In the middle of the night, Ms. Clavel turned on the light and said, “Something is not right!” and after she dismissed the dream she had been having (the same stupid one about taking a test she forgot to study for), her thoughts started racing—was it the flooding from Hurricane Helene—167 deaths so far and untold devastation—could there be anything that would convince the “doubters” that now was the time to take action?—but that was just what she heard on the news last night—or was it the war in Ukraine—over 2 ½ years since the Russians invaded—unbelievable—but no big news from the cousins recently and Zelensky was steadfast—or was it Emily’s breast cancer—highly aggressive, as they put it—and she was only thirty—the unfairness, the senselessness of it—but she still had to finish chemo before they knew anything definitive—and then she heard a little a girl’s voice in the hallway, “Mom, Mom, I’m too hot!” and as she jumped out of bed, calling, “I’m coming!” she realized, oh, of course, it’s that Madeline is sick, and she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her that tonight—this time—it was something she could fix with a wet wash cloth and children’s grape flavored no-aspirin tablets.
by Nina Zolotow
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