All gone.
Mimi looked at him and cocked her head. “What?” she said.
He touched her lips with a finger, forgetting to be mindful of the swelling there, and she flinched away. There was a rustle of wings and clothing.
My sons, all my sons, gone.
The voice emerged from that white-noise roar of water humming and sloshing back and forth in her basket. Mimi squeezed his hand so hard he felt the bones grate.
“Mom?” he said softly, his voice cracking. He took half a step toward the washer.
So tired. I’m worn out. I’ve been worn out.
He touched the enamel on the lid of the washer, and felt the vibrations through his fingertips. “I can—I can take you home,” he said. “I’ll take care of you, in the city.”
Too late.
There was a snapping sound and then a front corner of the machine settled heavily. One rusted out foot, broken clean off, rolled across the cave floor.