Twenty-Eight
Solma is unnerved by how light Piotr is. He hangs in their arms like a child’s doll. Still, it takes them fifteen minutes to carry his body, suspended like a bridge between them, to Gerta’s house. When they arrive, Solma’s breath is ragged, her face filmed over with sweat. They lay him down and Solma props his head up with her food pack. Gracie cries Piotr’s name, trying to shake him awake. As if that will help. Solma bats her away, more impatiently than she’d intended.
“He needs rest,” she says, trying for compassion and managing exasperation. Gracie glares.
“I know what he needs,” she snaps. “And you done enough.”
Solma blinks. She’s about to retort but puzzlement overtakes the hurt and she ends up just staring. What on Earth is Gracie talking about? Solma has done nothi
