“Keep your hand there,” Nora said.
Cal looked at her. His face was grey, his eyes bright with fright. She folded the cloth thicker with her good hand and put it where he was pressing, then leaned enough to keep pressure without trying to lift him.
“Help's coming.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
Her left arm lay useless against her. She could not kneel comfortably; the movement made her dizzy with pain. She settled beside him with her back against the counter and her right hand on the cloth. His own good hand stayed with hers. He could do something for himself. She needed him to.
Outside, Hannah was speaking quickly to the call handler. Nora called out that Cal was bleeding and they needed an ambulance as well. Hannah repeated it, then gave the information she'd been asked for. The words were clear, practical, not the broken questions she'd asked in the passage.
Cal looked toward the door.
“Don't let her say—”
“She's getting help.”
“She doesn't know.”
“She knows what you did here.”
He tried to move his arm. Nora held the cloth in place with the strength she could manage.
“Keep still.”
“You're hurting me.”
“I'm pressing.”
“Nor.”
There were tears on his face now. She had seen him cry from frustration, anger, pain, the terrible ordinary exhaustion of a boy who wanted somebody else to be responsible for the evening. She could not make him that boy again, even if the sound of her name reached the same place.
“Look at me,” she said.
He did.
“Stay here. Keep your hand on it.”
“You won't let them take me?”
Nora's throat tightened.
“They're going to help you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
He stared at her. The anger returned for an instant, then the pain overtook it. He shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth.
Nora didn't lift the cloth to look. She didn't need to see how bad it was to know she wanted him alive. Her hand had begun to cramp. She pressed her back more firmly against the counter and kept the cloth in place.
“Did you mean it?” he asked.
“What?”
“Everything. You told them.”
“Yes.”
“About you?”
“Yes.”
He was quiet for a while. Nora could hear his breathing, Hannah outside, a vehicle stopping in the street. She wanted it to be the ambulance. It was simply a delivery going somewhere else.
“You should have let me explain,” Cal said.
“You explained.”
“Not all of it.”
“Tell your solicitor,” she said.
Cal looked away. His good fingers slid over hers on the cloth, trying to pull her hand closer. She couldn't move it without losing pressure.
“You could listen,” he said.
“I am here.”
“That's not—” He stopped, drawing a breath through his teeth.
“I'm cold.”
She could not take her own coat off one-handed while holding the cloth. Hannah appeared at the door, staying outside the reach of the knife.
“They're close,” she said. “Police first.”
“His jacket,” Nora said. “On the chair. Can you put it over him?”
Hannah looked at Cal, then at the chair. She went through the front room, lifted the jacket and laid it across his lap while Nora kept pressing the cloth. Then she went back to the doorway, where she could see outside.
Nora wanted to thank her. The words seemed wrong while she was holding the arm of the man who'd killed her father. She said them anyway, quietly. Hannah nodded once without looking at her.
Cal's eyes were on the cloth.
“You're staying,” he said.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes. Nora kept her hand where it was. She didn't add the promise he had asked for.