Kin (21 page)

T
HE
WINDOW
WAS
THE
S
AME
,
BUT
THE
TREES
IN
THE
courtyard were edged with gray light. There was a different IV pole, and the nurse in the room—her hair was dyed red, a short cap of curls like colored straw, and it made Ruby shiver—glanced up at her. “Visiting hours aren't until—”

“This is my grandmother,” Ruby told her, curtly. “Is she going to be okay?”

For a moment the older woman looked ready to tell her to get out, but then she softened, looking down at Gran's slack, sleeping face. “Dr. Roumpelstett thinks so. Once we had the toxin pinpointed, a targeted system flush administered, she started to improve very quickly. She's strong, your grandmother. Very determined.”

Don't I know it.
“Is she . . .” Ruby floundered, searching for a question. “Will she wake up?”

“We think so. You'd be more comfortable in the waiting room, or in the cafeteria.”

Ruby was abruptly aware of how messy and wild she must look. “I belong here,” she said, and that voice of calm authority maybe tipped the balance, because the nurse nodded and made a few notations on a clipboard she carried, checking the machine tracking Gran's heartbeat. It sounded strong and steady, and Gran's color was better. Her parchment hair was still sloppily braided, and maybe later Ruby would ask for a comb and fix it.

The nurse left, pulling the door almost closed. Ruby looked at the window, dawn rapidly coming up, the rain intensifying.

She peeled off her trainers, setting them neatly on the chair next to the bed. Then, carefully, so carefully, she lifted up the sheet and blankets. Slid in, degree by careful degree, working her arm under Gran's thin frame.

The old woman sighed, the way she always did when Ruby climbed into bed with her. Ruby squeezed her eyes shut, tears trickling between her lids.

One of her first real memories was Gran's breath beside her, sleeping in the big rosewood bed. Gran's stroking of her hair.
Shhh now, little kinling. All is well.

Gran teaching her to ride a bicycle, her hand steady on the back of the seat. Gran up early to make pancakes, snapping charms to flip them on the griddle. Gran chastising her for her carelessness, Gran white-lipped when Ruby came home with scabbed knees and sap in her hair.
I expected you an hour ago. I worry, Ruby!

How terrifying, to wonder and to worry, to see your daughter in your granddaughter's face, to be afraid of losing, to have to make all the decisions. Yet she'd always been there, holding Ruby's hand, reassuring her, protecting her, raising her.

Because Katrina was gone. Had
left
.

What if Gran, deep down . . . it was a ridiculous idea, but what if Gran was just as scared as Ruby was? What if she'd learned to cover it up, but it was still there?

Under the hospital smell, Edalie de Varre smelled faintly of her perfume, and the goodness of baking bread. Ruby snuggled in, but carefully, making sure she wasn't lying on any tubes or wires, propping Gran so that she'd be comfortable.

Finally, holding the old woman close, she sighed. Dawn strengthened in the window, and Ruby swallowed, hard.

Being scared and alone was worse than anything else, even a beast with empty eyes and scythe-claws. It was worse than the pinching, the bruising, it was worse than the certain knowledge of being a disappointment to everyone you loved.

Being scared together, though . . . that was different. It wasn't
incredibly
better, but it wasn't quite so awful. At least someone was in the boat with you, and you could make things better by comforting
them
.

“Gran?” she whispered, into Edalie's hair. “I love you. Everything's okay. Please be all right.” Her throat was full, and so was her nose, but she heard Gran's heartbeat, nice and strong, under the noise from the machine. The song of her breathing, familiar as her own. “I love you so much.”

Ruby de Varre shut her eyes, and finally fell asleep waiting for Gran to wake up.

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