Fifty-threeMisty was out of bed, dressed in a light day frock and sitting in a cane garden chair enjoying the afternoon sun in a paved area off the ground floor ward. A silk scarf muffled her throat, but Lani could see faint bruising on her jawline and presumed that under the silk her throat would be a mass of purple.
The older woman couldn’t conceal her delight at Lani’s arrival. Her eyes lit up with a mocking glint, and she extended her hand like an Eastern maharani receiving a tribute. Her long, slender fingers were cream-polished and buffed a perfectly manicured light pink, as if to compensate for her unadorned, brutalized face.
“Lani! How wonderful of you to come.” Her voice, deep and languorous, sounded like the old Misty.
Lani leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. Her s
