[15: when it rains, I like to ....]

“Dick Hanesly is one of the good ones. Good for you. Shame what happened to his
father.”

Meera wasn’t sure what to say. Sharing with Uncle Ram was completely
unexpected.

“Let’s go. Visitors are allowed from ten to noon, and again at four until six.
Fetch your sister’s stuffed tiger from her room. We’ll bring it to her.”

Meera realized that her sister wasn’t coming right home. She fetched the
stuffed animal, the soft, velvety cloth worn bare in places, stripes faded from
orange to brown, and muddled completely off near the neck.

Uncle Ram drove, himself. He’d left the car in the drive at the front of the
house, parked a little askew. Meera trod through the snow, cold slush filling
her shoes. Uncle Ram gestured to the front door. “Sit up here with me.”

Meera took her hand off the back door’s latch and moved up front, sitting in
Uncle Ram’s usual seat. The cushion was dented, much larger than she.

They drove in silence. Every time they’d come to a crossing or merge, Uncle Ram
would glance at her as if to make sure she was still there before looking to
see if it was safe to enter the roadway.

The hospital was the same beige brick that almost every government building was
made out of, all built by soldiers home from the war to keep them busy until
there were jobs and people remembered how to spend money again.

Uncle Ram parked the car, though it took him a couple tries to get it squarely
in the space. The entrance looked ominous, the rare snow making it look all the
more solemn, and muffling the noises that might otherwise have left it a more
lively place.

“Two visitors to see Sama Kaur Khalset.”  Meera was glad that the receptionist
was kind. Uncle Ram looked as if he might have either bitten her or cried,
possibly both.