“You’re a very stupid old man, you know,” Laura chides.

“Sure, kid.” James’ hard tone has less to do with the insult, and more with the sting of the needle as Laura drives it through the torn flesh of his side.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to let her, but he supposes it was that, or bleed out.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Mary taught me.”

Mary… did she know how to sew? James’ brow knits as he tries to recall.

“All done!”

Laura’s fingers linger on his wound, like a distant memory.