said Mabis. “Twins. They were alike in every way except that one, Aayse, could not speak.” She sat in bed, staring intently at the space where Ryder was standing, but she didn’t seem to see him. “I brought you some tea.” Mabis smiled and made a wide gesture with her arms, as if she had an audience for her story, as if invisible children were sitting on the dirt floor of the sleeping room. “Not being able to speak taught Aayse about the great silences.” “Mabis.” Ryder sat down on the edge of the bed. He needed to get her to eat; she was getting thinner by the day. His mother blinked her eyes. “You never call me Maba anymore.” It was true. Ryder had invented the name when he was little—a cross between Mabis and Ma—but at some point both he and Skyla had stopped using it, though he couldn’t have said when. His mother took the cup and inhaled the steam. “Mallon leaves, nice and sweet.” But she held the tea in her lap and didn’t drink. Ryder saw that the inner parts of her lips were black.
