She flinched like I’d slapped her.
“How do you know about that?”
“Seven thousand four hundred dollars a month,” I said. “Semi-private room. Available November first.”
Sarah put both hands over her face.
“I went to look,” she said through her fingers. “And I sat in the parking lot afterward and cried for an hour. Because there was a lady in a wheelchair in the hallway, and she kept asking everybody if they’d seen her daughter. Over and over. And nobody had.”
“Then yesterday,” Sarah said, wiping her face with her sleeve, “we were sitting in the waiting room. And David got a text from Bradley’s office. And he said, we have to go. Now. If we get the petition in today, while she’s still in the hospital, the judge will grant it for sure. Because she’ll be on drugs and confused, and it’ll look bad.”
