THE next morning as I went through a McDonald’s drive-through, I realized I had to call Iona to tell her what had happened. Otherwise, she might read it in the papers. I didn’t expect anything from her, and it was a strange feeling to realize that there was someone I should report to; Tolliver and I are used to being on our own. If we hadn’t been in the same urban area, I would never have considered calling Iona about Tolliver’s injury. I got to the hospital early, looked into his room to find Tolliver sleeping, and returned to the lobby to use my cell phone. The reception in the lobby wasn’t good, so I stepped outside with the smokers. It was a cold, clear day, with a brilliant blue sky.

I checked my watch, felt there was a chance Iona hadn’t left for work yet, and called the house. Iona wasn’t best pleased to hear from me early in the morning, and she let me know it.

“Tolliver got shot last night,” I said, and she was silent.

“Is he all right?” she asked, even now sounding grudging.

“Yes, he’s going to make it,” I said. “He’s in a regular room at God’s Mercy Hospital. He had some surgery on his shoulder. He’ll be in the hospital for a couple more days, the doctor thinks.”

“Well, I don’t believe I need to tell the girls right now,” Iona said. “Besides, Hank’s already taken ’em to school. We’ll talk about it when they come home today.”

“Suit yourself,” I said. “I’ve got to call Mark.” I clicked the phone shut, angry and disappointed. It wasn’t that I wanted my little sisters upset and worried, especially after the skating rink incident yesterday—it was that I knew my interaction with them would always be ruled and regulated by the troll squatting across the draw-bridge that led to them. I was being pretty ungrateful to Iona with that comparison. I should be glad every day that she and Hank had had the nerve and grace to undertake the raising of two girls from such a damaging background.

But going through her was such an uphill battle.

For the first time, I thought Tolliver might be right. Maybe we should just butt out of our sisters’ lives and send them Christmas presents and cards on their birthdays.

Then Mark answered his phone in a drowsy voice, and I had to chuck aside these bad thoughts and deal with the here and now. Mark had worked late the night before so he wasn’t too coherent, but I made sure he got the gist of the story and knew the name of the hospital. He promised he’d come by when he could, probably later in the morning.