better, I bet.”
“Well,” Margaret said, “her doctor seemed surprised last night when she asked for soup.”
“Yeah, ’course. And I bet that’s why she’s out for tests. They’re confused. They’re gonna stay confused, too, I promise you. You’re gonna give ’em the puzzle of their lives.”
Margaret leaned forward. “Mrs. Watkiss, what you told me yesterday . . . well, um, do you remember talking to me yesterday?”
“Honey, if my body was a building, they’d take a wreckin’ ball to it. But I still got my mind. ’Course I remember.”
“Well, you were talking about this . . . gift that I’ve been given.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell me anymore about it?”
“Mm. Must’ve happened recently. I can understand your confusion. When I first saw ’em coming out of the sky, I was terrified. I bet you were, too, huh?”
Margaret nodded.
“Took some time for the memory of it all to gel, you know? Even the memory was scary at first. Maybe that’s your problem. Too recent. You’re still afraid. Is that it?”
“Well, yes . . . I’m a little afraid. The memories . . . well, they keep coming to me in these horrible . . . they’re like nightmares.”
The old woman closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I know. But you have an advantage. The memories might still be comin’, but you know you got the gift. I didn’t have someone to talk to about it like you do. I’m glad we found each other. And look at your pretty face, Margaret. You look much younger than you did yesterday, and so pretty.” She smiled, but her eyes were only half open, as if she were very tired and about to fall asleep. “And I bet you’re knowin’ your sister’s better. Ain’t that right?”
“Yes,” Margaret said, nodding. “But . . . what about you?”
“What about me, honey?”
Margaret reached down and took Mrs. Watkiss’s knobby, veined hand between hers, smiling.
“Oh, that’s sweet of ya. But you don’t understand my problem. I ain’t just sick, I’m . . . well, I went bad and soured the gift I don’t know if even you could help me now, havin’ the gift yourself. You don’t worry about me.” She patted Margaret’s wrist with her other hand. “You just concentrate on your sister. She’s the one you should be helping. And you keep thinkin’ ’bout what I’ve told ya. Use that gift the way it’s supposed to be used. For good. For your sister. And other folks like her.”
Mrs. Watkiss pulled her hand away and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Margaret feared she’d fallen asleep, until she opened them again.
“So . . . I should just keep doing what I’m doing?” Margaret asked.
The nod was slow and weak, like the old woman’s voice. “Yeah. Do what you’re doin’. Just . . . don’t go bad. Don’t go sour on the gift . . . like I did.” Then Mrs. Watkiss went to sleep. She made a quiet snoring sound in her throat, and her nose began to whistle again.
Margaret replaced the drape and went to her chair, placing the paper bag in her lap. She was starving, and this time she’d bought plenty of fast food . . .
13
Margaret heard Lynda’s voice outside the room, growing louder and clearer as it came down the corridor.
“ — and then all of a sudden she just shows up! I mean, I can’t tell you how surprised I was. It was great! Seeing her after all these years? Oh, I can’t tell you how wonderful it was, Mary.”
Margaret recognized Mary’s voice: “Well, darlin’, it must’ve done ya some good, ’cause Dr. Plummer was sure pleased with ya.”
“Really?” Lynda asked. “I didn’t see him before I left.”
“Oh, you’ll be seein’ him soon, I’m sure, lass.”
“He really thinks I’m doing better? Really?”
“I’m only a lowly nurse, m’dear. Wouldn’t know about that. You’ll have to ask him. But I can tell you this much,” Mary said as she pushed Lynda into the room in her wheelchair, “I’ve never heard you talkin’ this much before. You
“Well,” Margaret said, “her doctor seemed surprised last night when she asked for soup.”
“Yeah, ’course. And I bet that’s why she’s out for tests. They’re confused. They’re gonna stay confused, too, I promise you. You’re gonna give ’em the puzzle of their lives.”
Margaret leaned forward. “Mrs. Watkiss, what you told me yesterday . . . well, um, do you remember talking to me yesterday?”
“Honey, if my body was a building, they’d take a wreckin’ ball to it. But I still got my mind. ’Course I remember.”
“Well, you were talking about this . . . gift that I’ve been given.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell me anymore about it?”
“Mm. Must’ve happened recently. I can understand your confusion. When I first saw ’em coming out of the sky, I was terrified. I bet you were, too, huh?”
Margaret nodded.
“Took some time for the memory of it all to gel, you know? Even the memory was scary at first. Maybe that’s your problem. Too recent. You’re still afraid. Is that it?”
“Well, yes . . . I’m a little afraid. The memories . . . well, they keep coming to me in these horrible . . . they’re like nightmares.”
The old woman closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I know. But you have an advantage. The memories might still be comin’, but you know you got the gift. I didn’t have someone to talk to about it like you do. I’m glad we found each other. And look at your pretty face, Margaret. You look much younger than you did yesterday, and so pretty.” She smiled, but her eyes were only half open, as if she were very tired and about to fall asleep. “And I bet you’re knowin’ your sister’s better. Ain’t that right?”
“Yes,” Margaret said, nodding. “But . . . what about you?”
“What about me, honey?”
Margaret reached down and took Mrs. Watkiss’s knobby, veined hand between hers, smiling.
“Oh, that’s sweet of ya. But you don’t understand my problem. I ain’t just sick, I’m . . . well, I went bad and soured the gift I don’t know if even you could help me now, havin’ the gift yourself. You don’t worry about me.” She patted Margaret’s wrist with her other hand. “You just concentrate on your sister. She’s the one you should be helping. And you keep thinkin’ ’bout what I’ve told ya. Use that gift the way it’s supposed to be used. For good. For your sister. And other folks like her.”
Mrs. Watkiss pulled her hand away and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Margaret feared she’d fallen asleep, until she opened them again.
“So . . . I should just keep doing what I’m doing?” Margaret asked.
The nod was slow and weak, like the old woman’s voice. “Yeah. Do what you’re doin’. Just . . . don’t go bad. Don’t go sour on the gift . . . like I did.” Then Mrs. Watkiss went to sleep. She made a quiet snoring sound in her throat, and her nose began to whistle again.
Margaret replaced the drape and went to her chair, placing the paper bag in her lap. She was starving, and this time she’d bought plenty of fast food . . .
13
Margaret heard Lynda’s voice outside the room, growing louder and clearer as it came down the corridor.
“ — and then all of a sudden she just shows up! I mean, I can’t tell you how surprised I was. It was great! Seeing her after all these years? Oh, I can’t tell you how wonderful it was, Mary.”
Margaret recognized Mary’s voice: “Well, darlin’, it must’ve done ya some good, ’cause Dr. Plummer was sure pleased with ya.”
“Really?” Lynda asked. “I didn’t see him before I left.”
“Oh, you’ll be seein’ him soon, I’m sure, lass.”
“He really thinks I’m doing better? Really?”
“I’m only a lowly nurse, m’dear. Wouldn’t know about that. You’ll have to ask him. But I can tell you this much,” Mary said as she pushed Lynda into the room in her wheelchair, “I’ve never heard you talkin’ this much before. You
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