Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s nearly dawn when Emmaline steps out for another cup of coffee. I scoot over to the bed. I study Ingrid’s peaceful face, which seems to have grown younger in the hours that we’ve kept vigil. I clear my throat and look away, suddenly overwhelmed by a huge sense of loss. How Emmaline has stayed so calm, so stoic is beyond me. She has the strength of a thousand women.
I take Ingrid’s hand. It’s delicate, like Emmaline’s. Long fingers that I can imagine stirring over the stove, or wiping away a little girl’s tears. It won’t be long now, though. Her hand is cool, limp - as if she’s already got one foot on the other side.
The back of my throat burns, and it’s hard to speak, but I push the words out. “I… I want you to know that I’m going to take care of your daughter.”
