I sign at him. “I can help, if you need me.” He frowns but doesn’t respond, so I continue. “You shouldn’t do this alone. I want to be with my sister.”

After a beat, he shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t do anything for her now.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I sign.

He doesn’t respond to my question. “Your sister is resting. You need to rest too. You can’t stay here all day long.”

“What does that mean, she’s resting? She looked like she was—” I abruptly stop, ball my hands to fists.

Casey rubs his eyes. “I took some of the antibiotics and gave them to her. Tylenol too. I don’t know if it’ll help, but she isn’t coughing up blood anymore. She’s…sleeping, best I can tell. Her fever hasn’t broken yet.”

“I have nowhere else to go, and I want to know if she’ll be okay,” I sign, but I don’t know if he understands me. He probably doesn’t.

“You need to stay back when I come out. And don’t—don’t go in. We need to quarantine them—us.”

“Are you sick too?” I ask.

Am I? Will I be?

“I’ll try to let you know how she’s doing, I promise. I need you to stay back.” Casey tilts his head like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge his words, even though he never acknowledged any of mine. Still, I nod.

“I’m glad you understand what I’m saying, at least.” He sucks in a deep breath then slips out to the bathroom.

I stay exactly where I am. I keep an eye on the door but don’t move. I won’t go in. My sister wouldn’t want me to—even if I do.

What would happen though? If I got sick, I would have to stay with her too. I’ve already spent so much time with her. Would it be such a bad thing? Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?

The minutes slip by, the opportunity opens. I could pretend I didn’t understand him after all. Everyone always assumes I don’t.

My hands clench by my side. I don’t have any other place in the world than beside my sister. But I don’t move. I wouldn’t just put myself at risk, but Casey and the others. Leah would hate me for it.

And I think I would too.

When Casey returns, droplets of water cling to his face and his hair is wet too. “You should go, back to the others or to your room or wherever you’re comfortable. I’ll stay here with your sister and Serenity.”

“Do you need to eat or drink something?” I ask.

I’m not feeling particularly hungry or thirsty, but we’ve been here for the better part of the day, late into the afternoon, and he might be. Meals are part of our routine.

He shakes his head. “I wish I could understand what you were trying to say. I’m sorry.”

Yeah. Me too. I eye the back of my hands because I don’t know what else to say. It’s not like he’ll suddenly understand it now. Leah is the only one who ever does. Even Granddad didn’t—he didn’t care to try. He told us once, “If one of you’s too stupid to talk, you find another way to tell me what you need. I ain’t got no time to guess.” So we did. First out of anger at his cruel words, then because it meant safety between us. Leah and I built our own language. She always understood that there are so many different ways to speak.