Summer sleeps. It’s an emulation of her usual postures: sprawled, cat-like, taking up far more space than seems geometrically possible for a person of her size. Her hands are tucked close, though, clutching coverlets around her shoulders, the lower half of her face hidden by the fabric.

Tearstains mark the pillows she’s snuggled up to, betraying evidence of how she achieved sleep, and those covers not clutched close are jumbled awry by restless dreams. Her face now moves in those same dreams: anguish, yearning, pleading.