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room.
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Marshall,” the first nurse told him. “Patsy and I will take good care of your wife.”
    “I’ll be back soon, Casey,” Warren said.
    Casey thought she felt him move close, lean in, maybe even pat her hand under the bedsheet. Was she just imagining it?
    “Now, that is one lovely man,” Patsy proclaimed, her voice dropping half an octave as the door shut behind them. “My heart really goes out to him.”
    “Yeah. I sure wouldn’t want to be in his shoes,” the other nurse said. “Speaking of which, did you happen to check hers out?”
    “What? No, Donna. I can’t say that I did.”
    “Very classy. Very expensive.”
    “I didn’t notice. Okay, Mrs. Marshall,” Patsy said, returning her attention to Casey. “Let’s get you all cleaned up for that handsome husband of yours.”
    Casey heard the rustle of sheets, and although she felt nothing, she’d never felt more exposed. Was she wearing a hospital gown or a nightgown from her own closet? Was she wearing anything at all? Were they touching her? Where exactly?
    “Just how long do you think he’s going to stick around anyway?” Donna was saying, echoing Casey’s earlier thoughts. “Soon as he realizes she’s not going to get any better….”
    “Ssh. Don’t say that,” Patsy admonished.
    “What? She can’t hear me.”
    “You don’t know that for sure. She opened her eyes, didn’t she?”
    “That doesn’t mean anything. I heard one of the doctors talking. He said that when they open their eyes, it’s often a bad sign. It could signify the beginning of a profound vegetative state.”
    “Well, let’s hope they’re wrong.”
    Casey wondered what Donna and Patsy looked like, picturing one tall and fair, the other short and dark. Or maybe tall and dark, she theorized, her mind exchanging one set of features for another, alternating different heads on different body types. One minute, she pictured Nurse Patsy with Dolly Partonesque breasts, and Donna as flat as the proverbial pancake. Or maybe Patsy was a redhead. Maybe Donna’s skin was a soft, velvety black. Whatever they looked like, they were right about one thing: Warren Marshall was one handsome man.
    Casey laughed, knowing they couldn’t hear her. To them she was an inanimate object. No more, no less. A body to be rotated regularly so that it didn’t develop bedsores, and washed, so that it didn’t start to smell. An uninteresting piece of still life. That’s what I’ve become, she thought, her laugh drying up, dissolving in her throat.
    “Oh, look at her face,” Patsy said suddenly.
    “What’s the matter with it?” Donna questioned.
    “She just looks so sad all of a sudden.”
    “What are you talking about?” Donna asked.
    “You don’t think her eyes look sad?”
    “I think her eyes look open. Period. Okay, I’m done with her front. You want to help me turn her on her side?”
    Casey felt her body being manipulated, her head placed at a different angle, although she couldn’t be sure if this was really happening or just part of her imagination.
    “Okay, I’m finished,” Donna said after several more minutes passed. “What about you?”
    “I think I’ll stick around a little while, brush her hair, make her look nice. You don’t have to stay.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “We’ll just get you all prettied up for that handsome, devoted husband of yours,” Patsy said as Donna left the room. Casey imagined her gently running a brush through her hair. “Although, you gotta wonder,” she continued, her voice shedding its softness with the closing of the door, like a snake shedding its skin. “I mean, he is a man, after all. A drop-dead gorgeous man at that. Not to mention a very rich, drop-dead gorgeous man. You gotta figure the girls are already lining up around the block. And he has an eye for the women, your handsome hubby does.” Casey imagined Patsy putting down the brush and leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “I know ’cause