“With strawberry jam.” She set the tray down on the rolling cart near the bed then set that up so the sandwich was easy for me to reach.
“Chocolate milk out of the carton?” I was still smiling. “I’m not six, you know.”
“Look.” She held up a straw. “It bends! Ooooh. Bendy.” She bent it, then plunked it into the little square carton of chocolate milk.
I chuckled. “Thanks.”
She pushed the tray around until it was over my lap. I took a bite of the soft white bread. Peanut butter and jam with chocolate milk was a pretty nice turn of events, considering.
“You’re staying overnight, right?” Myra asked.
“Absolutely,” I lied while I chewed.
She stood, watching me. “You know you still have enough time to find the right person.”
“Which right person?”
“The one you need to give the power to in three days. Heim’s power.”
I picked up the chocolate milk and chased the straw for a moment before I got it in my mouth. Extra cold, just how Dad used to make it. It made me think of him, made me wish he were here. “That’s not a lot of time, Myra.”
“It’s enough. And it means you can spend one night here in bed, resting from a bullet that clipped you across the ribs and the surgery to patch you up, right?”
“I already said yes.”
“You were lying.”
“Well, yes, but I understand how concerned you are now.” I shrugged, and muscles pulled hot and stiff down my wrapped ribs. Ouch. Sudden movements were going to be a little out of my league.
“How bad is it?” I asked. I’d been ignoring that question, and my sisters had both waited until I was ready to know the answer.
“You’re very lucky. It went all the way through, but broke a rib.”
“Do I get to mummy up in one of those stretchy wraps?”
“They don’t do that anymore.”
“So I get shot and other than a broken rib and a bandage, I’m good to go?”
“I said you were lucky.”
“Well, there’s that at least.” I shifted again and winced. I wanted the stretchy bandage, darn it. Even though the medication was keeping the pain at bay, it felt like my bones were rubbing together.
“Need more meds?”
“I think I need sleep.” I gently pushed the tray away, and she reached over to drag it all the way to the side. “You don’t have to stay here while I sleep, Myra. I have the cool little button thing.” I lifted the call buttons in my right hand.
“I’ll be here.”
“Go home. Get out of your duckie pants—have you been in them all day?—and check in on all the things you need to. I’m here.” I looked her straight in the eyes. “And I’ll be here when you get back. Promise.”
Her pale blue eyes misted just a bit. “You scared the crap out of me,” she whispered hoarsely. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there in time. Me. Late.” Then my cool, steady sister lunged forward and draped her arms over me, laying her head on my chest.
“Hey now.” I patted her gently with my right hand. “It’s going to be all right. I’m all right. We’re still all together. We’re still all here.”
She held me for a long moment, and I settled into stroking her hair. She’d grown serious beyond her years when we’d lost Mom. I’d hoped that pain would pass for her and let a little light into her life, a little humor into her heart, but she kept her emotions closely guarded, even all these years later.
“I love you, My-my,” I said softly.
