Nana reached into her leather purse, took out a paper tissue, folded it twice, and put it back inside without using it — a small, busy, buying-time gesture, the hands doing something while the mind looked for an exit.

“Just a little while,” she said, and shifted in her chair.

Dr.

Shepherd walked to the door and told the receptionist to call my father’s work number right away.

Nana’s fingers tightened on the wool of my coat.

“That isn’t necessary,” she said, and her voice climbed.