We went back into the lobby at three thirty, where the air conditioning blew cold against our damp shirts.

Teresa stood near the security desk, holding a heavy white business card with gold embossed lettering.

Her friend Beatrice Miller stood two steps away, clutching her handbag tight against her ribs with both hands.

“My attorney advised me not to have informal conversations with hospital staff,” Teresa said as we came up.

She turned to Beatrice and pointed one manicured finger at my chest.

“Julian is completely unstable,” Teresa announced to the lobby.