Brenda closed the first black binder.

“I’ll have the final default authorization form ready for your signature at three,” Brenda said.

At ten in the morning, the hospital outpatient clinic smelled strongly of floor wax and rubbing alcohol.

I took Evelyn to her regular oncology checkup.

We sat in a small, sterile exam room while a nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Evelyn’s thin arm.

The Velcro ripped loudly in the quiet room.