I wiped the rainbow lipstick away. In a smudged mirror on the wall opposite of me, I could see a bit of lipstick residue on my mouth and the metallic embellishments still covering my cheeks. Tears streamed down Marta’s face as she gripped the blanket with one hand, clutching my hand with the other. “Yeah, it’s just . . . I’m scared,” she whispered. Dad’s eyes flicked to me. He stood on the other side of the bed. He looked about to cry himself. I leaned down so my elbows were resting on the edge of her bed. The light blue of the coverlet was faded and almost a sickly white. Crying would only make it worse for all of us. I had to be strong for Marta, had to show confidence in the procedure, even though I didn’t know for sure if it would work. Marta’s gaze followed me. She coughed. “Marta, what scares you more, surgery, getting a new heart, or . . . possibly dying?”
