Chapter 8Annette put her hand on my shoulder. She stood over me, by Davie’s bed. “The music is good for him,” she said, softly. This was her last visit of the day. It was nearing seven in the evening.
I nodded, my gaze riveted to Davie’s face. We’d just finished giving him a sponge bath and I’d helped Annette change his sheets. Davie had lesions all over his thighs. They were purple. They looked so painful, and the idea that these lesions were inside his throat and on his lungs…I couldn’t take it.
“He’s in pain,” I said, not looking up at her. Davie had complained last night, something he hadn’t done before. He’d cried from the pain in his throat. I hadn’t slept all night. It had been the worst night of my life. Watching him suffer. And the hours going by so slow, minutes trickling, unti
