Who is Hannah going to marry?»
The pointer didn't move. Even after Jane repeated the question.
«It's broken,» Hannah said, pulling away.
«Let me try another question. Put your hands back up.» Jane took a deep breath. «Who am I
going to marry?»
A squeaky little noise rose up from the board as the pointer began to move. When it came to rest
on the letter V, Jane trembled. Heart in her throat, she watched it move to the letter I.
«It's Victor!» Hannah said. «It's Victor! You're going to marry Victor!»
Jane didn't bother shushing her sister. This was too good to be-
The pointer landed on the letter S. S?
«This is wrong,» Jane said. «This has to be wrong-«
«Don't stop. Let's find out who it is.»
But if it wasn't Victor, she didn't know. And what kind of boy had a name like Vis-
Jane fought to redirect the pointer, but it insisted on going to the letter H. Then O, U, and once
more to S.
VISHOUS.
Dread coated the inside of Jane's rib cage.
«I told you it was broken,» Hannah muttered. «Who's called Vishous?»
Jane looked away from the board, then let herself fall back onto her pillows. This was the worst
birthday she'd ever had.
«Maybe we should try again,» Hannah said. When Jane hesitated, she frowned. «Come on, I want
an answer, too. It's only fair.»
They put their fingers back on the pointer.
«What will I get for Christmas?» Hannah asked.
The pointer didn't move.
«Try a yes or no to get it started,» Jane said, still freaked out over the word she'd been given.
Maybe the board couldn't spell?
«Will I get anything for Christmas?» Hannah said.
The pointer started to squeak.
«I hope it's a horse,» Hannah murmured as the pointer circled. «I should have asked that.»
The pointed stopped on no.
They both stared at the thing.
Hannah's arms went around herself. «I want some presents, too.»
«It's just a game,» Jane said, closing the board up. «Besides, the thing really is broken. I dropped
it.»
«I want presents.»
Jane reached out and hugged her sister. «Don't worry about the stupid board, Han. I'll always get
you something for Christmas.»
When Hannah left a little later, Jane got back between the sheets.
Stupid board. Stupid birthday. Stupid everything.
As she closed her eyes, she realized she'd never looked at her sister's card. She turned the light
back on and picked it up off the bedside table. Inside it said, We will always hold hands! I love
you! Hannah!
That answer they'd been given about Christmas was so wrong. Everyone loved Hannah and got
her presents. Jeez, she could even sway their father on occasion, and no one else could do that.
So of course she would get things.
Stupid board …
After a while Jane fell asleep. She must have, because Hannah woke her.
«You okay?» Jane said, sitting up. Her sister was standing by the bed in her flannel nightie, an
odd expression on her face.
«I gotta go.» Hannah's voice was sad.
«To the bathroom? You gonna be sick?» Jane pushed the covers away. «I'll go with y-«
«You can't.» Hannah sighed. «I gotta go.»
«Well, when you're finished doing whatever, you can come back here and sleep if you wanna.»
Hannah looked to the door. «I'm scared.»
«Being sick is scary. But I'll always be here for you.»
«I gotta go.» When Hannah glanced back, she looked… all grown-up somehow. Nothing like the
ten-year-old she was. «I'll try and come back. I'll do my best.»
«Um… okay.» Maybe her sister had a fever or something? «You want to go wake up Mother?»
Hannah shook her head. «I only want to see you. Go back to sleep.»
As Hannah left, Jane sank back against her pillows. She thought about going and checking on
her sister in the bathroom, but sleep claimed her before she could follow through on the impulse.
The following morning Jane woke up to the sound of heavy footfalls running outside in the hall.
At first she assumed someone had dropped something that was leaving a stain on a carpet or a
chair or a bedspread. But then the ambulance sirens came up the driveway.
Jane got out of bed, checked the front windows, then poked her head into the hall. Her father was
speaking to someone downstairs, and the door to Hannah's room was open.
On tiptoe, Jane went down the Oriental runner, thinking that her sister wasn't usually up this
early on a Saturday. She must really be sick.
She stopped in the doorway. Hannah was lying still on her bed, her eyes open at the ceiling, her
skin white as the pristine snowy sheets she was on.
She wasn't blinking.
In the opposite corner of the room, as far away from Hannah as possible, their mother was sitting
in the window seat,
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