4:42 A.M.
At 4:42 a.m., Zariah Brooks’s alarm vibrated against the nightstand.
She reached for her phone before the second vibration.
For a moment, she didn’t open her eyes.
She knew what was waiting.
There were always messages waiting.
When she finally looked at the screen, three notifications sat at the top.
Mama: Call me when you get a chance.
Work: Can you stay until 4 today?
And then, from Elias:
Good morning, beautiful. ❤️
A smile came before she could stop it.
She typed back first.
Morning ❤️
Then she answered work.
Yes, I can stay.
She stared at her mother’s message for a few seconds longer.
Call me when you get a chance.
That could mean anything.
With Mama, it usually did.
Zariah set the phone down and sat on the edge of the bed.
The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Dawn was still a long way off. Through the bedroom window, the world outside was black, the kind of darkness that made the morning feel like it hadn’t decided whether it wanted to arrive yet.
She rubbed her face.
“Come on, Zariah.”
Her feet found the floor.
She stood.
In the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was the basil plant.
Its leaves had started to droop.
Zariah stopped in front of it.
“Oh, Lord.”
She touched one of the leaves gently between her fingers.
“I forgot you again.”
She reached for the little blue watering can sitting beside the sink.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Magnolia Ridge.
Zariah sighed.
“Of course.”
She put the watering can down and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Zariah. It’s Dana.”
Her shift supervisor sounded like she’d already been awake for hours.
“What’s up?”
“I know you’re supposed to be on the floor at six, but we’re short this morning. Could you come in a little early?”
Zariah looked at the clock.
4:47.
“How early?”
There was a pause.
“Five-thirty?”
Zariah closed her eyes.
She had already said yes to staying late.
Now they wanted her early too.
She could say no.
She knew she could.
She also knew exactly who would be covering if she didn’t.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
The call ended.
Zariah stood there in the quiet kitchen.
The basil was still waiting.
She picked up the watering can.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered.
Then she left.
By 5:36 a.m., Zariah was walking through the front doors of Magnolia Ridge Senior Living.
The lobby smelled like coffee, disinfectant, and the faint sweetness of somebody’s breakfast drifting from the kitchen.
She had worked at Magnolia Ridge long enough that she didn’t have to think about where anything was.
Her badge was clipped to her navy-blue scrubs.
Her hair was pulled back.
Her coffee was in her left hand.
Her phone was in her right.
Her feet already knew where they were going.
“Morning, Ms. Brooks.”
“Morning, Mr. Harris.”
“You look tired.”
“I always look tired.”
Mr. Harris laughed from his wheelchair.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
She smiled.
“How’s your knee?”
“Still attached.”
“Good. That’s usually a good sign.”
He grinned.
Zariah continued down the hall.
Room 214 needed fresh linens.
Mrs. Alvarez would complain about the oatmeal.
Mr. Harris would ask for the newspaper even though he had stopped reading it six months ago.
And Mrs. Jenkins—
Zariah stopped.
She heard music coming from room 219.
Not the television.
Music.
Old-school soul.
Zariah smiled before she even opened the door.
“Mrs. Jenkins?”
The music got louder.
A voice answered from inside.
“If you’re coming in here to tell me to turn it down, keep walking.”
Zariah pushed the door open.
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Jenkins sat in her chair beside the window, wearing a purple robe and a pair of reading glasses that had somehow migrated to the top of her head.
She looked over.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“I live here.”
“Fair point.”
Mrs. Jenkins pointed toward the chair across from her.
“Come sit down.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“You always have work to do.”
Zariah smiled.
“That’s because I work here.”
“No. That’s because you don’t know how to sit down.”
Zariah laughed.
“Have you been waiting all morning to say that?”
“Since yesterday.”
Mrs. Jenkins turned the music down.
Zariah stepped farther into the room.
“You eat breakfast yet?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like breakfast.”
“You had two pieces of toast yesterday.”
“That was lunch.”
“At eleven in the morning?”
“I was hungry.”
Zariah shook her head.
“You are something else.”
Mrs. Jenkins smiled.
“And you are tired.”
The smile on Zariah’s face faded just slightly.
“I’m fine.”
Mrs. Jenkins studied her.
“Did I ask if you were fine?”
Zariah laughed again.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Zariah checked her watch.
“I have to go.”
“You always have to go.”
“I have residents.”
“You have everybody.”
Zariah paused.
Mrs. Jenkins reached for the remote.
“Go on,” she said. “Before somebody comes looking for you.”
Zariah nodded.
“Eat your breakfast.”
“Mind your business.”
“I am minding your business.”
“See? That’s your problem.”
Zariah laughed as she walked out.
Behind her, Mrs. Jenkins turned the music back up.
Zariah kept walking.
But something about that last sentence followed her down the hallway.
You have everybody.
By eight o’clock, Zariah had already helped three residents get dressed, found someone’s missing dentures, tracked down a medication that had been delivered to the wrong floor, and spent ten minutes convincing Mr. Harris that his daughter had not forgotten him.
She hadn’t.
She was coming at lunch.
Zariah had checked.
Twice.
She always checked.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She glanced down.
Mama: You working today?
Zariah typed back while walking.
Yes. I’ll call you later. Everything okay?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Mama: Everything is fine. Just call me when you can.
Zariah stared at the message.
She knew her mother.
“Everything is fine” could mean everything was fine.
It could also mean I don’t want to worry you right now.
Zariah slipped the phone back into her pocket.
“Zariah.”
She turned.
One of the nurses stood at the end of the hall.
“We need help in 223.”
“Coming.”
She didn’t even think about it.
She just went.
At lunch, Zariah finally sat down.
She had twelve minutes.
She knew because she had checked the clock.
She opened the container Elias had packed for her the night before.
Chicken.
Rice.
Green beans.
A sticky note was folded underneath the fork.
Eat all of it. Not half. — E
Zariah smiled.
She took a bite.
Her phone buzzed.
Elias: How’s my favorite CNA?
She typed:
Tired.
His response came almost immediately.
Come home after work. No errands. No helping anybody. Just come home.
Zariah smiled.
I’ll try.
His reply:
That’s not what I said.
She laughed quietly.
A coworker passing by looked at her.
“What’s funny?”
“My fiancé.”
“Ah.”
The woman smiled.
“That’ll do it.”
Zariah looked down at her phone again.
I’ll come home. Promise.
She sent it.
Then she looked at the clock.
Nine minutes left.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn’t Elias.
It was work.
Can you stay until 6 instead?
Zariah stared at the message.
Her fork hovered over her food.
She thought about the basil plant.
She thought about Elias.
She thought about her mother’s unanswered message.
Then she typed:
Yes.
She put the phone down.
For a few seconds, she just sat there.
Then she picked up her fork.
And kept eating.
At the end of the hallway, Mrs. Jenkins watched her through the open doorway of her room.
She didn’t call Zariah over.
She didn’t say anything.
She simply watched the young woman disappear around the corner.
Then Mrs. Jenkins looked down at her hands.
“Baby,” she whispered to an empty room, “what are you carrying?”
Outside the window, morning had finally arrived.
And Zariah Brooks was already running behind it.
