The room was small and too bright. Nancy lay under a sheet that made her look tidy. Sister Maris waited by the door with her hands folded. The machine in the corner had been silenced; its blank face watched nothing.
Laurel didn't move.
Anderson stood two steps inside, coat open, collar askew, as if he had run only to find there was nowhere to put speed.
“Laurel," he said.
“Don't," she answered, eyes on Nancy's hand where the sheet ended. “Not yet."
Five minutes. Sister Maris had said. Five minutes stretched and snapped and somehow still weren't enough. Laurel pressed her palm to the back of Nancy's fingers one last time, set them down gently, and stood.
“Now," she told Sister Maris. “You can do what needs doing."
Sister Maris nodded and tipped her head to Laurel. “You walk with us?"
