That answer made even less sense.
Before I could ask another question, Arthur turned toward the kitchen.
“Have either of you eaten today?”
“We had toast,” Annie said.
I looked at her.
Half a piece of toast each did not seem worth mentioning, but Annie had always taken Grace literally when she told us never to exaggerate.
Arthur noticed my expression.
“Toast,” he repeated. “Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, the sternness had returned, but it seemed aimed at himself rather than us.
“Sit down.”
“We should go home,” I said. “Grace doesn’t know where we are.”
“And someone is already on the way to see her.”
That frightened me more than it reassured me.
“Who?”
“Dr. Helen Mercer.”
“Is she a real doctor?”
Arthur actually looked offended.
“She ran the emergency department at St. Matthew’s for twelve years.”
