Helena was stronger by Tuesday.
Not fully herself. The doctor had come back on Sunday and Monday and both times he had been cautiously positive in the way that cautious positivity actually felt like good news when you had spent a night sitting in a kitchen at three in the morning waiting for morning to arrive.
She was eating well. She was reading again. She had opinions about the book she was reading that she shared at dinner with the precision of someone whose mind was working at its usual speed even if her body was taking its time catching up.
On Tuesday afternoon she asked me to come to her sitting room.
Just me.
She was in her chair with her blanket across her lap and the small lamp on even though it was still afternoon because the winter light at this hour was not quite enough fo
