A Five-Minute Life

I nodded. “You went over those with the new guy?”

“Not all of them. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.” He cocked his head. “So? What do you make of him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’re the one who can read people.”

“Yep, and I can read a schedule too. We’re shorthanded. I don’t need to tell you—you been working fifteen-hour shifts for three straight weeks. We got no applications in a month and we need the help. We’ll keep an eye on Dodson and give him the night shift, if need be.”

He got up to go and paused at the door.

“Rita says Delia will allow you to take Miss Hughes for her FAE every day.”

I kept my expression neutral. “Great.”

“That means giving up your fifteen.”

“It’s fine.”

“Great. Fine. Mm-hmm,” Alonzo said. He started for the door again, then turned back. “I can read people, Jim. And you’re barking up the wrong damn tree.” He shook his head. “Hell, son. You’re in the wrong damn forest.”

“I want to get Thea some better art supplies,” I told Rita that afternoon in the rec room. “A canvas and some paint.”

Rita bit her lip. “It’s so sweet of you, Jim, but we talked about this. No budget.”

“I’ll pay for it myself.”

“Slow down, honey. Delia Hughes will flip her lid if a male staff member starts buying things for Thea. You could lose your job. I could lose my job.”

“Over better art supplies? Thea’s too good for pens and paper.”

“I know,” Rita said. “And Delia knows it too, but she has all kinds of rules. She worries that painting will upset Thea. And she’s afraid of the publicity if Thea creates a masterpiece. Which she will.”

“Why would that be a bad thing?”

“The world’s worst recorded case of amnesia is a prodigal musician. He’s been featured in documentaries, books, and medical shows. The second-worst case is Thea Hughes, a genius artist.” Rita shook her head. “Delia’s already had to fight off the press. She wants none of the attention. She thinks it would be too much for her sister.”

“But that kind of attention might get her case in front of doctors, right? Better doctors who might be able to do something for her.”

“Her case has been written up in medical journals,” Rita said. “It’s not a secret.”

“Are her word chains in the journals too?”

Rita sighed. “I don’t know. Look, as long as the doctors tell Delia that Thea is happy as she is…” She shrugged. “That’s all Delia wants to hear. That her sister’s okay. Not upsetting Thea takes precedence over everything else.”

“That’s fucked.”

Rita put her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said it’s fucked, Rita. Why would Thea get upset if she had no awareness of her situation? And if she is aware, shouldn’t we do everything we can to improve her quality of life?”

The nurse’s mouth fell open. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak so many words in a row.”

I crossed my arms. Shrugg

ed like it was nothing, because nothing had ever been important enough.

“I understand your concern, but Thea has no awareness of what upsets her because she has no memory. Her upsets aren’t conscious, they’re instinctual. Mindless. You didn’t see her in the beginning, Jim. Episodes of hysterical screaming. I had to sedate her more times than I want to remember.”

She glanced at Thea, who was bent over her drawings.