I can’t sit in the gray room anymore. When the nurse leaves, I tell everyone I’m going to the bathroom. I have Ruth’s iPod and earbuds in my pocket, but nobody asks about them.

I walk down the hall, past the restroom, through the lobby, and out the front doors. The rain is still coming down in torrents. We’ve been washed ashore here in this sterile place, bruised and scarred.

The storm feels better than it looks, washing down my face and back and arms. My hair will be plastered to my head, but I don’t care.

Ruth’s iPod is in my hand, my body its attempted shield against the rain. I realize I don’t remember the last time I held or looked at it. No reason to, I suppose. But it’s been a long time. Years, even. The storm pounds down on me and I put in the earbuds, ready for the music and the rain to rock me. I scroll down to her playlists, ready to shuffle through.

The playlist names—I recognize all of them: “Something Purple.” “Something Singing.” “Something Imaginary.” “Something Flying.”

“Something New.”

“Something Old.”

“Something Magic.”

“Something Gold.”

These playlists are all of those things—everything. From what I can tell, these are the last playlists she was listening to, the same playlists we’d listened to together years ago. Maybe this is what she’s been listening to this whole time. I wish it was possible to take a National Geographic–worthy picture of titles on an iPod screen.

Aerosmith. Queen. Mötley Crüe. I let the wind and the loud music whip me around like a shredded sail.

When I realize I can’t feel my toes, I turn back around and go inside. Ellie is there, watching me through the glass door. I’m worried she’ll say something about me dripping water all over the hospital floor, but she says nothing, only wraps a white towel around my shoulders, uses another to pat down my hair, puts her arm around me, and leads me back to Ruth’s room.

Ruth’s still asleep. I still have her iPod in my hand, and I towel off any leftover raindrops.

“I know everyone’s starving,” Ellie says. “If I go find some food, is that okay? Eddie went to get pajamas and toothbrushes from the RV.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“You’ll be all right?” Ellie says.

“I’ll be all right. I’ll stay with her.”

Ellie nods, then walks out the door.

I take the empty seat by the bed. The lamp on the nightstand highlights half of Ruth’s face. Her eyebrows are very highly arched. I never noticed that before. And her chin is so small. Where did she get such a petite chin? We look nothing alike.

She shifts, moans. Her eyelids flicker open. Her eyelashes look short with most of the mascara rubbed off.

“Hey,” I say.