I unwrapped the marbled paper. My hands shook. I made a mess of the wrappings.

The book inside was my copy of Slake’s Limbo. I had inscribed it. From Nyle to Ezra.

I opened the book to the first page.

In every other room the curtains had been open. Not here. Here the curtains shut out all the warmth and hope of spring. It was impossible to read in the dim light.

I remembered the first time I’d read to Ezra. I felt so certain he would die in the back room, as Mama had, as Gramp had. Everything had changed since then, and yet nothing had changed.

I tried reading. Ezra’s hand moved slowly, painfully across the great distance from the top of the sheet through the rail to my arm.

His hand wrapped weakly around my wrist, stopping me.

I swallowed hard. In the silence, I heard my heart shatter.

Ezra drifted in and out of sleep. I sat, making myself watch him. Letting myself feel the pain of losing, the pain of leaving.

A tube pumped oxygen into his nostrils. It cycled every few seconds. I counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Pump. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

“How you been, Shep?” Ezra’s voice rasped in his throat. His words came out thick and sluggish.

I nodded. Made myself answer. “You’re missing the lambs, Ezra. What kind of sheep farmer misses the lambs? It’s the best part.”

Silence again. I knew there must be sound outside this room. Life outside this room. Why couldn’t I hear it?

“Been thinking,” Ezra said. “Anne Frank.”

I stopped him. “It’s spring Ezra.”

“Maybe,” Ezra said. “Maybe—they’ll remember me, too.”

I couldn’t tell him the world had already forgotten him.

“How’s the radiation out there?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Fine.”

“Open the curtains,” he whispered.

“What?”

I brought my ear close to his lips.

“Open the curtains.”

The hand tightened on my wrist.

“But—”

“Nothing more to fear,” he said.

I opened the curtains. He had a beautiful view of the Connecticut River. The sun fell across his bed, creating shadows and light through the room.

Ezra sighed. “I waited for you, Nyle.”

“Well, I’m here now.” I sat back down beside the bed, took his hand gently in my own. “Gran wouldn’t let me come any sooner. She said it would be too much. I don’t know whether she meant too much for you or too much for me—”

Ezra tried to laugh. Just a small sound.

“Can I do anything for you?”

Ezra shook his head. “Remember the night—Anne Frank? You read my letter?”

I nodded.

Ezra almost smiled. “Good.”

His eyes stayed open, stayed on my face.

I bent over the rail. Gently I touched the bandanna with my fingertips.

“Take it off,” he whispered.