Miriam would not let Noah lift the pouch.
He had brought the transport chair close to her bed, arranged its brake, and explained where her feet would rest. She listened until his hand went toward the cloth bundle in her lap. Then she folded her arms across it.
“I can hold it.”
“I was going to put it—”
“I can hold it.”
Mara came into the room as Noah stepped back. Luis sat at the small table with the placement sheet laid beneath his good hand. His injured one rested against his body, fingers slightly curled. The sling’s edge had worn a pale line into his collar.
“Let her show you how,” he said.
Noah asked Miriam where she wanted his hands. She pointed to the chair arm, then to the sound edge of the mattress. With the pouch held tight, she moved her legs slowly, one heel at a time. He steadied the chair while Mara brought her slippers within reach.
