No new wounds but plenty of old ones. The thumbnail was tiny, square-edged, in need of cleaning. I exerted gentle pressure and the digit rose, remained extended for a moment, then lowered, tapping the op of my hand. I repeated the pressure and the same thing happened.
But her eyes remained shut and her face had grown loose.
ithin moments she was sleeping, breathing in time with the I.V drip.
Cindy reached down and stroked her daughter's cheek. One of the bunnies fell to the floor. She picked it up and placed it next to the breakfast tray. The tray was farther away than she'd estimated and the movement threw her off balance. I caught her elbow and held it.
Through the sleeve of her blouse, her arm was thin and pliable. I let go of it but she held on to my hand for a moment.
I noticed worry lines around her eyes and mouth, saw where aging would take her. Our eyes met. Hers were full of wonder and fear. She stepped away from me and went to sit on the sleeper couch.
I said, 'What's been happening?' though I'd read the chart before coming in.
'Sticks and tests,' she said. All kinds of scans. She didn't get any dinner until late and couldn't hold it down.'
'Poorthing.'
She bit her lip. 'Dr. Eves says the appetite loss is either anxiety or some sort of reaction to the isotopes they used in the scans.'
'That sometimes happens,' I said. 'Especially when there are a lot of tests and the isotopes build up in the system.'
She nodded. 'She's pretty tired. I guess you can't draw with her today.'
'Guess not.'
'It's too bad-the way it worked out. You didn't have time to do your techniques.'
'How'd she tolerate the procedures?'
Actually, she was so tired-after the grand mal-that she was kind of passive.
She looked over at the bed, turned away quickly, and put the palms of her hands on the sofa, propping herself up.
Our eyes met again. She stifled a yawn and said, 'Excuse me.'
Anything I can help with?'
'Thanks. Can't think of any.'
She closed her eyes.
I said, 'I'll let you rest,' and walked to the door.
'Dr. Delaware?'
'Yes?'
'That home visit we spoke about,' she said. 'When we finally do get out of here, you're still planning on doing it, aren't you?'
'Sure.'
'Good.'
Something in her voice-a stridency I'd never heard beforemade me stand there and wait.
But she just said 'Good' again, and looked away, resigned. As if a critical moment had come and gone. When she started to play with her braid, I left.
