“No,” she said. “It may be the first good thing I’ve heard in weeks.”
Grace lowered her eyes, but Vincent saw the faint tremble in her fingers.
She was not fearless.
She was simply doing what fear demanded.
Standing anyway.
Dr. Harper entered the twins’ room. Vincent followed. This time, Grace did not stop him.
Noah and Lily were sitting up, propped by pillows. Noah’s oatmeal bowl was half empty. Lily’s cheeks were still pale, but there was color at the bridge of her nose. She clutched a stuffed rabbit Vincent had bought from Paris because Caroline once loved rabbits.
Grace stayed near the door.
Lily saw her and smiled.
“Miss Grace,” she whispered, “don’t forget the raccoon.”
“I never forget criminals in hats,” Grace said.
Noah laughed.
Vincent watched Dr. Harper examine them. He watched the doctor listen to their lungs, check their eyes, take their pulses. He watched her face carefully, searching for hope and fearing it at the same time.
At last, Dr. Harper straightened.
“Their vitals are slightly stronger,” she said.
Vincent’s chest tightened.
“How much stronger?”
“Not enough to change the diagnosis,” she warned. “But enough that I want new bloodwork immediately.”
The room went silent.
Grace looked at the doctor.
Vincent looked at his children.
Noah, too young to understand the full terror in the adults’ faces, lifted his spoon.
“So if I eat more oatmeal,” he asked, “do I get more blood?”
Lily made a disgusted face.
“That’s not how it works.”
Grace covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Vincent felt something inside him crack open.
For a moment, he saw Caroline standing by the window, laughing at something Noah had said when he was four. He saw Lily in a yellow dress chasing bubbles across the lawn. He saw his children before sickness had turned every breath into a negotiation.