“Mom wants to know if you want her to come,” I heard Bram say as we neared the kitchen.

“Tell her thanks, but no,” Alex replied. “I think Sarai has enough company for now.”

“She wants to check on you, too,” Bram said.

“I’m fine,” Alex said firmly.

Well, I was glad that one of us was.

“Sarai,” a familiar voice said as I rounded the corner.

Mrs. K moved across the room and met me in the middle, her arms coming around my body in a surprisingly tight hug. Her head barely reached my shoulder—she was so tiny—but the familiar smell of her perfume was instantly comforting, and I sagged against her.

“Well now,” she murmured, reaching up to smooth my hair. “Well now, it’s all right.”

I shuddered, but no tears came. My eyes had been dry since I’d woken up from surgery, no matter what thoughts bombarded me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

“I brought you some dinner,” she said, pulling back from our hug. “Sit, sit.”

She ushered me to the table and sat me down. For the next hour, I ate what Mrs. K put in front of me and stared into space, letting the conversation flow around me.

“Mrs. K,” I said, putting my hand on hers as she tried to take my plate. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Papa is enjoying the time to himself,” she said, nudging me with her arm. “So he can sneak a TV dinner he thinks I don’t know about.”

I smiled for her benefit, but exhaustion was starting to weigh me down. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone, and the sound of little Arie babbling was starting to really bother me. My baby would never do that. She’d never keep me up at night or cry for me or lay her head on my shoulder the way Arie was lying on Ani. She’d never do anything.

I stood from the table as Mrs. K walked toward the sink, and the conversation around me stopped.

“What do you need?” Alex asked, coming to my side, his hands out in front of him as if I were going to fall over or something.

“Just tired,” I replied, never meeting his eyes. “I’m going to go back to sleep.”

I shuffled back into our room and crawled into bed, leaving my robe on as I pulled the blankets up around my shoulders. I stared at my cast as I lay there, running my fingers over the ridges and the smooth cotton that peeked out near my thumb. I’d never broken a bone before, not even a finger. My dad had called me Gumby because he’d said that my bones must have been able to bend, considering the number of times I’d fallen out of trees and crashed my bike as a child.