Page 19

Unknown number. I almost ignore it.

Then I see the image. Gray’s Anatomy. Brachial plexus.

Under it: Tell me the innervation of the brachial plexus or I’m going to fail this exam. Maggie, here, btw!!

I stop walking.

Marcus gets two steps ahead before noticing. “What?”

I read it again.

Maggie, here, btw!!

There’s something funny about it. Not trying-too-hard funny. Not polished. Just bright in a way that doesn’t fit the hour, the hospital, or the blood still drying under one edge of my thumbnail.

Wrong number, obviously.

I should put the phone away.

Instead, I type: C5 to T1.

Marcus looks at me. “Who is that?”

“Wrong number.”

“Then why are you answering?”

“She has an exam.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow as if I’ve gone insane. And I probably have.

I type as I walk. I look at the screen for half a second longer than I need to.

Marcus notices. Of course he does. “Oh, no.”

I keep walking. “No what?”

“That face.”

“I have one face.”

“Exactly. And that one is slightly less dead.”

I ignore him and open the patient chart at the workroom computer. There are notes to finish. Orders to sign. One medication adjustment. Two calls I need to confirm were made.

The phone buzzes on the desk.

Maggie: I’m looking at this diagram and I need to know who approved the human body. Was there no committee?

I finish typing the order before answering.

Me: There was. It made compromises.

Maggie: Bad ones.

Me: Often.

Marcus sits in the chair beside me and starts eating pretzels from a packet he must have stolen from somewhere. “Wrong number still?”