She had already second-guessed this whole idea of hers. She’d had plenty of time on the way to the hospital to feel like an idiot. Half the streetlights were out, and a whole portion of the main one-way north on the east side was closed, forcing her to wind her way north taking side streets.

She’d had the radio on. The river had risen another four inches overnight.

Now she looked down at the white paper bag in her hand. She’d stopped at the coffee shop in the atrium and bought Archie a muffin. She hadn’t thought to get Claire anything. How could she have forgotten about Claire? Of course Claire would be there. And now here was Susan, with a huge muffin for Archie and nothing else. The muffin was the size of a cat’s head. It weighed like two pounds. Maybe they could split it. Crap. She should just go. Should she leave the muffin? With a note?

Archie stirred and opened an eye.

For a half second, Susan considered bolting.

“Hey,” Archie said, his voice still rough from sleep.

Susan searched for something to say. He looked so sad and rumpled, his clothes wrinkled, his face creased, eyelids swollen from lack of sleep.

He ran a hand through his curly brown hair. If the intent was to smooth it, it didn’t work. One side was still plastered against his scalp where he’d rested his head against his shoulder as he slept.

“I thought Henry might need someone to feed his cats,” Susan said. She said this quietly, so as not to wake Claire.

Archie’s eyes widened and he sat up in the chair.

“I mean, I know Claire’s busy,” Susan said quickly. “And you are, too. And I know where he lives. So if you give me the keys, I can stop by.” She took a small step toward the foot of the bed. Henry was still hooked up to the respirator, the machine inhaling and exhaling for him. IV tubes threaded into his veins, wires monitored his heart rate. The blood vessels in his face, the ones that bulged bright and red when Henry was angry at whatever idiotic thing Susan had done, had vanished—replaced by a bloodless ceramic sheen. There were women who’d eat glass to have skin like that.

She didn’t know the first thing about cats.

“That’s nice,” Archie said. “But I can do it.”

Right. Now she was embarrassed. It had been presumptuous of her. It wasn’t her place to feed Henry’s cats. That was something a friend would do. She should have listened to her rational side when it had tried to talk to her in the car.

“How is he?” Susan asked.

“Holding on,” Archie said. He lifted the newspaper off his lap. “I bought the paper,” he said.