“Nora Whitaker,” I said, laying my driver’s license and blue insurance card on the tall wooden counter.

“Nurse Ruth said accounting put a hold notice on my son’s chart.”

The clerk entered my name into her computer, her eyes following the lines of text as they appeared.

“Yes, Mrs.

Whitaker,” she said, tapping her ballpoint pen on her blotter.

“We got an administrative inquiry at eight fifteen this morning.”

“My late husband’s life insurance policy pays sixty percent of the surgery cost,” I said.

“The rest goes straight through my employer’s health plan.”