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The patients are indifferent toward me; I am another chip in the bowl, a medically minded triangle they must tolerate because they have no choice. There is an hour until group therapy. I decide to retrieve my phone and call home, check on Cal and Gran. I cross the glass walkway, swipe my badge,smile at George as he hands me my basket. The chocolate is gone. A sliver of foil wrapper remains in the bottom. I pluck out my phone, collecting the trash as an afterthought, and re-enter the world of Wi-Fi.

An hour later, after FaceTiming Cal, I do the process in reverse. I am surprised to see that George is no longer there. A thin-faced man pushes the basket toward me instead, his eyebrows as unruly as his hair which reaches out in every direction.

“Is everything all right with George?” I ask.

“Who?”

“The guard who worked before you. Quiet…very tall.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know a George.”

I frown. Behind me the door opens as people return from break. I hurry to empty my pockets. The wrapper from the chocolate I brought George rolls between my fingertips. There is no trash can in this little room, so I put it back in my pocket.

When I arrive in the therapy room five minutes later, it’s empty. I check the other two and the cafeteria before Janiss tells me that Dr. Grayson canceled group for the day. My disappointment is huge. Ever since I was accepted for this job I have waited patiently, hoping I’ll be able to shadow the doctor, earn his trust—that’s the next part of my plan.

That evening, I decide to take a bottom bunk closest to the bathroom door. No one wants to listen to flushing toilets all night, so it seems like the humble bet. At the foot of each bunk are twin lockers standing side by side. I hang up my scrubs and put my makeup bag and brush on one shelf and my jeans and T-shirt on another. Then I put the red side of my bed card facing out and check out the bathroom.

There are four shower stalls and four toilet stalls in the women’s. The shower stalls come equipped with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and there are fresh stacks of white towels on a metal rack in the corner by the sinks. It smells like fresh paint and wet concrete.I hear the tinkle of voices; the staff must be trickling in for the night.

Cal and Gran are probably having dinner. I send both of them a text letting them know I’m okay and settling in for the night, and another to Mary-Ann, who is making their dinner.

It’s really cool here! Like a giant cabin.

I snap a few photos of the bunk beds, thinking Cal will get a kick out of them, and try to send them. My texts go through, but the pictures don’t.

All good here, Mary-Ann answers.We are watching Gravity Falls.

Cal sends me a bunch of nonsensical emojis, which means he’s in a good mood. I send Gran a voice message. Cal will help her play it, so I have to be careful with how I word things.

“I know you don’t like the way I’m doing things…” The clatter of feet and voices grows louder. I lick my lips, and hurry. “I hope you’re feeling better…it’s all going to be over soon… I love you so much. I’m being safe and careful.”

I hit Send, picturing her face as she hears my carefully worded message. Gran could call my bullshit every time. Being safe and careful was relative, wasn’t it? A toilet flushes, and a minute later, I hear the splashing of water in the sink. The person above me coughs as they roll over. I tuck my phone under my pillow and take out the pink foam earplugs Mary-Ann gifted me. There was a time when I thought I could move on, be the healthy sister, the good mother, the granddaughter that was enough—but I just can’t… I can’t. No matter how much I convince myself that I’ve moved on, I eventually end up right back here—looking for answers, one way or another. I might as well get it over with.

Dr. Grayson is in my periphery as I refill my iced tea at the drink station at dinner the following evening. “Anywhere beneath the Mason-Dixon line,this is the nectar of the gods. We only get it once a week.”

I glance up. “You sound a little bitter about it.”

He nods, his face solemn. “The household manager has it out for me.”

“Benni?” I laugh as I close the spout, and iced tea drips on my hand.

He hands me a napkin because he’s closer to the stack. “She hates me,” he admits. “I may have submitted a few criticisms in the suggestion box. Big mistake. Huge. It’s not a suggestion box at all apparently. She only accepts compliments.”

I hand the napkin back when tea drips on his hand. He smirks as he dabs it off. “Thanks, friend…”

“You’re welcome, Boss.”

“Ouch…” He makes a face, pretending to be offended.

We’re in a slow walk, carrying our trays in the same direction. No one seems bothered that he’s in the cafeteria, outside of the typical glances and skirting around him. If he were eating dinner in the fishbowl, it would be another story. Out here he is a boss; in there he is a savior.

We find seats opposite each other at the end of a table. I’m lightheaded from his attention. Even as he looks at me, I feel the needy pull for more of it. My daddy issues are so mean.

“Aside from a man dying at your feet, how has your experience here been so far?”

He’s wearing a faded gray T-shirt and gray jeans. His belt is designer. He looks like a casual guy on a casual date, which sends heat up the back of my neck.

Why did you even think that?