“Bennett,” my mother said.

“Rosalie Bennett.”

The guard pressed the spacebar twice with his index finger and waited for the database to search.

“The system shows a temporary visitor authorization printed on yellow cardstock from Friday afternoon,” he said.

“That authorization expired at six o’clock.”

My mother rested both forearms on the high counter.

“I’ve brought supplies from home because my daughter Claire refuses to pick up her phone,” my mother added, leaning closer to the glass partition.

“My older daughter had emergency surgery two days ago, she’s completely incapable of managing basic paperwork, and I’ve spent the entire day trying to keep this family from falling apart.”