“When a child writes something like this hours before an accident, we don’t leave it in a drawer.”

“Charles says she’s dramatic.”

The elevator came, and he stepped in and held the door with his forearm.

“Charles is not a neurologist,” he said.

“Eight o’clock, conference room.

Bring that phone, and say very little until I’ve spoken.”

I tightened the cap on Elena’s thermos until it seated, wrapped it in her towel, and set it inside my duffel bag on top of my folded uniform.

Then I sat back against the wall, opened the little green notebook, and wrote the times in a column.