Chapter 1 As Diane Lindquist touched up her lipstick, fluffed her bangs, and dabbed Allure by Chanel under each earlobe, she smelled urine. Behind her, her brother, Daniel, lay in his hospital bed, the wisps of his thinning blond hair neatly combed, a nasal cannula hissing oxygen through his swollen nose into his wasted lungs. Six months ago a stroke had dragged half of his face toward his square chin, where it still drooped. His cloudy blue eyes, identical in color and shape to Diane’s, wandered restless in their sockets, alert but not aware, searching but unable to find. In age he was forty-six; in appearance he looked sixty-four. I’ll always be older than you-hoo. She turned her head from side to side, using her fingers to rub some excess blush from one cheekbone. One of the nurses had said that he would be here tonight, and she had to look her best. But even at $250 an ounce, her Allure parfum wouldn’t mask the stink coming from her brother’s bed. She pressed her lips together to even out the color on her lips. “I hope you didn’t do something bad again, Danny.” "Die-uh," her brother crooned, responding to the sound of her voice. "Die-uh." Diiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaane. Daniel, eleven years old, standing beside her bed in the dark. Wake up, Diiiiiiiiiii-aaaaaaaaaane. The