“Patricia,” I said, my voice barely audible. “She says the ocean view is spectacular.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched so hard I saw the muscle twitch under his gray beard.

He didn’t say a word, but his foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

We turned onto Hawthorne Lane, and the tall, brick buildings of the medical center rose up ahead of us.

The sign for the Emergency Department glowed in bright red neon, even in the afternoon sun.

Arthur didn’t park in the visitor lot.

He drove straight up the concrete ramp meant for ambulances, ignoring the painted signs on the asphalt.

He slammed the brakes, bringing the truck to a sudden stop right in front of the double glass sliding doors.

“Stay here,” Arthur said, throwing the truck into park.

He flung his door open and ran inside before the engine had even stopped vibrating.

A second later, the sliding doors slid open.

Arthur returned, followed by a young female nurse in blue scrubs carrying a small plastic mask.

“How old is he?” the nurse asked, her eyes instantly locking onto Rowan as she reached the passenger side.