“Gravely ill” and “need help” were the last things an aspiring doctor wanted to hear – right? But here he was, and he supposed it was better than Ophelia’s wailing.

Roderick felt his lip curling involuntarily at all the quilts and colors: god above, their mother would catch the death of her before seeing the way she lived now.

Nonetheless, he squared up his most congenial face (Mother’s favorite) and smiled when he saw Pearl.

“Roger,” he said out of habit, just to keep her on her toes – or, well, quilts. “How is my favorite sister?”

The compliment was slightly more selective – but only slightly.