“My dear, do calm yourself,” he said.
“The storm is coming! The storm is coming.” Like an out-of-date Paul Revere, Marion broadcast the forecast in a manner anything but calm. “It is going to be intense, like the weatherman promised days ago.” She walked with a limp, at least when she flitted with fretful energy. Paying no attention to Frank, she fixated only on the weather and her son, which she showed by staring at the ceiling as if he was already in heaven.
“Machines do everything for him,” Vaughn stated. “One keeps his heart beating. One makes him breathe. One circulates his blood and cleans it. What it would mean to us to be able to disconnect him and have his body do what it should.”
“Vaughn. I…” Frank had trouble forming thoughts into words. “You must understand my reticence. Why
