I got back to Room 214 at a quarter past eight that evening.

The wind rattled the metal window frame against the brick wall outside.

Nurse Helen stood at the bedside monitor, jotting numbers on her chart.

She tapped her clipboard with her pen three times before glancing toward the open hall door.

“Your senior church elder came by at four,” Helen said quietly.

“Arthur did?” I asked.

“He stood right next to that chair,” Helen said, pointing her pen at the corner cushion.

“He told the floor manager the church might rethink its annual twenty-five-thousand-dollar endowment to our nursing wing if we keep letting non-family visitors in after seven p.m.”