“None are available at this hour. I’m sorry,” she said, one hand flitting about the fringe on her forehead while the other turned the knob again, reducing the volume even more. It must have been nervousness at the chatty Mem hovering at her station that kept her from switching it off completely, as the end of the day’s programming had just been announced and the radio now fizzed with white noise.

“It must be midnight then,” I said with a smile that I kept tethered to my lips in an effort to engage her.

The expression seemed to have the opposite effect.

“I listen to CKAC at home,” I continued. “I’ve heard rumors of a new piano program this fall and I hope I won’t have to miss it.”

I stopped myself when her eyes drifted away from me, her discomfort palpable.

“Is something the matter?” she finally asked.

“Oh, no. It’s just that a Dolores has expired.” The friendly smile I’d had plastered to my face now felt strangely inappropriate, and I quickly removed it. “And I don’t think I can sleep while she’s there.”

The receiver was nearly shaken from its cradle before she had the phone steadily in hand. Squeezing the black candlestick, she thrust her mouth to the rim of the transmitter, her voice breaking as she spoke to the operator.

Before her call was complete, the nurse asked that I wait outside my dormitory with the promise that someone was on their way, but it was only so I’d leave her be. I couldn’t blame her for disliking me; feeling out of sorts in front of a Mem must have been infuriating, especially for someone who likely knew who I was, but hadn’t been quite prepared to interact with me. When she, the Banker, and another man appeared in the hall, wordlessly passing me to enter my own room, the nurse blithely monitored her clipboard rather than acknowledge me.

“How long ago did she expire?” the Banker asked in a soft voice.

“I called you as soon as I was told,” the nurse answered in an equally soft voice.

“By whom?”

Hushed whispers then, as though the nurse could sense the way I pressed myself to the wall at the edge of the doorframe, straining to hear them. To hear him.

“Miss?”

My face went hot and I drew myself back from eavesdropping, lest he approach the doorway and find me out.

“Miss?” he called once more, and I stepped into the opening. “Would you come in, please.”

The nurse swept her hand across her fringe, almost as though saluting.

“Where are you from?” the Banker asked.

My cheeks still felt hot, and I could neither meet his pale eyes nor escape the expectancy in hers.