“Contacting the doctor isn’t going to convince me to eat…this. I’d rather die,” Marjorie said dramatically. “I refuse to swallow anything that slithers down my throat.”

The aide chuckled. “Let me see what I can do.” She left, and Marjorie stared after her with visions of cheesy pizza, crisp fried chicken, and a thick, juicy steak playing havoc with her imagination. Marjorie was convinced she smelled bacon frying in the distance, the odor wafting toward her and tormenting her with delicious dreams.

“Problems?” Sam sauntered into the room, looking sympathetic.

“Sam,” Marjorie said, and brightened instantly. She hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty hours and had rarely been more pleased to lay eyes on anyone. Sam Bretton could be trusted. She wasn’t so sure about anyone else in this antiseptic place, but Sam would help straighten out this mealtime mess.

“You didn’t eat your breakfast.” His voice was only lightly accusing.

“I couldn’t,” she said, her eyes softly pleading with his. “The oatmeal had more lumps than a camel, and heaven only knows what flavor of gelatin they wanted me to eat…Liver, I think, and even with whipped topping, it looked disgusting. As for the tea and toast, could they be any more boring? Why can’t I have a mushroom omelet, with home fries on the side? Something…anything but gelatin and oatmeal.”

“Soon.”

Marjorie’s face mirrored her reaction. Obviously, soon wasn’t going to be this morning, and she needed nourishment now, if not earlier. Disappointment consumed her. She’d thought of Sam as her ally, her friend. The amazing part was that he seemed to look better to her every time he walked into the room. When he was with her, even the pain lessened. He filled her room with an assurance of well-being and safekeeping. He lent her confidence, stamina, and the conviction that this, too, would pass, and when it did, he would be there for her.

Sam reached for her hand, and his eyes gentled. “Marjorie, listen.” He did understand her position, but she had to realize that stronger foods had to be reintroduced gradually into her digestive system. “You’re not being a very good patient.”

“Oh, spare me,” she snapped, quickly losing a grip on her fragile patience. Her temper was always quick to fire when she was hungry. “No one told me I had to pretend I was on the good ship Lollipop.”

“All we’re asking is that you do as we say.”

“And die of starvation in the process.”