He patted her arm and returned to his office. Hanna heard a ping behind her and turned, but the lobby was still empty. She trudged into the women’s staff room, unlocked her locker, and changed into the pink scrubs she’d claimed. She liked them because they had an extra-big pocket in the front—perfect to fit a cell phone.
Then she grabbed the mop bucket and some bedpans out of the supply closet. Before she got started, she headed down the corridor to Graham’s bed. She might as well check on him before making her rounds.
The partition had been partly pushed back. Graham’s eyes were fluttering, and guttural, animal-like sounds escaped from between his lips. A nurse stood over him, replacing one of his IVs. She looked up sternly when she sensed Hanna’s presence, but her face softened when she saw her volunteer scrubs.
“Has he woken up?” Hanna asked.
“Not yet,” the nurse murmured. “But I’m hopeful that he will soon.”
Hanna’s hand accidentally brushed against Graham’s foot under the sheet, and she pulled it away fast—it was cold and rubbery, like a corpse’s. “Do patients ever speak when they’re in comas? Like, say names or anything?”
“Not usually.” The nurse clipped the new IV bag to the pole. Then she squinted at Hanna. “What did you say your name was again?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hanna said quickly, ducking out from behind the curtain.
She stared down the hall, which was packed with cots of burn victims sporting various bandages and slings. There was barely a space for a wheelchair to fit through. The place smelled like pee and Clorox, and every few seconds, someone let out a moan.
“It’s tough, huh?” a female voice said.
Hanna whirled around. Burn patients lay to the right and left. Then, someone whose whole face was covered in bandages weakly raised an arm. “Hey,” the patient croaked.
“H-hey,” Hanna said uneasily, not wanting to get too close.
“He a friend of yours?”
The patient, who had holes cut in the gauze so she could see out, pointed toward Graham. Hanna coughed awkwardly. “Sort of.”
“He was really bad when he came in,” the girl whispered. “Nothing like perfect me, of course.” She waved her hands over her body, magician’s assistant–style, then laughed.
Hanna wasn’t sure whether she could join in on the joke. She glanced at a drainage bag leading out of the girl’s groin, then looked away.
“It’s okay. I hate looking at it, too.” The girl pushed the bag under the covers. “The doctors told me some bullshit about it being a magical fairy pouch or something. Like I’m freaking seven years old. Believe me, the only fairies I ever see are when they give me Percocet.”
This time Hanna did laugh. “I’ve never seen fairies when I’ve taken Percocet,” she said wistfully, “but it sounds awesome.”
“Maybe that’s because you don’t have a Percocet button that feeds it straight into your vein whenever you want it.” The girl held up a little button attached to a cord that lay next to her on the bed. “Didn’t you know they’re the number one accessory for this spring?”
“I read about it in Vogue!” Hanna chuckled. “Is that button a Chanel?”
“Of course,” the girl said in a haughty voice. “I had to get on a waiting list for it, but only the best for me.”
“Obviously,” Hanna said, giggling.
“And did you see? Miu Miu socks!” The girl stuck her feet out from under the blanket. Sure enough, the cashmere socks had the Miu Miu logo embroidered on the toes.
“Where’d you get those?” Hanna asked, impressed. They looked cozy and decadent.
“The hot male nurse gave them to me. You know, the one with the shaved head?”
Hanna’s eyes boggled. She was sure the girl was talking about the guy she’d nearly spilled the bedpan over yesterday. “Really?”
The girl snorted out a laugh. “I wish. He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? The days he gives me the sponge bath are the best.”
“You are so lucky!” Hanna squealed, then clapped her mouth shut. Had she just said a burn victim was lucky?
A bell rang out in the corridor, and then a voice came over the PA paging one of the doctors. “What’s your name?” the girl asked. “I’ve never seen you before—and I would remember you. You’re the coolest volunteer we’ve ever had.”
“Thanks,” Hanna said softly. “I’m Hanna.”
“I’m Kyla Kennedy. Maybe when I bust out of here, we can hang for real.”
Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Bust out of here?”
“Oh yeah.” Kyla’s tone was playful. “I have a whole black-ops mission in mind. I’m going to break out when no one’s watching and take the world by storm.”
She reached out her bandaged hand. Hanna tentatively shook it, then peeked at Kyla’s face again. She could see long lashes beneath the gauze, but she couldn’t even tell what color her eyes were. Yet she loved that Kyla said she was cool. After a moment, she realized that she thought Kyla was cool, too.
“Hanna?” Sean appeared at the end of the corridor. “There’s a spill in the next hall over. Can you take care of it?”
Hanna sighed heavily. “I’d better go,” she said to Kyla.
“No worries,” Kyla said. Her bandaged hand clunked against Hanna’s wrist. “See you again, hopefully?”