I blinked away the memory and returned to charting meds. It had been over a week since I’d quietly asked Rick to take me home from the lakehouse. He walked me to my apartment at two o’clock in the morning, and we stood in the awkward silence of strangers sharing a horrible secret. He bent to kiss me. I turned my face and mumbled something about both of us needing sleep, hurrying to unlock my door. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

I knew two things: I missed him desperately, and he was done with the junkie whore’s daughter. I was Relationship Poison, the Girl Best Left Alone, Most Likely to Be Avoided, Miss Greet with Congeniality Only and Run Fast. We were ahead of my usual three week schedule, but the rest was a familiar story. I’d known from the minute he’d starting paying attention to me in the bank’s parking lot he would stop soon.

Kait interrupted my thoughts by throwing a cracker at my face. “Some people are crack addicts and some are cracker addicts. I think you have a serious saltine and Goldfish problem, Ronni.” She began reading ingredients on the side of the box, shaking her head. “You are what you eat, and you’re mostly salt.”

“And preservatives. They’re important, too. Look around you.” I handed her a memo about flu season and hand washing, because corporate thought we nurses needed constant reminders we were germ-infested Trojan horses. Prophylactic hand sanitation was logical. I pointed at the Activities Schedule. “Gird yourself. This afternoon is Pat’s Pets.”

“Oh, goodie,” Kait replied. “I hope she brings the ferret today. It’s always fun to hear Mrs. Andrews scream for someone to kill the rat.”

Leola Hartness—tall and elegant, with carefully coiffed white hair and perfect makeup—approached the nurse’s station wearing a vibrant orange floral sweater and striped mint green pajama pants. “Excuse me,” she smiled graciously, “where am I?”

“You’re in Fairfield Springs,” I told her.

“Oh.” She considered that for a second. “How long have I been here?”

“Two years.”

“Oh, dear,” she answered. “Where is my room?”

I nodded at 185, with her name printed on a large placard next to the number. “It’s right there, number 185.”

“Thank you, honey.” She walked gracefully to the doorway and waved, disappearing inside. One minute later, she walked out and asked, “Excuse me—where am I?”

“Fairfield Springs, Mrs. Hartness.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Two years. Why don’t you rest for a little while? Lunch will be coming up soon. Maybe you’d like to put on your tan slacks.”

She patted her hair. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”