There is a new nurse. She’s quite overweight and moves cautiously around my bed so as not to jostle the machinery. Her uniform is a solid hospital green, no hearts or kittens. She has longish, mousy-brown hair pulled back with the kind of child’s ponytail holder that has two plastic balls. She would blend in with the walls if it weren’t for her unusually pretty face. Almond-shaped green eyes, dark brows, full bow lips, and high cheekbones visible under a chubby layer of skin. Looking at her, you know she has spent a lifetime hearing how she would be so pretty if she only lost weight. For two days, she has been coming to my room at various times. She came early this morning and then again tonight. She seems not to have been given a regular shift, or maybe she’s filling in.

Her visits are always the same: she hangs up her cardigan, checks my chart and vitals, stands at my bedside, and rubs lotion on my hands and feet. She doesn’t do stim-work; her touch is the right blend of personal and professional. Not once has she pried into my things or spent even a second mooning over my famous features. She just pumps lotion into her palms and rubs and rubs until my hospital-dry hands and feet have drunk up as much moisture as they can hold.

Her name tag says “Emme,” which suits her. Emme sounds gentle and kind—the name of a person who has a calico cat, jars their own jam, or makes patchwork quilts.

This morning when she was rubbing my feet, the dreaded Nurse Dani popped her red head through my door. By her sour expression, it was clear she was disappointed not to find Brett.

“Trying to get a commendation?” Dani asked Emme with a little laugh.

“No, just doing my job,” Emme said, pumping more lotion into her palm. It was the first time I had heard her speak. Her voice had a cute, husky quality. The kind of sound you try to make last when you get laryngitis and not at all what I’d have expected. I waited for her to say something else or make a joke, but that was it.

Dani charged in and set about the requisite tour and squeeze of my IVs and bota bags. She checked my monitors then picked up my chart and scribbled a few notes. Emme had done this already, but Dani seemed to find it necessary to prove she had a reason for being there, and Emme was too polite to say anything. Or maybe she just didn’t want a confrontation.

“Circle of Life fan?” Dani asked, fussing perfunctorily with my bed linens.

“Pardon me?” Emme asked.

“Amber on Circle, remember? Was she the first Amber or the second? I’m not sure now.”