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I
haven
’
t
been
back
in
my
bed
fifteen
minutes
when
Willow
shows
up
.
She
marches
through
the
double
doors
and
goes
to
speak
to
the
one
nurse
behind
the
desk
.
I
don
’
t
hear
what
she
says
,
but
I
hear
her
tone
:
it
’
s
polite
,
soft
-
spoken
,
but
leaving
no
room
for
questions
.
When
she
leaves
the
room
a
few
minutes
later
,
there
’
s
a
change
in
the
air
.
Willow
’
s
in
charge
now
.
The
grumpy
nurse
at
first
looks
pissed
off
,
like
Who
is
this
woman
to
tell
me
what
to
do
?
But
then
she
seems
to
resign
,
to
throw
her
hands
up
in
surrender
.
It
’
s
been
a
crazy
night
.
The
shift
is
almost
over
.
Why
bother
?
Soon
,
me
and
all
of
my
noisy
,
pushy
visitors
will
be
somebody
else
’
s
problem
.
Five
minutes
later
,
Willow
is
back
,
bringing
Gran
and
Gramps
with
her
.
Willow
has
worked
all
day
and
now
she
is
here
all
night
.
I
know
she
doesn
’
t
get
enough
sleep
on
a
good
day
.
I
used
to
hear
Mom
give
her
tips
for
getting
the
baby
to
sleep
through
the
night
.
I
’
m
not
sure
who
looks
worse
,
me
or
Gramps
.
His
cheeks
are
sallow
,
his
skin
looks
gray
and
papery
,
and
his
eyes
are
bloodshot
.
Gran
,
on
the
other
hand
,
looks
just
like
Gran
.
No
sign
of
wear
and
tear
on
her
.
It
’
s
like
exhaustion
wouldn
’
t
dare
mess
with
her
.
She
bustles
right
over
to
my
bed
.
"
You
’
ve
sure
got
us
on
a
roller
-
coaster
ride
today
,
"
Gran
says
lightly
.
"
Your
mom
always
said
she
couldn
’
t
believe
what
an
easy
girl
you
were
and
I
remember
telling
her
,
‘
Just
wait
until
she
hits
puberty
.
’
But
you
proved
me
wrong
.
Even
then
you
were
such
a
breeze
.
Never
gave
us
any
trouble
.
Never
the
kind
of
girl
to
make
my
heart
race
in
fear
.
You
made
up
for
a
lifetime
of
that
today
.
"
"
Now
,
now
,
"
Gramps
says
,
putting
a
hand
on
her
shoulder
.
"
Oh
,
I
’
m
only
kidding
.
Mia
would
appreciate
it
.
She
’
s
got
a
sense
of
humor
,
no
matter
how
serious
she
sometimes
seems
.
A
wicked
sense
of
humor
,
this
one
.
"
Gran
pulls
the
chair
up
next
to
my
bed
and
starts
combing
through
my
hair
with
her
fingers
.
Someone
has
rinsed
it
out
,
so
,
while
it
’
s
not
exactly
clean
,
it
’
s
not
caked
with
blood
,
either
.
Gran
starts
untangling
my
bangs
,
which
are
about
chin
length
.
I
’
m
forever
cutting
bangs
,
then
growing
them
.
It
’
s
about
as
radical
a
makeover
as
I
can
give
myself
.
She
works
her
way
down
,
pulling
the
hair
out
from
under
the
pillow
so
it
streams
down
my
chest
,
hiding
some
of
the
lines
and
tubes
connected
to
me
.
"
There
,
much
better
,
"
she
says
.
"
You
know
,
I
went
outside
for
a
walk
today
and
you
’
ll
never
guess
what
I
saw
.
A
crossbill
.
In
Portland
in
February
.
Now
,
that
’
s
unusual
.
I
think
it
’
s
Glo
.
She
always
had
a
soft
spot
for
you
.
Said
you
reminded
her
of
your
father
,
and
she
adored
him
.
When
he
cut
his
first
crazy
Mohawk
hairdo
,
she
practically
threw
him
a
party
.
She
loved
that
he
was
rebellious
,
so
different
.
Little
did
she
know
your
father
couldn
’
t
stand
her
.
She
came
to
visit
us
once
when
your
dad
was
around
five
or
six
,
and
she
had
this
ratty
mink
coat
with
her
.
This
was
before
she
got
all
into
the
animal
rights
and
crystals
and
the
like
.
The
coat
smelled
terrible
,
like
mothballs
,
like
the
old
linens
we
kept
in
a
trunk
in
the
attic
,
and
your
father
took
to
calling
her
‘
Auntie
Trunk
Smell
.
’
She
never
knew
that
.
But
she
loved
that
he
’
d
rebelled
against
us
,
or
so
she
thought
,
and
she
thought
it
was
something
that
you
rebelled
all
over
again
by
becoming
a
classical
musician
.
Though
much
as
I
tried
to
tell
her
that
it
wasn
’
t
the
way
it
was
,
she
didn
’
t
care
.
She
had
her
own
ideas
about
things
;
I
suppose
we
all
do
.
"
Gran
twitters
on
for
another
five
minutes
,
filling
me
in
on
mundane
news
:
Heather
has
decided
she
wants
to
become
a
librarian
.
My
cousin
Matthew
bought
a
motorcycle
and
my
aunt
Patricia
is
not
pleased
about
that
.
I
’
ve
heard
her
keep
up
a
running
stream
of
commentary
like
this
for
hours
while
she
’
s
cooking
dinner
or
potting
orchids
.
And
listening
to
her
now
,
I
can
almost
picture
us
in
her
greenhouse
,
where
even
in
winter
,
the
air
is
always
warm
and
humid
and
smells
musty
and
earthy
like
soil
with
the
slightest
tinge
of
manure
.
Gran
hand
-
collects
cowshit
,
"
cow
patties
,
"
she
calls
them
,
and
mixes
them
in
with
mulch
to
make
her
own
fertilizer
.
Gramps
thinks
she
should
patent
the
recipe
and
sell
it
because
she
uses
it
on
her
orchids
,
which
are
always
winning
awards
.
