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didn’t budge. “Dr. Carvahlo is my supervisor at CommCare. I’m sure he would like to hear your explanation. May I use your telephone?”
    “No, you may not. The charts are being photocopied in the event they’re subpoenaed by the police. You can see them when they’re returned.”
    “Thank you. Oh, another thing: Somebody other than her primary care physician is signing off on her sheets.”
    The skin of his face appeared to tighten. “Ms. Ballard, why at a time like this are you bothering me with trivial details?” And he pressed her outside the office and closed the door. “Dr. Carr is her primary care physician. Good day.”
    She watched him clop out the front door and into the parking lot, thinking that maybe she was being trivial, maybe even petty, the kind of things that drove Todd away.
    “You’re such a details person, so damn anal. I can’t even leave a fucking cup in the sink without you raising a flag.”
    After recomposing herself, she returned to the reception desk and asked the operator to page Dr. Carr. Trivial be damned! she thought. Minutiae were what they paid her for. When the phone rang, the secretary said that Dr. Carr had left for the day. She jotted down his office number. “By the way, this is for you,” and she handed René a reminder about the groundbreaking ceremony on Monday at Morningside Manor, a nursing home in Smithfield. She stuffed the flyer into her bag, thinking it would be a good opportunity to network.
    René left the building and headed for her car, where she called Dr. Carr’s number from her cell phone. With the answering service she left her name and number, identifying herself. Just as she started the car, something shot through her brain like a dark premonition.
    SHE WENT BACK INSIDE AND INTO the AD unit again. Bonnie was alone at the desk and paid her no attention.
    René began at the far end of the west corridor and moved toward the nurses’ station, then down the north corridor. Most of the doors were left
open, and those that were closed she tapped first, then entered. She went upstairs and followed the same route. At the nurse’s station she bumped into Alice. “You’re back.” It sounded like a reprimand.
    “Yes.” She didn’t explain her return, but she could feel Alice’s eyes bore through the back of her head as she cut into the activities room, where patients sat around tables doing puzzles or pasting pictures to colored paper. She stopped here and there to compliment some of them.
    “You’re beautiful,” one woman said to her. And she stuck the tip of her tongue out between her teeth the way a child does. She was doing a puzzle of a kitten. “What’s your name?”
    “My name is René. And you’re beautiful, too.” The woman’s face was soft and powdery, like risen bread dough. Her eyes were watery blue and she wore rimless glasses. She looked like an aged nun. Her hands were dappled with liver spots, but they worked the puzzle pieces with methodical care in search of their mates.
    “I’m going to pray to the Virgin Mary for you.”
    “Thank you,” René said. “And what’s your name so I can say a prayer for you?”
    “Ma-ry Cur-ley,” she said in a singsong voice. Then she wrinkled her face and stuck her tongue out again like a child.
    René felt a small shock. There was no Mary Curley on her census. This woman officially was not on the ward. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
    “Ma-ry Cur-ley, and I have a dog named Jello.”
    “Jello. What a wonderful name.” René felt as if she had entered an alternate universe.
    Mary took René’s hand and made an odd tongue-sucking sound. Then she said. “I have a dog named Jello. And he’s out back asleep in his house.”
    “Well, I’ll be sure not to wake him.” And she patted Mary on the shoulder.
    On the way out of the dayroom René passed a room with its door open. Inside was a male patient sitting by the window wearing a khaki U.S. army cap with insignia. She stepped