One night the dream changed, just a little. This time the person with me was Ruth. She was hurt, bleeding badly. We were walking in a desert, part of a caravan of camels, and suddenly Ruth screamed and ran to me, her side oozing red. I had a special ointment, the only thing that could save her, in a pouch in my pocket. I’d found it by following a treasure map, and dug it up from deep in the sand. She screamed for me to help her, save her. She got close to me, showed me the hole in her side. I pushed her away. She screamed and I pushed her again. We kept walking, my camels and I, and Ruth stopped following us. I kept walking over the dunes while her screams and cries echoed across the sand behind me. I did not turn around.

I woke up from that dream with the front of my T-shirt drenched and cold with sweat. There was already a puddle of tears on the pillow and a sob was building in my chest that felt too huge and throbbing for my seven-year-old ribs.

When I could move, I slid out of my bed, my arms wrapped around me, and scrambled to my parents’ bedroom. Mom had been sick all day and Dad was at a conference out of town, and when I opened the bedroom door, the bed was empty. There was a line of light under the door to the bathroom, and I heard noises of sick and smelled vomit.

I stopped, frozen with indecision. I desperately needed someone to hold me, to bring me back to the real world, but despite my terror I didn’t want to add more to my mom’s plate when she was already so sick. Even then I wanted to be the sunshine person. The person who made everyone else feel at peace, feel more happy. Storms always came, like sickness, but I wanted to be the person who made it all a little brighter, a little lighter.

So I stood still for a minute, then took two steps toward my bedroom. No, I couldn’t—I was too scared. I took three steps toward the bathroom. Another retching noise, and I wanted to let loose the wail building inside me, but I didn’t want to make too much sound or Mom would hear. I didn’t know what to do.

“Olivia.”

A whisper from the bedroom door. I turned and saw Ruth. Her hair was in braids, and she was still young enough to be wearing her pink narwhal nightgown. I must have woken her up.

“I…” Speaking felt too much like crying, and I stopped.

“Come on,” she said, and motioned me to follow. I took in a couple breaths, trying to cool my burning face. I stepped toward her.