In the morning
Jamey opened his eyes.
The two boys stood at one end of a long, tall, dimly-lit room. Glass and steel rose four stories above them, to an enormous roofless skylight and a November early morning sky, dark and cold, sprinkled with stars. On the left was a sign for Patient Registration. A separate walkway led to Einstein Brother Bagels, the Fresh Express, and a gift shop. On the right was a brick plant box, with a dark green corn plant and a bright yellow-green vine peeking over the edge of the box. A couch, an armchair, a round table. A thick, green, leafy indoor box garden honored organ donors. Beyond that were more tables, couches, chairs, plant boxes, and at the far end, a coffee station.
The Mary Washington Hospital lobby was almost empty. A woman lay curled up under a
