Nurse Ruth snapped the cap back onto her blue dry-erase marker, and the sharp click bounced off the linoleum.

On the glass whiteboard hanging beside the door, she wrote Caleb in thick blue block letters, then drew a solid green heart right beside his name.

“That green heart stays on the board until he’s discharged,” Nurse Ruth said, tucking the marker back into the front pocket of her apron.

“Dr. Vance looks for it the minute he walks into the room.”

Caleb drew the top edge of his faded green triceratops blanket up under his chin.

Seven years of washing had worn the fleece thin, the edges were frayed down to gray threads, and one bottom corner had been rubbed perfectly smooth where he held it between two fingers every night before he fell asleep.

“Is Grandma coming in now?” Caleb asked.

His soft bedtime whisper barely made it across the small gap between the bed rail and my vinyl chair.

I ran my thumbnail along the sharp outer rim of my wristwatch.

The little digital screen said five thirty-two.

“Yesterday she said she’d try, Caleb,” I said, keeping my voice low and even.

“And what about Aunt Vanessa?”

“She had her wedding dress appointment last night,” I told him.

“You know how busy she’s been with all the wedding planning.”

Nurse Ruth moved closer to the bed to straighten the pulse oximeter clip on Caleb’s index finger.

She checked the watch clipped to her chest pocket, tapped its silver rim twice and wrote a number on her clipboard.

She didn’t look up as she talked.