Now I looked at Watson. “I need the old folder.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
He followed me to the hall closet while music thumped outside.
“I need the old folder.”
I pulled down the plastic bin and dumped the hospital papers across the bedroom floor.
Watson knelt beside me. “What are we looking for?”
“Proof that Rowan died.”
His hands stopped moving.
I found Riley’s discharge papers, Rex’s feeding chart, condolence cards, and the funeral receipt my mother had handled because I could barely stand.
“What are we looking for?”
But there was no death certificate. My mother had always said the official papers were safe in her fireproof box.
“Watson.”
He looked at the empty space in the folder.
“There’s nothing,” I said.
“Maybe Peggy kept it.”
“Of course she did.”
But there was no death certificate.
Then I found Doctor Jefferson’s old card with a message written on the back:
“I hope one day you find peace with the decision made for Rowan.”
Watson read it twice. “Decision?”
“That’s what I thought.”
He looked at the copied form on the bed.
I grabbed my keys. “We’re going to Doctor Jefferson.”
Watson stood. “Now?”
“Right now.”
“We’re going to Doctor Jefferson.”
***
