Chapter 24
Robin had started knitting when she was forty and at forty-three had made a lateral shift to crochet. She was quite good at
making wooly Ewoks and Yodas. She had crocheted several large vaginas that could be used as pocket purses, for friends who
liked that kind of thing. She was crocheting a knight’s helmet now, one that could be pulled on like a hat, with a slitted
visor to cover the eyes. She had an idea to crochet one for all her dragon-fighting ladies. She was making Gwen’s first, so
Gwen could enjoy it before King Sorrow killed her.
Such was her focus, it was several minutes before she happened to glance up to find Gwen awake and watching her.
“What’s that? Looks like a condom for King Kong,” Gwen rasped.
Robin lowered the big wooden crochet hook and leaned forward. “How are you, Gwen?”
Gwen’s tongue traversed the length of her upper lip. “Thirsty. Inside of my mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing on copper
wire.”
Robin clamped down on a shiver. “I’ll get the nurse. You had a fever, but it broke in the night.” After a moment, she added,
“Donna came to see you yesterday.”
Robin thought Gwen might tense at that. The last time she had been with Donna, the other woman had been marching Gwen to her
death. But Gwen closed her eyes and seemed to wiggle deeper into her pillow.
“Is she okay? I thought maybe she had been hit.”
“It was . . . nothing,” Robin said, her scalp crawling at the thought of Donna’s smooth, youthful, undamaged foot. “You’d
have a hard time believing she was hurt at all.”
“Ha,” Gwen said. “No one who meets Donna McBride would have a hard time believing she was hurt. But I take your meaning.” She thought for a moment and then wearily shook her head. “Don’t I have the worst luck?”
Robin said, “It’s not as bad as it might be. At least you’re alive.”
“Yes,” Gwen said. “That’s what I mean.”
Robin was still trying to think of a reply when she realized Gwen was asleep once again.