“Maybe it fell deeper,” Annie said.
“Apparently.”
“Was she sad?”
Arthur looked at the ring.
“She pretended she wasn’t.”
“Grace does that.”
Arthur lifted his eyes.
“What?”
“She pretends things don’t bother her when they do.”
I nudged Annie gently.
But Arthur didn’t seem upset.
Instead, he said, “Eleanor did too.”
A doctor came through the door before anything else could be said.
She was a woman with silver-streaked dark hair and quick eyes.
“Caleb? Annie?”
We both stood.
“I’m Helen Mercer.”
She shook our hands as though we were adults.
“Your sister is going to be all right. She needs rest, fluids, antibiotics, and at least a week of not pretending she can work.”
“That last part might be difficult,” I said.
Helen smiled.
“I gathered that.”
Then she glanced at Arthur.
“And I have already informed Mr. Whitmore that paying someone’s medical bill does not give him the right to organize the rest of her life.”
