Leila curled against her left side. I pressed into her right.
« You’re scared too, » I whispered.
« No, » Nora said. « I’m responsible. »
She should have been worrying about homework, messy hair, and whether Mom would let us stay up late on Fridays. Instead, even then, she sounded like she believed love meant standing guard.
Then she got sick.
At first, adults whispered around us as if it could keep the truth from entering the room.
But Nora knew.
Of course she knew.
Nora always knew when someone was lying, especially when they were doing it kindly.
I remember the first hospital stay. The smell of sanitizer. The bright lights. The cartoon stickers on the wall that did nothing to make the room feel less frightening. Leila would not sit still. She kept picking at the sleeve of her sweater until Mom gently took her hand.
