“You’re the third person asking about him today.”
For a second, I didn’t understand what she meant. The words landed, but they didn’t settle, like my brain refused to arrange them into something real.
“The third… what?” I asked.
The receptionist didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked toward the lobby doors again, then back to me, like she was measuring how much she should say and how much she should keep to herself.
“You said my father isn’t here,” I said slowly. “So why would anyone else be asking about him?”
She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t say they were asking about him by name.”
“Then what exactly are you saying?”
“That two people came in earlier asking about a transfer from Midtown Memorial. Same time window. Same description.” She paused. “It sounded like your fath
