I looked back and forth between them, completely lost.

“What background check?” I asked.

Rachel leaned forward and rested her arms on my tray table.

“I applied to be a medical foster parent ten days ago,” Rachel said.

She spoke softly, but with absolute medical authority.

“The state approved my apartment as a certified care location an hour ago, pending your consent.”

Evelyn handed Rachel a thick packet of stapled forms with yellow sticky notes along the edges.

“She has clearance to give you your daily IV protocol,” Evelyn said.