“If you ain’t the tricky one,” a voice said. She swung around. Old Cromwell stood a good three feet off the floor, tipped sideways, grinning at her. Startled, frightened even, Lydia’s eyes flew to his wheelchair. His body sat in it, as quiet as you please, fat and funny in its flannel pajamas and feet stuck in mismatched socks.

“Thought you were alone, and had it all to yourself, huh?” Cromwell asked. She gasped. He looked like an off-balance kewpie doll, floating in the air like that. “Come down on the floor,” she commanded. Lydia’s composure returned. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by toothless Cromwell. “Come down this instant,” she said.

“Haven’t got myself properly organized yet,” he said. “But I know more than you do. You’re new at it. I’ve watched you. I can get out of this place, and you haven’t figured that out yet.”

Lydia blinked up at him. “Out of what place?” Actually she was almost disappointed. She’d felt so beautifully isolated before. Knowing Cromwell could leave his body, too, almost spoiled it all.

“You just follow me and do what I do. It ain’t going to hurt none,” he said.

“Isn’t going to hurt any,” she corrected, automatically. A surge of dismay filled her. “Oh, Cromwell, why you?” she asked, half in amusement now and half in tears.

“You want to waste all your time yakking?” he demanded.

“No. No. You mean that we can get out of this … infirmary?” Lydia was embarrassed at the urgency in her voice; or was she actually talking? She touched her lips, wonderingly. Yes, they were moving.

Cromwell jumped up and down, watching her, holding his fat sides. “Sure they work. Your lips work, your arms work. Everything works.”

“You crazy old coot. Stop laughing at me.” Lydia shouted. This only made Cromwell laugh louder.

“Sorry,” he said. “But you beat all. Here you are, finding me out of my body, too, and all you can do is correct my English and check to see if your lips are moving any. Never mind, come on, follow me now.”

She tried, but she had difficulty navigating. She wanted to walk along the corridor, with dignity, but she kept rising up in the air, bouncing up and down, and once she even floated sideways. They passed Sweet Young Thing in the hall. The sunlight through the window fell on her hair. So breathtaking was the light that for a moment Lydia forgot everything else. “Come on,” Cromwell called, looking back.