Chapter 3
IN THE MORNING, before leaving the hospital, I visit Sadie. Someone has dragged an actual armchair into her room. It’s there that Nigel is curled, a thin hospital blanket tossed over him.
Sadie appears serene, or nearly so. Her mouth isn’t slack, as it would be in sleep, but tight, like she’s worried about something. My gaze drifts to Nigel. I wonder if that something is him.
I ease the bag I’m carrying onto the floor. During my short stay, I have collected an astonishing number of things: tiny lotions, fuzzy socks with sticky tread on the soles, discharge papers, and information on head injuries. In my other hand, I hold the vase and its rose. This I clutch close.
With my free hand, I touch the back of Sadie’s. Her skin is smooth, not too cold, not too warm. Any other time,
