A paramedic standing by the double doors turned his head toward our corner.

Across the room, Marcus, a telemetry nurse I had worked three overnight shifts with last winter, looked up from his magazine.

The back of my neck burned under my collar.

I looked at Sylvia’s tight, unyielding jaw, then turned my eyes to Ethan.

“Ethan called you,” I said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Of course he called me,” Sylvia said.

“He was pacing the hall by the vending machines, barely able to stay on his feet because he’s been working sixty hours a week while you expect him to sit here all night.”