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“Could be that. And heat stroke. Nothing a little rest won’t fix. I’ll check back in on her in an hour.”

I turn to Helga after the doctor has left and start shooting off commands. Freshly squeezed orange juice. Lemonade. All manner of exotic fruit. A hearty chicken soup. Anything that will expedite Moneybags regaining her energy. I walk around the room as she lays sleeping in her bed, condemning myself mentally for allowing her to wander into the maze. I should have known, the minute her mind checked out and she stood up from that table, that she was not altogether well. I should have prevented her walking away. I should have stopped her. Even if I had to drag her back into the house myself.

Many hours later, after the doctor has been to see her several times, every hour on the hour, and proven himself an asset beyond my expectations, Moneybags grumbles back to life with a low moan. She stirs awake slowly, her eyes skimming the room as she gathers her whereabouts. Her hand shoots up to her head, where she rubs at her right temple, as though soothing a much unwanted ache.

“Welcome back.” I keep my voice as soft as possible.

“My head. How long have I been asleep? What happened?”

She tries to sit up but fails, throwing her head back down onto the pillow in defeat. I stroll to her side, pulling her up by her arms until she is in a sitting position, a stack of pillows cushioning her back.

“You outdid yourself today, Moneybags. Too much sun.”

She frowns, digging into her memory as she tries to recall the day’s events.

“My head hurts,” she complains, rubbing at her temple again.

“It might do for a few days. The doctor’s due any minute to check in on you again.”

“Again?”

“Had to make sure you’re okay. Don’t want you dying on my watch unless I’m the one killing you.”

My attempt at humor falls flat, failing to elicit even a smart ass comeback from her. I lift the juice from the bedside table and raise the straw to her lips, urging her to drink. She does so, reluctantly, then waves my hand away.

“Orange juice? Really? What am I,two?”

And there it is. Moneybags is back, her smart mouth definitely still in functioning order. I grin internally, happy to see there are no long terms effects of the fall she’s taken.

“It’s either the juice or chicken soup to pick you up – take your pick. I won’t have anyone accusing me of not looking after you while you’re in my care.”

* * *

I look downat my card. Queen of Hearts. Throw it on the table. Moneybags throws her six of spades on top of it. It is my suggestion that we go back and play our little card game. To break the monotony and give Moneybags something to do. She remains in her position, sitting upright in her bed, cross legged. And I sit opposite her on the bed, looking forward to a game of truth or dare with her without the burden of stakes. I want to know everything there is to know about her. Every single little thing.

“Ask your question,” she pushes, raising her eyebrows in impatience.

“Will you always be this impatient?”

“Stick around and you’ll find out.”

She throws her card on the discard pile and reaches for another card.

“I haven’t asked my question yet,” I remind her.

“You mean that wasn’t the question?” she asks innocently. “I was sure there was a question mark at the end of your sentence.”

I purse my lips and let the matter slide as she throws her Queen down against my 10. She’s won one over me by default.

“Will you always refer to me as Moneybags?”

“For as long as I live,” I laugh.

We continue in this manner for some fifteen minutes, bantering back and forth as the color returns to her face. I realize I have learnt so much about her through this casual interaction, and I’m eager to know more. I want to explore every corner of Moneybags’ life. I want to know what makes her tick (other than getting into trouble), what makes her sad and what makes her happy. What her hopes and dreams are. What her plans are for the future.

“You’ve delicately avoided answering most questions about yourself,” she points out, leaning over to pick up another card. “Are you always so closed off?”

“Is that your question?”