The Secret Language of Sisters - Tapa blanda

Luanne Rice is the New York Times bestselling author of 35 novels, which have been translated into 25 languages. The author of Dream Country, Beach Girls, The Secret Language of Sisters, and others, Rice often writes about love, family, nature, and the sea. She received the 2014 Connecticut Governor's Arts Award for excellence and lifetime achievement in the Literary Arts category. Several of Rice's novels have been adapted for television, including Crazy in Love for TNT, Blue Moon for CBS, Follow the Stars Home and Silver Bells for the Hallmark Hall of Fame, and Beach Girls for Lifetime. Rice is an avid environmentalist and advocate for families affected by domestic violence. She divides her time between New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut. Visit her online at luannerice.net.

"I love you," Tilly said. "I think of you every minute. I can't stand seeing you like this, Roo. I'm a mess. I feel so guilty." She gulped on a big sob, and I saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. My eyes filled, too. "I have something to tell you. Something awful." I didn't care what it was. I just concentrated with all my might on getting her look, really look, at me and see me. "I did something," she said. "I am the reason you're here. I hate myself." Don't hate yourself, I wanted to say. Just figure this out! "Okay, I'm going to tell you something about the day of your accident. Two things, actually. One thing is good. Lucan, that's the dog, is fine. He has a broken leg, but it's healing well. I saw him. He limps, but he's going to be fine. Okay." A deep breath. "The rest isn't so great. I wish you could hear me. I wish you could just blink and let me know you know what I'm saying." I can't blink, but I know what you're saying! I wanted to shout. The stress was back, stronger than before, I needed her to get this, I didn't have it in me to go on much longer. I can't move my eyelids at all. Can you ask me something else? Can you look into my eyes and see I'm here? "Can you please just," she began, and I must have been exasperated because all I could do was look up at the ceiling, a heaven-help-me moment. My eyeball flicked up and down. Tilly stopped mid-sentence, mouth dropping open. And then ... "Roo?" I'm here! "Oh, God," she said. "Did you just look up? Did you just move your left eyeball? If you did, and you hear me, do it again." I did it again. "You hear me?" My left eye flicked up then down. I had a very narrow field of vision: Tilly and the ceiling. "Roo, is this real?" I looked up. "You know who I am?" Duh, Tilly. I looked up. "You understand what I'm saying?" I looked up. She grabbed my other hand, she was holding both my hands now, and she did a happy, screaming dance, we were doing a jig, only I was in my hospital bed. Still, I was doing it in my mind, and it felt real.