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Show in my father's house/ 229 and my mother's soft, sweet voice. The dead weight of my left arm made me glance and recoil. It looked like something dead, all blue and bloated through the fingers. It made me sick. The snow was still falling. My mother had hung up the phone and stood in the doorway. "That was the ;school nurse. She wanted to know why we didn't show up at the hospital yesterday." Her voice was brisk. "What did you say?" I asked through the morning tufts in my mouth. "I told her that we sent you to our doctor in Salt Lake City. She wanted to know his name." "Did you tell her?" "Of course not. They might figure out who we are." She sighed. "They already suspect our folks in Wells." I nodded, my stomach constricting. Then I glanced around Aunt Helga's room. "Did Aunt Helga sleep with you?" "She left last night with your father." "Daddy's gone? Already?" My eyes filled as she nodded. "But my arm..." I stared at my blue-sausage fingers. "He had patients this morning. He said the swelling is normal and will go down in a day or two. We can loosen your cast if you want." "It isn't a cast," I mumbled. "You can't loosen a real cast. It would be hard, like a seashell." I gazed morosely at the bandage on my arm as though I was seeing the epitome of our family problems: There was never quite enough security, never a firm enough form to contain our breaks and mistakes. |