I PUSHED THE OLD METAL door to the infirmary open and saw everything I expected to see: a dingy old set of hospital beds with paper sheets, a faded medical kit on the wall, and posters featuring cartoon kids in cartoon woods dealing with cartoon injuries.
With no sign of Lump, I figured she was in a different room. Maybe sleeping on a couch in the back office.
Shelly was sitting at a desk cluttered with papers, her face lit up by her laptop. She was middle-aged with her hair in a messy bun, and she smiled a tired smile when she saw me walk in.
“Moses, right?” she asked. My hands started sweating the way they always did when people recognized me, but before I could get too far into my own head, she said, “Good to finally meet you. Unless you’re sick or dying or need me to reattach something.”
I smiled back. She was easy to talk to; she had a bedside manner, even out in the Michigan wilderness. “Nope, just looking for Lump. Er, Allison. Heard she was coming out here and I’m supposed to keep track of her. Faisal told me to come check over here.”
“I still can’t believe that child’s mother calls her Lump,” she said good-naturedly.
I shrugged and offered, “I hear it’s a reclamation thing.”
She took a sip from a steaming Styrofoam cup and made a “hmm” sound while nodding at me. Whatever was in the cup smelled like spicy flowers. “Well, in any case, haven’t seen Lump. Hasn’t been in.”
“Oh. Huh,” I said smoothly. “Okay. Thanks, then?”
“Tell Faisal I said hi,” she said, getting back to her computer and not looking at me.
Nothing felt out of place. It was just a miscommunication, or Lump had decided that she felt fine, or she’d gone off to her cabin.
She was fine. Of course she was fine.