“You have no right to speak to me like that in front of my son,” she said.

“Try me,” I said.

“I work in this hospital system, and I know the security guards on this shift.”

A tall security guard standing near the sliding glass doors picked up his radio and took three slow steps in our direction, his heavy boots squeaking against the linoleum tile.

Sylvia caught sight of him moving toward us.

She straightened her back, turned on her heel, and walked briskly over to the third chair down in the empty row.

She sat down hard on the blue vinyl seat, pulling her heavy leather bag onto her lap like a barricade.