It had been in the room all night, while the machines beeped and Gran’s breathing flattened out.

Perching on the windowsill, its feathers ruffled and its clear yellow gaze fixed on me. When the

lines for her heartbeat finally went flat and the hospital crew crowded around her, frantically trying

to tie down a soul that had already slid free of its old exhausted shell, the owl had disappeared between one glance and the next. I’d stepped back and to the side, sliding out the door and into the

hall. The less notice the adults took of me the better.

I picked at a scab through the hole on the right knee of my jeans. It was a lulu. I’d fallen down a

hillside while out looking for American ginseng. It was called devil’s club, for some reason. Good

stuff, and Gran always needed more. She’d scolded me when I came home with bloody knees.

The owl ruffled its feathers. I pulled back into myself, all the misery in the air pressing down on

me. Gran had taught me how to make myself a fist inside my head, to shut out the confusing babble

of other people’s feelings. But the touch hadn’t warned me that she was about to leave me.

Dawn was coming up. Gray light brushed the horizon. I didn’t want to leave her here, alone in this

bleached place that reeked of despair. But I couldn’t hang out much longer—an adult would remember I was here and wouldn’t be fobbed off by me saying my dad was on his way. I didn’t exactly

know what would happen then, but I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Oh, Dad. Please hurry. Please be coming here.

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged. My head jerked up, like an old dog’s. The elevator had

been going off all night, each time making that wheezing little bell sound, like it couldn’t possibly

open its door after mustering up all its energy to announce it was here.

“There she is,” someone said. I glanced down the hall in the opposite direction without turning my

head, using my peripheral vision. It was a heavyset redheaded nurse, her hands on her hips. Behind

her was that doctor, quick and ferret-like in his white coat, and a woman in a flowered dress that

screamed “social worker.”

I slid off the chair slowly, as if I hadn’t heard them. The elevator door was opening. I couldn’t make

it all the way down there unless I started running now. But I could jag down the stairs and escape

that way.

I still had the Packard’s keys. They jingled on their wire loop, and I walked, head up, purposefully,

toward the elevator.

“Hey! You! Kid!” It was the doctor. He didn’t even remember my name—that was evident. “Hey!”