As Esther neared her mother's hospital room, she slowed. A man was once standing through the door. He used to be tall and effete, a man who dressed for women--gray slacks, pink shirt, and vivid navy blue suspenders. His hair was snowy white and thinning. She seen that he stored running his hand via it, as if to guarantee himself that it was still there.
At her approach, he seemed up. Narrowed, penetrating black eyes fixed on her. “Are you Esther Bridge?”
She came to a stop. She'd misjudged the distance, and taken one step too shut to him. He exuded a sweet, musky scent. Expensive cologne, used too liberally. She could see that he was disturbed by way of her invasion of his private space.
He took a step backward and cleared his throat—a mild reminder that he'd asked if she was once Esthe
