"I told you I wasn't brave," she muttered. "Don't tell Dad."
"You don't have to be brave anymore. Timmy is in the best of hands and I'm sure he will be fine. Your father hasn't called; that's a good sign. Say a prayer for him, and one for Mrs. Doberchek."
"The last time I prayed it didn't work."
I chastised myself for failing to see how troubled Karen felt about the evening's happenings. She seemed blasé as we strolled around the hospital. Now that I witnessed her repressed feelings my heart went out to her.
"It's natural for you to feel concern. You love Timmy but he's not going to die," I spoke the words as firmly as I could muster.
"You can't promise that!"
"You're right. There are some promises no one can make but sometimes you have a feeling so strong it's almost the same thing." Karen tried to pull away but I held her tightly. "Listen to me. Timmy's injury isn't life-threatening and although the doctor is concerned just as we are, his treatment is precautionary. They're on top of the situation." She began to sob with abandon and I nearly did so myself I was so distressed by her reaction.
"Don't tell my father," she managed to say when the worse of her sobbing subsided.
"Karen, honey, there's nothing wrong with having emotions. Your Dad will understand. He's worried too."
"Don't tell him," she repeated as she buried her head against my shoulder. Before long she slipped into a deep sleep.
I tried unsuccessfully to squirm to a semi-comfortable position. Nevertheless, there was a pleasant sensation of giving a small measure of comfort to this troubled child in spite of my numbing arm and a cramped body tangled awkwardly in and out of the covers. A long time passed before I finally slept.