The family waiting room was nicer than the main lobby. Soft blue chairs. A little coffee station with real mugs instead of paper cups. A rack of magazines. A big window along the back wall that looked out on a little courtyard with a stone bench and a bare cherry tree, its branches shiny with rain.
Grandma walked over and sat down in a chair right by that window. She set her handbag on the floor and put the yellow envelope on her lap again.
I sat down next to her.
“Grandma, who are we here to see?”
“In a minute, Daniel.”
There were only a few other people in the room. A middle-aged couple holding hands, both looking like they hadn’t slept. A young woman on her phone, whispering. Nobody paid any attention to us.
About five minutes later, a receptionist came over.
She was maybe thirty. Neat dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Navy blue scrubs. A badge on a lanyard that said “KAYLA — PATIENT SERVICES.” She was holding a tablet.
