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Scritch, Scratch
Layla
Bailey’s eyes are growing heavy despite the third cup of coffee she’s consumed in the last two hours. We’re in the supply room, years and years of notes taken by a variety of nurses spread out on the plastic table between us. She brings the coffee to her lips, shaking her head. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing until your doctor friend gets here tomorrow,” I tell her, swiveling from side to side in the computer chair while the printer beside me works in overdrive. We’ve been going through the computer system, printing out everything and anything pertaining to Aunt Penny’s care. The notes only go back ten years or so, but that should be enough to give this new doctor a clear idea of what’s been done to her.
“What about Vera?” Bailey asks, her eyes rimmed red with fatigue.
“I’ll handle Vera this weekend. I’m going to call the lawyer af
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