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    HOSPITAL
    On day twenty-three, Abigail’s nurse came to collect the remains of lunch accompanied by another African-American nurse in her late forties. The moment the newcomer walked through the door, Abigail stiffened up in her bed and threw a forearm over her eyes as if trying to shelter her vision from an oppressively bright light source.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” the new nurse asked, looking around her.
    â€œDon’t you see them?” Abby said in a high-pitched voice. “They came in with you.”
    The woman turned to Abby’s nurse. She lowered her head and raised her eyebrows. An expression which read, I’m glad I came .
    But Abby’s nurse seemed to stiffen with the opposite impression. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, you coming with me,” she told the newcomer in a low voice.
    â€œNo, no, please—I think it’s more important than ever,” the older nurse said, her eyes fixed on Abby.
    â€œAre you okay?” her nurse asked Abby.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with me,” Abby answered. “It’s just these bright, white men standing beside her.”
    â€œThis isn’t going to work,” her nurse said to the other through the side of her mouth. “I need to get a consult.”
    â€œNo you don’t,” the new nurse said. “I know what this is. Now, Kathy, you’ve known me for ten years. You know that I know my job. If I only ask you one time to just trust me, this is it.”
    â€œI trust you, Gladys. But that trust isn’t worth losing my job over.”
    â€œIt won’t come to that. I promise.”
    The older woman walked forward to Abby’s bedside and sat down on a visitor’s chair. “Please, Sister. Tell me what these men look like.”
    Abby paused for several reasons—not the least of which was the unfamiliar sensation of being called “sister” by an African-American woman.
    â€œPlease, won’t you tell me?”
    Abigail narrowed her eyes and scrutinized the nurse. The woman’s tone was neither pleading nor insistent. Just very, very passionate.
    â€œYou mean you can’t see them?” Abby asked.
    The woman turned around, stood, and remained utterly still for a long moment. Then she turned back to Abby.
    â€œI don’t have it as strong as I used to, see. These days I can see their glow, mostly. And if I stand real still, I can almost see the edges of their wings against a darker background. It’s like any other gift, you know. Comes and goes. It fades a little with age, and neglect. So go ahead—it sounds like you’re just awakening to it. It must be powerful with you.”
    Abby suddenly felt a strange boldness come over her. She felt compelled to stare right at the apparitions and call them out like one of those last-minute witnesses at a murder trial.
    â€œThe one on your right is tallest, and his skin is dark—as black as coal. I say ‘his skin’ because every other part of him, his eyes, his smile, his whole countenance, his whole body even, glows so bright I find it hard to look at him straight on.”
    â€œDoes he have wings?” the nurse asked, her voice trembling with joy.
    â€œOkay, that’s it,” her first nurse interrupted. “Gladys, you need to leave. Or I call security.”
    Oblivious to the interruption, Abby squinted and leaned forward. “Why, he does have wings,” she said in a breathy, amazed voice. “Although I hadn’t even noticed them before! They’re huge, and dramatic . . . so beautiful.”
    â€œOne, two . . .” the first nurse counted at Gladys in a darkening tone.
    Nurse Gladys turned to the woman and looked downward, gathering her determination in one long, loud breath. “Kathy. Please. Two