Twenty-Six
On my way to the hospital the next day, I stopped by The Perfect Cup and got a large coffee with a double shot of espresso, cream and sugar, and a chocolate doughnut. I rarely ate breakfast, but I needed the extra sugar and caffeine to get going.
As I stood at the counter, I asked the young lady serving me, “Nate not working today?”
“Nate hasn’t been here in a few days,” she said. “Not sure what’s going on. His uncle says he says he’s sick.”
I drove back by Saint Clare’s. Glenda’s nephew was working in the yard, raking more leaves. He was wearing the same sky blue hoodie he always wore, pulled up over his head. He turned in my direction. I was caught short for a moment, realizing I couldn’t see his face. Then I realized it was his beard.
I pulled into the parking lot a
