Deb, the nurse on four, was taping a fresh line at Rosalie’s good wrist.

She wrote the time on the tape and pressed it down with two fingers.

I sat and put my hand where Rosalie could find it if she came back.

“The dog is with my sister in Macon,” I told her.

“He’s eating her slippers one at a time.”

Deb laughed once through her nose and didn’t look up from the tape.

The door swung open, and Victoria came in with two paper cups and her coat still buttoned, as though she hadn’t decided how long she meant to stay.