“You must be the prodigal son.” The security guard looked up at me with an eyebrow raised and typed something into his computer.
“Sorry, what?”
“Your dad said they were expecting one more—blue hair and tattoos. Guess that’s you. Look here—” He pointed to a camera mounted on the top of the monitor and then printed out a curling paper name tag with my picture printed on it, so dark that I couldn’t see my face.
“Room 7. The rest of the family’s already there.”
The elevator spat me out into a dim hallway that opened onto a ward where the hospital rooms were laid out in a ring around the vast circular desk of a nurse’s station. I stepped out of the elevator and then froze.
Dearie had a stroke. She’s in the hospital. You should come now.
I couldn’t do it. Jabbing at the elevator button, I
