Free Every Waking Moment by Chris Fabry Page A

nodded.
    Mrs. Howard leaned against the desk. “Treha, I’ve been trying to understand your gift. Trying to put it into words. And I think what you offer is safety. The residents feel safe talking to you. You listen. You validate.”
    Treha stared at the floor.
    A deep breath. “At some point, you’ll need to stop listening, though.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You listen but never tell. Do you think it’s because no one is safe enough to speak with?”
    Treha looked up, teeth clenched. “There’s nothing to tell. I have no story.”
    “Oh yes you do, my dear. You have a   —”
    The intercom blared and a breathless voice said, “Mrs. Howard, come quickly. It’s Dr. Crenshaw.”
    Treha followed Mrs. Howard, her mind whirring like a hard drive. Dead. Deceased. Departed. Lifeless. Gone. Late. Passed away. This was all she could think. Synonyms. She wanted to give him a riddle or just sit and talk and feel warm inside.
    When they reached his room, a group of residents had congregated and Mrs. Howard asked Treha to help them. Treha looked inside as Mrs. Howard entered the room. The man was lying still in his bed with staff around him.

CHAPTER 10
    AT A TIME like this, Miriam knew her two greatest allies were procedure and protocol. Everything that happened at Desert Gardens could be broken down to those two components. Fulfill the list of duties assigned and things would go more smoothly. Showing control and composure provided residents with comfort.
    Treha stood by the door to Dr. Crenshaw’s room like a faithful dog waiting for its master. Miriam’s heart ached, but she had to focus. She put a hand to the man’s neck and felt a slight pulse. His eyes were fixed on some place on the ceiling, staring at infinity. His left side seemed to be wracked with spasms.
    “We called the paramedics,” a nurse said.
    “Good. Call Chaplain Calhoun as well. Ask him to come immediately.”
    If she recalled correctly, Dr. Crenshaw had a son who had accompanied him years earlier. They would need to contact him too.
    The paramedics arrived and took over, stabilizing Dr. Crenshaw and then lifting him onto a gurney. Miriam stepped into the hallway and put a hand on Treha’s shoulder as she stood with the residents watching the scene, too scared to askquestions. The girl’s eyes moved but there were no sobs. No contorted face. No tears.
    “Treha, these things happen.”
    “Is he dead?”
    “No.”
    “What’s wrong with him?”
    “We’re not sure. The doctors will help him. It looks like he may have suffered a stroke.”
    Miriam felt a shudder run through her as Jillian Millstone noiselessly entered the hallway. Her face also showed no emotion.
    “There are two men here with camera equipment.” Millstone said it almost as an accusation. “They say they were here to talk with Dr. Crenshaw. Do you know about this?”
    “That’s Devin and Jonah,” Miriam said. “I’ll speak with them.”
    Millstone glanced at the residents gathered. “Shouldn’t we disperse the crowd?”
    She spoke as if they were protesters at an illegal gathering or cattle too close to the killing floor.
    “No, this is an important time. They need to know what’s happening.”
    Miriam walked toward the exit and found the two men, Jonah shooting video of Dr. Crenshaw being wheeled to the waiting ambulance. She signaled to Devin that she would be right with him.
    She returned to find even more residents spilling into the hallway near Dr. Crenshaw’s room. She knew each by name. Some hadn’t encountered paramedics yet; they were newer to the facility. Others were long-term and watched the proceedings as if anticipating the next moves of a running back.
    She spoke loudly enough for them to hear but with a calm tone, the art of every good administrator. Show authority without being authoritarian. Sound the alarm without alarming.
    “Everyone, please give me your attention. I have news about one of our friends.”
    The people stood or sat like