Hanna clasped her hands together, trying to look earnest. “I’ve changed. Volunteering means a lot to me. I have a friend in here right now, actually, someone I met on the cruise. Graham Pratt?”
Sean sat back in his chair. “Yeah, Graham came in a few days ago.” He shook his head solemnly. “That cruise sounded like a nightmare. I heard about what happened to you guys, too—about that life raft. Some people were saying it was a suicide pact.”
Hanna didn’t dignify that with a response. “It was scary to have to evacuate . . . and then get stranded at sea. I sort of had an epiphany when I almost drowned—life’s too short, I’d better make it count. So . . . please, can I help out?”
Sean bounced a pencil, eraser down, on the desk. “Well, my dad said you could volunteer again as long as you work hard.”
“I can do that!”
“Okay,” Sean said. He extended his hand to Hanna, and she shook it. Then, his expression suddenly became almost mournful. “You know, I never got to tell you how awful I felt about all that Ali stuff.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
“I can’t even imagine what that must have been like,” Sean went on.
Hanna’s eyes filled with tears. It was one thing for a friend, a parent, a complete stranger to offer sympathy, but there was something both touching and weird about Sean saying it. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
Sean stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and gave her a quick hug. He smelled familiar, like cinnamon and deodorant and the potpourri his mom used generously around the house. It was a nice smell, a comfortable smell. Suddenly, Hanna didn’t hate him as much.
She left his office for the women’s staff room, where she changed out of her Rachel Zoe print dress and snakeskin flats into hideous, oversized scrubs that smelled like puke. Then she went back to Sean’s office.
“Ms. Marin?” A woman in pink scrubs appeared from around the corner. “I’m Kelly, one of the head nurses. I’m here to show you the ropes.”
“Kelly’s one of our best,” Sean said proudly.
“What would you like me to do?” Hanna asked pertly.
“How do you feel about bedpans?” Kelly asked.
Hanna winced, but it wasn’t like she could complain with Sean still standing right there. “I love bedpans.”
“Well, great!” Kelly pumped her fist in the air. “Let me show you what to do!”
Kelly helped her with the first bedpan, giving Hanna the opportunity to carry the pee-filled thing down the hall. A male nurse passed her going the opposite direction. Hanna couldn’t help but stare—he was tall, built, and extremely handsome, with a shaved head and gleaming blue eyes.
“Hey,” the nurse said to Hanna, widening his eyes at Hanna’s boobs.
“H-hey,” Hanna stammered back, then followed the nurse’s gaze. He wasn’t staring at her boobs. He was looking at the bedpan. Pee sloshed over the sides, splashing dangerously close to Hanna’s scrubs. She squealed and almost dropped the thing on the floor.
Kelly giggled. “Jeff always has that effect on people.”
They continued into the next room. Sean was right about the place being overcrowded: There were burn victims everywhere she looked. In the halls. Crammed three to a room. There was even a bed in one of the waiting areas.
“Is this legal?” Hanna asked, nearly tripping over someone’s monitor stand.
Kelly shrugged. “Until the new wing is finished, we don’t have anywhere to put everyone.”
Then Kelly pantomimed inhaling and exhaling an invisible cigarette and said she’d be back. Hanna turned back for the supply room to grab a clean bedpan. Something behind her caught her eye. The nurse’s station was empty. Every single chair was unoccupied.
She tiptoed around the desk and peered at the computer console. A program showed a list of patients in the clinic and their corresponding room numbers. Score. She dragged the pointer down the page. GRAHAM PRATT. According to the files, he was in room 142, which was just down the hall.
She stepped away from the desk just as Kelly swept around the corner, smelling like a Newport. “Okay, honey, time for mopping!”
Hanna added soap to the bucket and started down a hall. She gazed at the room numbers as she passed: 132 . . . 134 . . . 138 . . . and there it was, room 142. It wasn’t a room, per se—more like a small partition in a corner separated by a curtain.
She held her breath and peeked in. There, on a bed, lay a boy with a big bandage on his head and neck. His eyes were shut tight, and tubes snaked into his hands and mouth. Several machines beeped. A frisson went through Hanna’s body. This was what A was capable of. Hanna must have made a strange noise, because Kelly placed her hand on her shoulder. “That’s your friend? I heard you talking about him to Sean.”
Hanna stared at the blinking lights on Graham’s monitors. “Y-yeah,” she said, feeling a little bad for lying. “How is he?”
Kelly’s mouth made an upside-down U. “He’s in and out.”
“Has he said anything?”
Kelly shrugged. “No. Why?”
For a split second, she was looking at Hanna kind of suspiciously. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked in an innocent voice. “If he starts to wake up and I’m not here, can you call my house? I want to tell him something important. Something I should have told him before all this.”
Kelly’s eyes softened. “He really meant something to you, huh?” She gave Hanna’s hand a squeeze. “You got it.”