The squeak of my Buick LeSabre’s brakes echoed in the parking garage of St. Jude Hospital at two o’clock. Inside the lobby, the sharp scent of institutional floor wax made my eyes water as I approached the reception desk.
Nurse Evelyn stood behind the counter, her fingers nervously adjusting her blue plastic ID badge against her scrubs.
“I need two visitor passes for Room 312, please,” I said, leaning against the high counter.
Evelyn did not reach for the plastic badges. She looked down at her computer screen, her lips pressed into a thin line, before her eyes darted toward the hallway.
“Is Ben Cole’s family coming in today?” she asked, her voice low and clipped.
“Just me and the chaplain,” I said, twisting my silver wedding band. “We are keeping it small.”
