“Did you call them?” I whispered, looking up at her graying hair, pinned back in its usual neat bun.
She did not look at me, her fingers moving rhythmically over the silver beads in her left hand.
“I called the office,” Patricia said, her eyes fixed on the glass. “I spoke to your partner’s secretary. I told her you would be late.”
“The office?” I asked, but the word caught in my chest.
“We are going to the hospital,” Daniel said, coming back down the hall with his leather car keys in his hand.
He pulled me up by my good arm, forcing me to stand.
“Can you walk?” he asked, his voice returning to that flat, professional tone he used when a contract went wrong.
