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Over the next few days, Thomas developed a routine in Brooke Haven. In the morning, he went for runs at the high school track, desolate at the hands of summer vacation. In the evening, he drove his rental car to the only grocery store in town to pick up the basics: chips, frozen pizza, and wine. They never had any of the kinds of chardonnay he liked, the ones he’d get back in New York. After the grocery store Thomas would come home, screw the cap off a bottle of $7 white wine

Thomas fingered the white paper bracelet around his wrist, a few stray arm hairs caught within its adhesive. He sat on a stiff cot with no shield from the assault of the harsh overhead lighting above. He was having a hard time adjusting to the IV in his arm, its constant cool, tugging sensation a reminder of his symptoms. A hospital bracelet with patient information worn on the wrist, highlighting its role in identification and patient care management. “I’m having trouble bre

As he wound down the street in his rental sedan, Thomas peered out the window at the small, familiar world that began to form around him. He rolled into town at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday, which meant that Brooke Haven was little more than a concrete desert. A stagnant black sky and endless strip of pavement lay before him, lined on either side by rows of near-identical houses and red maple trees. It had been eleven years since he’d been home. A serene view of a suburban street at n