When I reached the last step, I was met by Gram. “Oh dear, what have you
done to yourself?” she asked before lifting the towel to see how badly I’d been
injured. Her face flashed with worry. “Come with me.”
I followed Gram to the sink and let her clean the wound.
"Is she ok?" Cole asked.
“She will be. Cole, go to the pantry and grab my emergency kit.” Turning
towards me, she asked, “What cut you?”
“It was just a nightmare, Gram,” I tried to reassure her, grimacing as the cold
water flushed the laceration. “I knocked a picture off my dresser and broke it.
I'm ok. It really doesn't hurt," I lied.
Cole brought Gram the bag. “What can I do to help?” he questioned me.
“You could make Meg some hot chocolate," I suggested.
He shook his head. "I'll stay with you."
"I'm fine. I promise. You know how I am – these nightmares are more
painful for those around me than they are for me.” I squeezed his hand. "Please.
Meg needs you more than I do, right now."
Cole looked at my sister, who was sitting on the ladder still. He went to her
without further delay. Kneeling down beside her, he asked, "You want to know
something good?"
"Uh-huh," Meg half-heartedly replied.
“At least, she didn't have one of those nightmares where she screamed so
loud that Old Lady Callaghan was sure the banshees were coming for her again."
The two shared a laugh at my expense. I couldn't be mad, though. Cole was
effectively comforting my little sister.
“Ok, Meg, let's get you something warm to drink. I'm sure Mara's shrieks
chilled you to the bone."
"She screamed so loud I thought all the windows would crack," Meg said seriously.
"What are we going to do with your sister?” Cole picked Meg up and swung
her around.
Giggling, she grabbed onto his neck. “We should sell her at the next Market
Fair.”
The two of them fell into a fit of laughter again. They were entertained by all
of the suggestions about what they could do with me.
Gram and I left them to make their hot chocolate. We moved to the living room,
so she could mend my wound.
“You're very lucky it didn't cut any deeper. Tell me what happened.”
Lifting the formerly hot pink towel, which now looked like a red Rorschach
test, she, once again, washed the blood from the injury. The blood flow had lessened, and I was finally relaxed enough to tell my grandmother what had
