Dale held up a finger. Wait. He crouched down in front of the nurse. “You—food. There. Dale, Kate food. You bring—look.” Dale pointed to the toast. “First.” He pantomimed pouring flour into a bowl, stirring it, kneading it, and rolling it. “Then.” He motioned towards the oven, pulled an imaginary loaf out, and then made sawing motions, finally placing the imaginary toast on the plate.