The nurse’s gaze flicked from Isabella to Matthew and back again. “He hasn’t spoken in five years. I mean, he hadn’t spoken—until he said your name.” “My name?” “Yes. Isabella.” Isabella reached down and clasped Matthew’s hand, hope springing up inside her again. Maybe this wasn’t so foolish after all. “You called to me. Oh, Matthew.” If she expected a response, she got none. “What happened after that?” she asked. “After he spoke my name?” “Nothing. I mean, he said that you needed help. But that was all. We called Dr. Berman. He couldn’t find any neurological changes.” “And you were the only one who heard Matthew speak?” The woman looked defiant. “I didn’t make it up.” “I wasn’t saying that.” She studied Gloria Romano, sure that the woman cared about this patient. “What are you to him?” Gloria demanded. Isabella had come here with some vague plan of waking Matthew up. Or maybe she thought he’d open his eyes and leap out of bed as soon as he saw her.
