Chapter 6
In her coma, Eleanor saw nothing but the color blue. Except the plants they changed on uneven mornings. She did not know who brought them, or when they arrived, but both the stalks and the buds were a vibrant orange. She watched them all day.
Sometimes, she knew this by the breath of cold on her cheek, the window would be let open. It was so cold in February in Washington, but for a few minutes someone would open the window, and she could see the flowers rustling with a gentle giddiness. She loved to watch them, especially the way they seemed to be laughing, so bright in the miasma of waxy blue. They were almost neon, burning with a self-contained happiness, bobbing like a hand reaching for a piano. And she felt someone watching her, too, with the window open. A kind silence wo
