Abigail smiled.
“I know dementia can make those fears seem very real.”
Dr. Leonard removed his glasses.
“Mrs. Hayes, I’d like to speak with Margaret privately.”
Abigail’s smile vanished.
“I think I should stay. She gets frightened.”
“I routinely conduct part of these evaluations privately.”
“She may lie.”
“Patients sometimes provide inaccurate information. That’s part of my assessment.”
Abigail glanced at me.
I shrugged.
“It’s standard.”
Her expression hardened slightly.
But she stood.
We waited outside.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
Abigail stopped pretending to be relaxed.
“This is taking too long.”
“Maybe he’s thorough.”
“She doesn’t even know where she is.”
“Then it should be easy.”
Abigail looked at me sharply.
I smiled.
Forty-two minutes after the door closed, Dr. Leonard stepped into the hallway.
“I’d like Samuel back inside.”
“Both of us?” Abigail asked.
“Just Samuel.”
Something close to panic flashed across her face.
