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Show Nocturne/ 5 these details. None of the dates worked out, and no one could successfully piece together Summer Smith's stories to form a cohesive history. But they tried. Summer Smith was not a good bet. The nurses who looked at the photographs in Summer's room knew her little boy had a cleft palate. Summer blamed herself for it. She thought it was related to the cancer, to her first round of chemo, before remission, before conception, before her boy was bom and before the disease came back and she lost her hair again. Before she was readmitted there again. Summer still clung to the idea that she could raise her boy with her husband. She talked about how much the procedure to fix his face would cost. She wanted to go to London sometime soon, she said. It made everyone wonder if her husband could show her around. And her name reminded everyone of the sun. When the ledger made its way to Lauren Elliott, she passed. She did not bet. Her hands shook too much to even start an IV. She was not the only nurse who chose not to play, but she was the only one feeling the guilt that made her stomach hurt when she thought about death. Four nights passed, and a patient died. It was Frank Paulsen-colon cancer. Frank's family was in the room, and they said their goodbyes. They recorded his last words. His wife held his hand, and a grown son knelt at the side of the bed. They didn't have to ask where the will was because they had located it months before. They had planned for this day. It was a matter of time. Frank was Marianne Pittman's patient. The nurses consoled Marianne as she charted the code. Two fifteen: nurse enters room, patient not breathing. Two forty-one: |