Gwendy's Magic Feather

56

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, AN orderly raps on the door. He’s a big fellow with a warm smile and a thicket of dreadlocks crammed into a bursting-at-the-seams hairnet. “Sorry to break up the party, folks, but I’m here to take Mrs. Peterson down to Imaging.”

“Winston!” Mrs. Peterson says, her face lighting up. “I thought your shift was over.”

“No, ma’am.” He shakes his head. “Not until I’m finished taking care of my favorite patient.”

Visibly touched, she says, “Thank you, Winston.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” Mr. Peterson says, squeezing his wife’s hand.

She looks up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of hers and gives him a little squeeze back. “I’m ready,” she says to the orderly.

“I’ll be here, too,” Gwendy says, doing her best not to cry.

“I know you will.” Mrs. Peterson pulls her other hand out from underneath the blanket and holds up a small white feather. Her hand looks very thin and delicate. “Thanks again for the loan, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of it.”

Gwendy smiles, but doesn’t risk saying another word.