They lined up outside of Leon’s door in wheelchairs, some with IVs hanging from poles. Some were on oxygen; hoses lay across their bellies like snakes sunning themselves.Bill, the security guard, was called in for crowd control.“Good thing you called me,” he told Nurse Becker who was still recovering from the bee stings; looked plucked like a fat goose. “You never know when a mob can turn.”“They’re in wheelchairs,” she told him. “Some of them can’t even walk.”He gave a grave look, pulled up his pants.“Just keep them out of the room until I finish my morning coffee,” she said.After the bee incident, Nurse Becker had refused to go home. The hospital was critically understaffed during the holiday season. They needed her and she liked to be needed.“Can I bring you back coffee?” she asked Bill.“Just take care of yourself,” he said gently.“If you can get them back into their rooms, that would be good.”“I’ll do my best.”“You always do.”The thought that Nurse Becker saw him as a competent man inspired Bill.
