Lucy stared at the bundle of fabric; she brought them up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Unlike her mother’s powerfully perfumed laundry detergent, her clothes just smelled clean—void of the body odor, dirt, dust, and any other stench acquired on her four-state trek. Her grungy white underwear sat on top. And it wasn’t until that moment she realized that someone must have pried them off of her while she was unconscious. Nurse or doctor, it didn’t matter, she felt such shame that her cheeks turned hot. “Go ahead and get dressed, sweetie,” the woman said and nodded toward the clothes. Then she spun on her orthopedic shoes and left Lucy alone. In the privacy of the room, Lucy slipped out of her gown and let it fall to the floor. Then she hurried into her underwear, her bra, still warm from a dryer—a luxury Lucy hadn’t realized how much she missed—and then her pants, shirt, and her sweater. Completely dressed, she sat back on the bed, and waited.
