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“You look. . .did someone die?” His eyebrows are drawn together.
I don’t blame him for being nervous. The mood is somber.
“No one died,” I say. “It’s actually good news.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows rise and he rubs his hands together. “Did that caterer say they can do crab?”
Kristiana rolls her eyes. “Dad, it’s not in season. We can have it, but it would be frozen. I already told you that.”
I can’t help laughing a little. His idea of what might have inspired our mood is the availability of shellfish?
“Alright, well, I guess I’ll just wait to hear what the other news is until you feel like telling me.” He shoves his hands in his pocket and shuffles back into the living room. I actually feel a little bad. He must feel left out a lot, what with all the planning sessions he can’t join—given they were trying to expand the wedding to lure Leonid. Maybe now that they’re using the race, he won’t feel so left out.
Watching Mirdza struggle her way up the stairs breaks my heart.
My hope that this will work grows exponentially. Like, it’s probably really unhealthy how hard I’m hoping. If I hadn’t just asked God on my knees to save me a week ago, without doing much at all to repay him yet, I’d be praying again right now.
Ah, screw it.
Please, God. You listened before. Please, please, please save her leg.
Twice in one week. That’s got to be a record for someone like me.
I don’t bother offering something in return this time. Clearly God knows I’m not a good investment. I’m like that bratty little kid that just keeps showing up, asking for another cookie, even though I made a mess with the first one and didn’t eat my dinner like I said I would.
Maybe he loves me anyway, for some inexplicable reason. Isn’t that kind of his thing? Gosh, I hope I didn’t just piss him off, right as we’re about to see if he can heal my sister.
“Alright,” Alexei says from the top of the stairs. “One of these is her bedroom, right?”
Grigoriy points, and we all follow Alexei inside.
“Do you need a glass of water or something?” I ask.
Alexei looks like he might laugh.
“Hey, there are no stupid questions,” Kris says. “Only stupid—”
“There are lots of stupid questions,” I say. “And I just asked one, but that’s fine. I’m okay with it.”
“Can you sit on the bed and swing your leg up?” Alexei asks.
Mirdza has to brace both arms on the bed to swing her legs up. I’ve gotten so used to watching her that I didn’t really pay close attention to it. Life has been really unfair for her.
Alexei drags a chair up next to the bed and sits, closes his eyes, and holds his hands over her knee. He inhales sharply, drops his hands, and opens his eyes again.
“Is that it?” I ask. “Did it work?”
Alexei frowns and shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m just feeling it out.” He turns back to Mirdza. “Your sister tells me there’s metal inside your leg. I can feel. . .something foreign.”
Mirdza nods.
“I didn’t realize that when I offered. In order to try to repair this. . .” He sighs. “I’ll have to remove the metal first, and any bone that’s not yours, and only then can I try to regrow the bone the way it should’ve always been.”
“Try?” Mirdza stiffens. “And what if it doesn’t work?”
His brow furrows. “If I can’t regrow the bone.” He grimaces. “I think you’d be unable to use the leg until you had another surgery to replace the metal I removed.”
That’s one heck of a risk.
