“The clerk’s office closes at five.”

I folded my copy in half and got in the car.

Evelyn came down the ICU corridor at ten the next morning with no pearls on and no daughters behind her.

She wore a gray cardigan buttoned to the throat, and she stopped at the edge of the lounge carpet like a woman waiting to be asked in.

“Alexander.

A word, if you can spare one.”

I set my coffee on the windowsill and followed her in.