I stood up from my vinyl chair, my fingers instantly finding the silver band on my left hand and twisting it around my knuckle. My knuckles felt swollen, the metal tight against my skin.
“Is his saline running low?” I asked.
“The bag is full,” Evelyn said, her voice clipped and flat. She did not look at me when she spoke, her gaze locked on the clear plastic drip chamber.
She leaned over the bed rails, pretending to check the taped needle in Ben’s forearm, but her shoulders were rigid. I could see a tiny bead of sweat near her temple, despite the draft coming from the window unit.
Ben let out a soft, rattling snore, his head tilting toward the window where the dark Ohio autumn pressed against the glass.
Evelyn’s head snapped toward him, then she turned her face slightly toward me, her eyes darting to the empty hallway. She reached out and adjusted her ID badge once more, the plastic clicking against her stethoscope.
“Look where they do not expect you to look, before they discharge him,” she whispered.
The words were so quiet I barely caught them over the hum of the wall heater. I stared at her, waiting for her to explain, but her face had already closed up.
“Excuse me?” I said, stepping closer to the bed.
She stepped back from the bed immediately, her hands dropping to her sides, her face blank and professional. She picked up her small plastic tray from the bedside table, her fingers white around the edges.
“I will check his vitals again at midnight,” she said, her voice returning to its normal, brisk tone.
She left the room before I could ask her what she meant. I stood there for a long moment, listening to the quiet hum of the building.
I sat back down, my hand still gripping my wedding ring, twisting the cold silver until it pinched. The girl seemed stretched to her limit, her eyes shadowed with dark circles, and I wondered if the stress of the oncology ward was finally getting to her.
