“Catherine,” Dr. Hale said gently. “I’m sorry. I should have called you first.”
“Yes. You should have.”
“But your mother asked to stay here. In Room 214. She’s asked me every day for a week.”
“My mother is on so much morphine she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.” Catherine’s voice cracked. “She asked for a cherry tree yesterday. She kept asking where her baby was. She’s confused. She thinks it’s 1970 or something. She needs to be close to me. I live in Chicago. I can’t keep driving four hours each way.”
Then she noticed Grandma. And me.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Who are you?”
Grandma straightened her cardigan.
“My name is Evelyn Walker.”
“Are you the woman who’s been trying to get into my mother’s room? The receptionist told me somebody was asking for her.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. Her voice was cold. “My mother isn’t seeing anyone who isn’t family. That was her wish. That’s why I made the visitor list. Only family.”
