Simone shows me an aluminum sculpture she found at a local gallery: an origami-style swan in brushed metal. All angles.

“Interesting,” I say.

She deflates an inch or two. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s not quite Elizabeth.”

“Too pointy?”

“Too cold.” I pat her arm and take my clipboard from her hands. “Keep looking. You’ll find it.”

Elizabeth may not need diamonds, but she does deserve better than a tin swan for having weathered these clichés with me, coming out on the other side, by my side. We’ve maintained a delicate degree of tension—courtesy of the things we don’t know, the things we hope the other doesn’t know, the things do we know—and I’ll be damned if we aren’t better for it.

“Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Just a heads-up: I overheard Nurse Lindsay this morning saying something about a butterfly needle being caught in the flap of the sharps receptacle. She unjammed it, but then she said something about how she never uses butterfly needles, and Nurse Clem said the same, that he always uses straight needles too, so they were like, ‘Well then, who the hell used this butterfly needle and didn’t even dispose of it properly?’ But don’t worry.” One corner of Simone’s mouth turns up in a half smile. “I covered for you.”

“Covered? I didn’t—wait, why would you say that?”

“You know.” She wobbles her head and smiles with both sides. “Because of,” and she whispers, “when Nick was here.”

“You didn’t need to do that. You don’t even draw blood.”

“Neither do you.”

“True. But more important, there is nothing to hide with Nick coming here. It was just a normal visit.”

“So I should tell them?”

“No,” I say. “No, let’s not. Nick had some private concerns. That’s all. You did the right thing.” She beams, and I ask, “What did you tell them, exactly?”

“I said I was stocking inventory and a butterfly needle fell out and landed on the floor, and that I figured it was contaminated, so I unwrapped it to dispose of its parts properly. They believed me and taught me how to keep the flap from jamming.”

“That was nice of them,” I say, although I’m not exactly grateful for nosy nurses. I could have handled it, but Simone is so proud of herself—I’ve never met a gal who loves feeling useful as much as this one—so I humor her. “And it was very nice of you. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she says, and she winks. “No one has to know.”

Maybe I contort my face, but I don’t say anything—I’m too baffled by her goofy grin when she pivots and hurries off. This full moon sure is getting to people. Whatever that means.

•  •  •