With the cola-loving nurse in ICU, the night nurse will be new, will never have seen Rose. With a start, Rose realizes it is the day nurse, Shanika, at the computer. Shanika will leave before the residents are put to bed, unless the schedule has changed. Rose recalls that the day nurse saw her, as in saw Rose’s humanity, through the cloud of dementia. A woman like that might not have much trouble penetrating makeup and a wig.

Keeping her face away from Shanika, Rose begins serving the snacks. “Hey,” she says over her shoulder. “Lily had a mini-emergency in dining. Tonight you get me.” There. Her explanation is delivered with only a slight quaver.

“Anything serious?” Shanika asks, moving from behind the desk.

“A spill,” Rose says. She doesn’t try to change her voice. As a resident of the MCU, she had scarcely spoken. Besides, when she tried it in rehearsal, she sounded like a bad actor. As soon as Shanika leaves, Rose will commence her charade, luring the night nurse from the MCU with an imaginary summons from the man at the employee parking lot regarding “towing or something.” People run when their vehicles are threatened.

Neither nurse pays her further attention. Taking her time, willing her pulse rate down, Rose removes the tissue box from beneath her arm and sets it on the table behind the snack tray. The last thing she wants is one of the residents grabbing tissues.

Even in dementia, people remain creatures of habit. Each citizen is in the same place they were when Rose jumped ship. The woman who sat atilt, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and her vacant-eyed companion are on the sofa where Rose last saw them. Both perk up at the advent of snacks. Rose feels a stirring of joy at having brought them a piece of life they still have the capacity to enjoy.

“Holy smoke,” Marion breathes in Rose’s ear. “Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Promise me you’ll kill me and see that my cats get good homes.”

Rose twitches so badly, the items on the tray start to cascade. She has forgotten Marion is with her. Collecting herself, she brightly says, “Okay!” and wraps Ms. Pisa’s bird-boned hand around a box of apple juice.

“You don’t have to sound so cheerful about the prospect,” Marion says dryly. Rose surreptitiously turns the tissue box so the camera faces the nurses’ desk.

“Have a good night,” Shanika says. Her keycard smacks plastic; the doors shush open.

“The night nurse is logging in,” Marion says.

“Yours will be better than mine,” the night nurse answers Shanika.

Mid cracker-serving, Rose freezes. Ms. Pisa is reaching for the crackers, her mouth working like a baby bird’s. Rose knows that voice. Glancing over at the snack tray, she sees it, a can of Diet Pepsi hiding amid the juice boxes.