“She looks peaceful,” Uncle Tem said one evening when she pretended to be asleep.
“She’s not getting better.” The doctor’s soft voice was barely audible.
“Well, make her better. Money is not an issue. Tell me what she needs, and I’ll get it for you.”
A pause followed, during which Aurore imagined the doctor giving Uncle Tem a judgmental stare.
“You can’t buy what she needs.”
Aurore could clearly picture a raised, bushy eyebrow. Try me.
“The table protected her body from the blast,” the doctor said, “but her arms and legs were totally crushed. We did our best…” A sigh. “Unfortunately, gangrene is settling in her extremities. We might have to amputate soon.”
Loud sobs and a slammed door signaled Aunt Olivia had left the room. Good. Aurore had long gotten sick of the woman’s crying. At least now, she could listen to the conversation in peace.
Practical as usual, Uncle Tem asked, “How much?”
Uncle Tem’s gasp covered Aurore’s own little gasp.
(The Nightingale Circus Collection - The Golden Lady)