“Would you mind if I went into your room? Diann’s asleep.”

I turn around. “She’s sleeping? Through this?”

He shrugs.

“Sure, go ahead, go to my room.”

I go into my office, grab my nurse’s bag. I stand there for a minute, thinking. It could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. Then I sigh, sit down in my desk chair. Nothing. Right.

I go back upstairs, pass the closed door of the guest room, then go back to open it and peek inside. Diann does indeed appear to be sound asleep. I can see her clearly in the light from the hall; she’s on her side, facing me. “Diann,” I whisper. I want her to be awake, in case I need her. “Diann!” She doesn’t move. I close the door, head back to my room.

Chip is stretched out on the bed, Frank beside him. I laugh out loud. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“How’d you get him up there?”

Chip looks at Frank, who looks back at him. “I don’t know. He just came out and jumped up on the bed. Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine, but he has never come out from under the bed when it’s thundering. He gets really scared.”

Chip scratches Frank’s butt, and Frank raises his head appreciatively. “He seems fine now.”

I sit on the bed, take out my blood pressure cuff and wrap it around Chip’s arm. Has he lost more weight in this last week? Why have I not noticed this? I position my stethoscope over his brachial artery, inflate the cuff. His pressure is normal, and I tell him that. Then I listen to his heart. After I’ve gotten a count, I look up into his face.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Eighty and regular. That’s just fine.”

He looks at me, something in his face.

“What,” I say.

“I don’t know, you …”

I wait.

“I just … like you. You have pretty eyes.”

I frown, start rolling up the cuff.

“You do,” he says. “A lot of green in there. I never noticed before.”

“Yes, well.”

“Your eyes change colors, I think.”

I can feel discomfort rising in me like a wave. It makes me oddly irritable. “I wouldn’t know, maybe they do.” I put my supplies back in my bag, rest my hands in my lap. It’s strange, taking someone’s blood pressure when I’m dressed in my pajamas. It’s like those dreams where you find yourself naked on a crowded street.

“So,” I say, appropos of nothing. I suppose I mean it to be the verbal equivalent of putting a robe on, an effort to formalize somewhat a too casual situation.

He lies still. The rain drums, lightens for a moment, then drums on, harder. Finally, “Myra?” he says. “Would you mind if I stayed here for a while?”