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unforgiving code room clock. Trees and quiet."
    Claire wished she could take the question back. All at once this
felt too personal, too awkward.
    "Or pizza," Logan added, a surprisingly boyish grin crinkling
the corners of his eyes. "Pepperoni pizza and country music. That'll
put things in perspective pretty fast."

    They both turned as a woman's voice wailed in the distance.
    "Where's that coming from?" Claire tensed as the painful and
wrenching sound repeated.
    "The storage room," Logan answered.
    The nurse at the next bedside began jogging in that direction.
The temporary morgue. Hadn't Claire seen a light in there
when she passed by a few minutes ago? Yes, and it had been quiet.
"But didn't they take that little girl away?" she asked, filling with
dread as she remembered the face of the anguished grandmother.
    "No," Logan answered. He turned and broke into a trot, calling
back over his shoulder, "We got the okay to remove the tubes, but
we're still waiting for the medical examiner's deputy to arrive for
transport."
    Memories and images from another temporary morgue in Sacramento intruded into Claire's consciousness, and she struggled to
keep them at bay. Then, against an urge to run the other way, she
followed Logan toward yet another haunting wail.
    When they arrived at the doorway, she saw the nurse slip an
arm around a tiny, dark-haired woman's shoulders. Claire took in
the scene in the dimly lit room, her eyes widening as she recognized the woman. Inez Vega, the registration clerk. Sitting in
a chair beside an empty gurney, a plastic body bag crumpled at
her feet and holding ... Claire's breath stuck in her chest. Inez
held Amy Hester, the child's face still and pale, like an earthbound
angel. She'd wrapped the toddler in the lavender blanket and was
gently rocking her. A rosary dangled from Inez's fingers and her lips
moved silently. She stared up at the ER nurse over Amy's tousled
curls, then over at Claire and Logan.
    "This baby's abuela-her grandmother-wanted her to have
this blanket," Inez said, tears streaming down her face. "Purple's her . . . favorite color. I didn't mean to break any rules, but it
seemed wrong not to wrap it around her. I keep thinking about my
own grandbabies and. . ." Her words faded into a mournful sob as
the nurse lifted the child gently from her arms, laid her back on
the gurney, and returned to Inez's side.

    More than anything, Claire wanted to let the staff nurse handle
things now, be done with her unexpected and unwelcome responsibility to these people, but ... She turned to Logan and grasped
his arm, a rush of tears blurring her vision. "This is your team. I
know how you feel about counseling, and I know you want me to
just sign off and satisfy administration. But I can't. These people
are hurting, and they need help."
    She let go of his arm and took a deep breath, looking once
again at Inez. How many times had this woman quietly ached,
after how many shifts? As a peer counselor, Claire couldn't offer
the kind of help Inez needed, but she knew how to make it happen.
"I'm calling the social worker to request a full debriefing for your
department. Whether you like it or not."

    Running was always a balm for what ailed her. And it was working; Logan Caldwell was fading away. Claire closed the cabin door
against the night air and slithered out of the soaking, oversize
T-shirt, deliciously dizzy for a moment. A rivulet of sweat trickled
between her shoulder blades as she raised her arms to weave her fingers through the long strands of damp hair, lifting them away from
her salty skin. Her head floated, disembodied, and her lips tingled as
goose bumps rose and drew a shiver. Runner's high. Endorphins.
    She leaned against the wooden door in her racerback tank
and running tights, closing her eyes and welcoming the familiar release. Her heartbeat whispered in her ears like the ocean trapped
in a seashell. Endorphins were a blessing. Better than