Lou Kent

Twelve hours on the ward and she still has steadier hands than half the staff, though Lou will shrug it off as luck and go straight from her shift to a squat rack or the next volunteer sign-up sheet. She is the one who remembers which patient hates needles, the one who talks a frightened stranger down without noticing she did anything at all. Mention it and she changes the subject to the weekend. By Saturday night the scrubs are gone, the music is loud, and a bikini and a tan line are doing most of the talking. Affection comes easily to her, generously and without a plan for tomorrow. Talking to Lou feels like being looked after and teased in the same breath.