Richard tucked the envelope inside his coat pocket, then pulled the chair closer to the door. Evelyn settled into the chair near Noah, her hand resting lightly on the bassinet rail.
The last thing I saw before sleep took me was my uncle sitting upright in the dim hospital room, still as a guard at a gate.
When I woke, morning light had turned the rain on the window into beads of silver.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was. Then the ache in my ribs reminded me, followed by the cast, the stitches, and the small, warm sound of Noah waking beside me.
Evelyn was already on her feet.
“Good morning, little man,” she whispered, leaning over the bassinet. “You have excellent timing.”
Richard stood near the doorway with two paper cups of coffee. He looked as though he had not slept at all, but his eyes were clear.
