Chapter Eighteen WestonA nurse pokes her head into the waiting room. “Jane? Weston?” We both leap to our feet, and she holds up her hand with an apologetic smile. “Ken wants to talk to both of you, but I’ll have to take you in one at a time. He still can’t handle too much excitement.”
Before Jane can say anything, I tell her, “Go on.”
She hurries to join the nurse and be escorted back to her father’s hospital room. I take the opportunity to grab a cup of coffee and stretch out the stiffness from waiting on that tiny, hard plastic chair.
The nurse returns about half an hour later to lead me down the mazelike hallways. She doesn’t need to bother—I’ve been here almost every day for the past week, so I know the route by heart—but I appreciate her quiet, efficiently professional company.
Wh
