crammed with moms gabbing noisily and tending to babies while keeping an eye on the monitors.Sydney was teaching, so I left the forms with the receptionist. I did, however, see Sydney on one of the monitors. She and her class were moving in complete unison like a school of fish darting here and there changing directions at the same instant, controlled by the same remote. She was dressed in a black leotard with a short sheer skirt and her hair was back in a ponytail. Even on that monitor I could see the joy on her face and