“He hasn’t woken. Please, Lord, he still hasn’t woken.”
Martha watched her sister lace long, taut fingers together and press them to her lips. To Martha, it seemed unreal. Between the two, her sister had always been serene. Now her throat constricted visibly as if she was choking. And Martha, the worrywart, laid her hand on her sister’s arm. Goosebumps covered her coffee-colored skin. “Have you called Joshua?”
{{“Have you called Joshua?” Martha called from the bathroom, wringing her black hair out in front of the mirror.
“Yep, just did! He said he’s on his way.”