“You’ll be first off.”

The van left the pier at nine twenty.

By two that afternoon I was sitting at gate six in Knoxville with the certified neurology report in my lap, still in its cream envelope, my phone pressed to my ear.

Sophie picked up on the first ring.

“Mom?

You sound like you’re in a tunnel.”

“Knoxville.

Waiting on my bag.” I set the envelope on the seat beside me and laid my hand flat on it.