It rained last night, and this morning there’s a heavy mist hanging low over the Blue Ridge Mountains, like a Sunday dress over a grandmother’s sagging breasts. This is the last place I’ll work, the end of the trail, my final stop: Shady Rest Nursing Home. I work full time, day shift, weekdays and every other weekend, supervising the aides, orderlies, and practical nurses. I pass out all the medications on my shift. We have thirty-eight clients — we’re not supposed to call them “patients” anymore; something to do with their rights, and not making them sound more sick than they really are. I’ve been a registered nurse for forty years: hospitals, home health, the county clinic. Shady Rest is a good place for me to finish my stretch.