59
“Ten minutes,” Madeline tells us.
Daniel and I exchange a look. He’s probably thinking the same thing I am, which is that ten minutes feels like a complete luxury compared to only two. We’ll try to make good use of it.
Dr. Venn is sitting up in bed. Instead of the full oxygen mask, he’s only wearing the small prongs that fit in his nose. His eyes are closed. But as soon as Red leaps onto the bed, he opens them.
“Red!” He hugs his frail arms around the dog. Red does his usual therapy dog bit by lying fully stretched out next to the patient and wagging his tail in obvious delight. I remember how much I loved it when he visited me and did the same thing. I understand Dr. Venn’s smile.
I hold up the microphone and earphones Daniel thought to bring back from the office last night.
“Oh,
