The nurse seated in the outer room looked up.
"I’m going down for a cup of coffee," Ilene said. "She's sleeping."
The nurse smiled with professional assurance.
"Don't worry, Miss Gaillard," she said. "Sleep is the best thing for her."
Ilene nodded and went out into the corridor.
She felt the tightness in her chest, the mist that constantly had pressed against her eyes these last few weeks.
She came out of the elevator and started for the coffee shop.
Still lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the doctor until her hand was on the door.
"Miss Gaillard?" For a moment, she had no voice. She could only nod dumbly.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," she said.
He smiled and held the door open for her.
They went inside to a corner table.
The doctor waved his hand and two cups of coffee appeared before them.
"How about a bun?" he asked. "You look as if you could use a little food."
He laughed in his professional manner. "There's no sense in having another patient just now."
"No, thank you," she said.
"The coffee will do fine." The doctor put down his coffee cup. "Good coffee." She nodded.
"Rina is sleeping." She said the first thing that came into her mind.
"Good." The doctor nodded, looking at her.
His dark eyes shone brightly through the bifocals. "Does Miss Marlowe have any relatives out here?"
"No," Ilene answered quickly. Then the implication hit her. She stared at him.
"You mean…" Her voice trailed off.
"I don't mean anything," the doctor said. "It's just that in cases like this, we like to know the names of the next of kin in case something does happen."
"Rina has no relatives that I know of."
The doctor looked at her curiously.
"What about her husband?"
"Who?" Ilene's voice was puzzled.
"Isn't she married to Nevada Smith?" the doctor asked.
"She was," Ilene answered. "But they were divorced three years ago. She's been married since then to Claude Dunbar, the director."
"That ended in divorce, too?"
"No," Ilene answered tersely. Her lips tightened. "He committed suicide, after they'd been married a little over a year."
"Oh," the doctor said. "I’m sorry. I guess I haven't had much time these last few years to keep up with things."
"If there's anything special that needs to be done, I guess I’m the one who could do it," she said.
"I'm her closest friend. She gave me power of attorney."
The doctor stared at her silently.
She could read what was in his mind behind those shining bifocals.
She drew her head up proudly.
What did it matter what he thought? What did it matter what anyone thought now?
"Did you get the results from the blood tests?"
The doctor nodded.
She tried to keep her voice from shaking.
"Is it leukemia?"
"No," he said. He could see the hope spring up in her eyes. Quickly he spoke to avoid the pain of disappointment. "It was what we thought. Encephalitis."
He noted her puzzled expression.
"Sometimes it's called sleeping sickness."
The hope in Ilene refused to die.
"Then she has a chance?"
"A very small one," the doctor said, still watching her carefully. "But if she lives, there's no telling what she'll be like."
"What do you mean?" Ilene asked harshly.