She was twirling her silver keyring around her index finger, the metal clicking rhythmically against her wedding band.
“I was just checking the call light,” I said.
“Gloria does not use her call light,” Sarah said. “She waits for you to walk by. You are officially the favorite.”
“She is just lonely,” I said.
“She is picky,” Sarah said. “She refused to let young Tommy change her water pitcher yesterday. She told him his sneakers squeaked too much.”
I looked down at my own quiet rubber-soled shoes.
“She only arrived here in August,” Sarah said, her eyes shifting to the door of room one hundred eight. “Just two weeks before you transferred over from the county hospital.”
“I did not know that,” I said.
“It is a small world,” Sarah said. “Or maybe she just knows quality help when she sees it.”
“She asks a lot of questions,” I said.
Sarah stopped spinning her keys and let them rest against her palm.
“What kind of questions?” she asked.
“About where I grew up,” I said. “About the foster homes.”
Sarah shrugged, her practical nature returning.
