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Dr. Eves. I was just wondering if you’d… come up with anything?”
    “Not yet, Cindy. Yesterday’s EEG was totally normal. But, as we’ve discussed, with children this age that’s not always conclusive. The nurses haven’t charted any seizurelike behavior. Have you noticed anything?”
    “No… not really.”
    “Not really?” Stephanie took a step closer. She was only an inch taller than the other woman but seemed much larger.
    Cindy Jones passed her upper lip under her top teeth, then released it. “Nothing — it’s probably not important.”
    “It’s okay, Cindy. Tell me anything, even if you think it’s irrelevant.”
    “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing, but sometimes I wonder if she’s tuning out — not listening when I talk to her? Kind of staring off into space — like a petit mal? I’m sure it’s nothing and I’m just seeing it because I’m looking for things now.”
    “When did you start noticing this?”
    “Yesterday, after we were admitted.”
    “You never saw it at home?”
    “I… no. But it could have been happening and I just didn’t notice. Or maybe it’s nothing. It probably is nothing — I don’t know.”
    The pretty face began to buckle.
    Stephanie patted her and Cindy moved toward the gesture, almost imperceptibly, as if to gain more comfort from it.
    Stephanie stepped back, breaking contact. “How often have these staring episodes been occurring?”
    “Maybe a couple of times a day. It’s probably nothing — just her concentrating. She’s always been good at concentrating — when she plays at home she concentrates really well.”
    “Well, that’s good — the fact that she’s got a good attention span.”
    Cindy nodded but she didn’t look reassured.
    Stephanie drew an appointment book out of a coat pocket, ripped out a back page and handed it to Cindy. “Tell you what, next time you see this staring, make a record of the exact time and call in Vicki or whoever’s on duty to have a look, okay?”
    “Okay. But it doesn’t last long, Dr. Eves. Just a few seconds.”
    “Just do the best you can,” said Stephanie. “In the meantime, I’ll leave you and Dr. Delaware to get acquainted.”
    Pausing for a moment to look at the sleeping child, she smiled at both of us and left.
    When the door closed, Cindy looked down at the bed. “I’ll fold this up so you’ll have somewhere to sit.” There were delicate lavender veins under her skin, too. At the temples, throbbing.
    “Let’s do it together,” I said.
    That seemed to startle her. “No, that’s okay.”
    Bending, she took hold of the mattress and lifted. I did likewise and the two of us turned the bed back into a sofa.
    She smoothed the cushions, stood back, and said, “Please.”
    Feeling as if I were in a geisha house, I complied.
    She walked over to the green chair and removed the LuvBunnies. Placing them on the nightstand, she pulled the chair opposite the couch and sat, feet flat on the floor, a hand on each slender thigh.
    I reached over, took one of the stuffed animals from the window ledge, and stroked it. Through the glass the treetops of Griffith Park were green-black and cloudlike.
    “Cute,” I said. “Gifts?”
    “Some of them are. Some we brought from home. We wanted Cassie to feel at home here.”
    “The hospital’s become a second home, hasn’t it?”
    She stared at me. Tears filled the brown eyes, magnifying them. A look of shame spread across her face.
    Shame? Or guilt?
    Her hands shot up quickly to conceal it.
    She cried silently for a while.
    I got a tissue from the box on the bed table and waited.
     
4
     
    She uncovered her face. “Sorry.”
    “No need to be,” I said. “There aren’t too many things more stressful than having a sick child.”
    She nodded. “The worst thing is not knowing — watching her suffer and not knowing… If only someone could figure it out.”
    “The other symptoms resolved. Maybe this will too.”
    Looping her braid over one shoulder, she