With that, Ginny set down her tea. She felt an ever-so-slight wave of nausea, as much due to the subject at hand as the amount of champagne she consumed the evening before. There were no answers Ginny could give Bill, and she couldn't erase his pain, his palpable pain sitting right next to her.
There was really only one thing she could do. Ginny scootched her chair closer to her brother and wrapped her arms about him. "I'm sorry, Bill," she murmured into this hair.