“You look sharp, Tommy,” Margaret said, her voice weak but steady.

“A bit pale, but sharp.”

“I wore the black cassock,” I said, smoothing the wool over my sleeves.

“It seemed right for the chapel.”

Nurse Helen stepped around the little wooden altar and set a small spray of fresh carnations in a brass vase on the linen runner.

“The administrative floor gave us twenty minutes,” Helen said, tapping her clipboard with her pen.

“Then the shift supervisor comes looking for the wheelchair.”