Page 63 of Wild Card

It brings me some peace at what could very well be my end.

The pain in my stomach starts to pulse. I want to press my hand against it, but I don’t want to let go of Birdie.

But she can feel my pain. She does this with everyone.

“What is it?” She wriggles out of my arms and looks at the blood on my temple. “It’s not just your head, is it? What’s hurting you?”

“It’s nothing. Just my stomach.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re brave. You never even flinch during rugby when you get hit.”

“It’s prepared me for this moment, then,” I joke. “I need to lie down.” The mattress is only a twin size, but Birdie and I can fit next to each other. I hug her more for my own comfort now.

We’re quiet for a few moments. I see something that looks like eyes in the distance and wonder if I’m hallucinating.

“I’m scared,” Birdie says. “Are you scared?”

The pain in my stomach is scaring me. I squeeze her, trying to ignore the sweat that’s starting to pour down my face.

“I am. But Callan will find us. I know he will.”

“How do you know?”

“Twin magic.”

Those eyes in the distance are getting closer. I squint, trying to focus my vision. What is that?

I feel myself drifting away.

“Catriona?”

I’m tired.

She says my name again, in a more pleading tone this time. I pull away from the comforting haze.

“What is it honey?”

“Will you sing me the song?”

“I can’t sing like Siobhan.”

“No one can sing like Siobhan. But I like how you sing. You’re a good singer. You don’t have to be like Siobhan to be good.”

I give her another squeeze. Birdie’s always insisted on my goodness, whether I deserve it or not. I guess it’s okay to sing your little sister’s favorite lullaby even though you’re both grown women if she’s afraid, and you are too. I’m grateful that she’s not asking either of us to be strong now, and I’m grateful for the distraction of the song.

Birdie knows what she’s doing—this is for me, not for her.

“There’s a little bird somebody sent. Down to the earth to live on the wind.” It’s hard to catch my breath. “Blowing on the wind, and she’ll sleep on the wind, this little bird somebody sent.” My voice fades, but Bridget nestles her head against me, and I continue. “Light and fragile she’s feathered sky blue. Thin and graceful. The sun shining through. She flies so high up in the sky, way out of reach of human eyes.”

I feel that way right now. Floating.

“And the only time that she touches the ground is when that little bird, little bird, is when that little bird dies.”

Irish lullabies are like that.

“Thank you,” she says, clinging to me. “Do you see that?”

Does she mean the eyes? I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified that she sees them now too. I feel a new weight on the mattress.

“Oh, it’s a cat.” Birdie says. She releases me and grabs for the strange animal. I hear purring, though, so I’m not worried. “Do you live here?” I hear Birdie talk to the cat for a few minutes, and then I feel the rumble of its purr against my back.

“They say cat purrs are healing,” Birdie murmurs, tugging off the thin sweatshirt she’s wearing. She only has a tank top on underneath.

“You’ll be cold,” I murmur.

Birdie shushes me and cleans the sweat and blood from my forehead with her shirt.

I stop struggling to keep my eyes open, the vibration from the cat’s purrs lulling me to sleep.

“Catriona?” My sister’s voice fades slowly. “Please don’t go. I love you so much.” I feel her shake me, but I just can’t hold on anymore. I’ll muddle through this all later. Gio said he’d take care of Birdie, and I have to believe it.

---