She stopped.

The brush slipped out of her fingers and dropped back into the bucket with a small splash.

She turned her head, and she looked at me the way you look at something you are afraid to believe.

“Evelyn?” She tried to push herself up, and her knees gave slightly under her, and I was across that patio before I knew I had moved, and I caught her under the arms and held her up.

She felt so light.