By the time I’m done, across the room in the bed nearest to the door, Ella, the girl who arrived on Sunday, is the only other one up. Like the previous two mornings, she’s trying to emulate the way I make my bed, though she’s struggling with it. Her problem is that she’s trying to work from the top down instead of the bottom up. While Sister Katherine has been lenient with Ella, her rotation ends today and Sister Dora’s weeklong shift begins tonight. I know she won’t allow Ella to skimp on perfection, regardless of how new she is or what she’s going through.

“Would you like help?” I ask, crossing the room.

She looks at me with sad eyes. I can see she doesn’t care about the bed. I imagine she doesn’t care about much of anything right now, and I can’t blame her, given the death of her parents. I’d like to tell her not to worry, that unlike those of us who are “lifers,” she’ll be out of this place within the month, two at the most. But what consolation can that be to her now?

I bend down at the foot of the bed and pull the sheet and blanket until there’s enough to tuck them both beneath the mattress, then I stretch her comforter over them both.

“Want to grab that side?” I ask, nodding to the left of the bed while I go to the right. Together we give the whole bed the same tight, clean look as my own.

“Perfect,” I say.

“Thank you,” she replies in her soft, timid voice. I look down into her big brown eyes and can’t help but like her and feel some need to look after her.

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” I say.

Ella looks away. I think I’ve overstepped my boundaries, but then she offers me a slight smile. “Thank you. I miss them a lot.”

“I’m sure they miss you, too.”

We leave the room together, and I notice she walks on the balls of her feet so as not to make a sound.

At the bathroom sink, Ella grips her toothbrush near the top, almost touching the bristles with her small fingers, making the toothbrush appear larger than it really is. When I catch her staring at me in the mirror, I grin. She grins back, showing two rows of tiny teeth. Toothpaste pours from her mouth and runs down her arm, dripping from her elbow. I watch it, thinking the S pattern it creates is familiar, and I let my mind wander.

A hot summer day in June. Clouds drift in the blue sky. Cool waters ripple in the sun. The fresh air carries hints of pine. I breathe it in and let the stress of Santa Teresa melt away into nothingness.