My first reaction was fear.
I depended on my salary, health insurance, sick leave, routine, and every bit of security the job gave us. Daisy still had follow-up appointments ahead. We were not finished needing hospitals, forms, fuel money, or understanding.
So I began collecting our belongings.
I gathered the towels, pushed the sunscreen into the bag, and tried to use a voice Daisy would believe.
“We are going home,” I told her.
Then I heard someone approaching behind me.
I turned around.
Miranda was no longer watching me.
She was staring beyond my shoulder, all the color gone from her face.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
A man stood behind me carrying two rolled towels under one arm and a paper bag in the other hand.
Paul.
Miranda’s husband.
He stopped beside her, lifted one eyebrow, and said, “Miranda, what an interesting conversation you’ve been having. I could hear it all the way from the entrance.”
