O’Sullivan managed to catch Laney before she hit the floor. She draped over his arms like a soggy dishrag. “Want me to put her on your bed, Ma?” “And where else would you be putting her?” Hilda pumped water onto a clean dish towel. “Here.” While he stretched Laney out on the bed and patted her cheek, his ma wiped her own hands on the towel and came over. “Out with you boys. Don’t go too far. Supper’s in a few minutes.” Once the door shut, Hilda took over another wet cloth. Mrs. O’Sullivan pushed it away. “That won’t make a spit of difference. I’ve been marveling all day she hasn’t done this—she’s laced far too tight.” Ivy stood back while they loosened Laney’s beautiful clothes. She wasn’t just wearing a pretty skirt; she had not one, but two underskirts, as well. “She must be a-swelterin’ in all them layers.” “She normally wears three.” Ruth imparted that scrap of information in a distracted tone. “Is she—” “She’ll come around in a minute.”
