Leo’s Hospital Papers Changed What I Thought I Knew About Vivian

“No.”

“Did she tell you who you were waiting for?”

Karen hesitated.

Then she folded the parking receipt into a square.

“She told me to wait.”

Karen tucked the square of paper into her coat pocket and looked toward the hospital entrance.

“Did she tell you why she wanted you here?”

Karen shook her head. “No. She said she needed me close by.”

“Close by for what?”

She opened her mouth, then stopped when a hospital employee pushed through the garage door with a cart of folded blankets. Karen stepped aside. The employee nodded and kept going.

“She said we would talk

after the babies were born,” Karen said. “That was all.”

Daniel looked at me. “I’ll call her.”

I checked the time on my phone. “Not now.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to hear what she says when she thinks she has time to prepare.”

Daniel slipped his phone back into his pocket, and Karen watched him do it. She looked younger than thirty six just then, standing beside a Buick with 190,000 miles on it, holding a parking receipt she had already folded into a neat square.

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