“You were always a terrible liar.”
He laughed. A short, choked laugh. Then his eyes went down to her lap. To the yellow envelope.
All the color drained out of his face.
“Evelyn,” he said. “Please tell me you didn’t bring the original.”
Grandma lowered her eyes.
“I thought it was time,” she said softly.
The doctor stood there for a long moment. I saw his hand go up to his chest, like something had hurt him there.
Then he turned around. Kayla was standing behind him in the hallway, holding her tablet against her chest, her eyes wide.
“Kayla,” he said. “Call the administrator. Tell Mr. Perkins I need him on the second floor right now.”
“Yes, Dr. Hale.”
“And don’t let anyone move the patient from Room 214. I don’t care who signs what. I don’t care what the family says. Nobody moves her. Not until I say so.”
