“I need some time alone,” she declared. “I’m certain we’ll have plenty of time to talk about this ludicrous situation far more than any of us probably want to.” Hearing her own tone of voice, she knew that Henry wasn’t the only one who was angry.

* * * *

Henry had to stop twice on his way to the room he shared with Kat just to catch his breath and calm himself. He was glad to have said what he did; he couldn’t live even a day under the same roof with Oliver and Viola and not have the issue out in the open, knowing what he knew now. He was afraid he might have hurt Amala, but he still didn’t regret what he’d said. He’d only stated what was true, and he knew she had enough character and insight to understand, and when they were not so overwhelmed with the present drama, he knew she would forgive him. Right now he was glad to simply have that dreaded conversation out of the way, and he could only focus on one thing. Kat was dying, and he needed her to know how very much he loved her.

When he entered the room, Lekha was sitting beside Kat on the bed, holding her hand.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Henry,” she said. “I was about to call for someone to come and get you. I believe she’s coming around and will soon need more medicine, but it is best if you or her sister take care of that. And I know you want to talk to her when she’s awake.”

“Yes, Lekha, thank you,” Henry said, grateful for her kindness and insight, as well as her ability to follow his instructions carefully. She also had an endearing quality of always repeating the obvious so that he would know she had followed his instructions.

Lekha moved away so that Henry could take her place, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking hold of Kat’s hand.

“I will be in the sitting room should you need me,” Lekha said.

“Thank you,” Henry replied, looking only at Kat’s face. “Have someone bring the doctor directly here when he arrives.”

“Yes, Mr. Henry,” she said and gracefully exited the room.