Chapter 8: Short People with Long Memories
Monday morning I was non-stop busy. Not even time to take my usual fifteen-minute breaks at the right times. Frieda had me running from room to room. “Folk assisting,” she called it, but mainly I was a gofer: refilling those pink plastic water containers; cleaning up minor accidents in the rooms when a folk couldn’t make it to the bathroom on time; mopping down the halls—didn’t they have maintenance people for that—or doing what they hired me for, helping the folk to daily activities.
Near the end of my morning shift, I dropped in to see Gertrude. I’d checked in earlier but discovered her room empty. Even her roommate, the invisible Clare, was…invisible.
One look at my new friend, and I knew something or someone had upset her. “What’s wrong?”
