“Mrs. Vance is not cleared for discharge,” Dr. Morris said. “The scans require further evaluation, and we need to monitor her rib injury.”
“We are leaving,” Daniel said. He tapped his gold watch face with his index finger twice. “I have already signed the insurance notifications. We are going, Helen.”
He used her first name as if they were at a country club mixer, but his face was pale.
Patricia stood near the corner, her silver rosary beads clicking against her knuckles.
“Daniel, perhaps we should wait for the final paperwork,” Patricia whispered, her eyes darting toward the door.
“The girls are with the sitter,” Daniel said, ignoring his mother. “Elena, put your shoes on.”
I lay still on the gurney, my hand gripping the cold metal rail.
Dr. Morris did not move from her position between Daniel and the door.
“I cannot stop you from leaving against medical advice, Daniel,” Dr. Morris said. “But the hospital cannot release her under these conditions.”
“Watch me,” Daniel said, reaching for my shoulder.
The blue curtain of the bay rustled, and the metal rings slid back with a sharp click.
Officer James Vance stood in the opening, his broad shoulders filling the gap. He rested his hand on his duty belt, his eyes moving slowly across the room before settling on Daniel.
“Nobody is leaving just yet,” Officer Vance said, his slow Arizona drawl filling the small space.
Daniel dropped his hand, his fingers twitching against his thigh.
“This is a private medical matter, Officer,” Daniel said, his voice regaining its smooth, sales-pitch pitch. “My wife had an accident on our stairs. We are just sorting out the discharge.”
The officer did not move his hand from his belt.
“The doctor called us about some concerns,” Vance said. “We also had a unit go out to your address on Central Avenue.”
Patricia let out a quiet gasp, her silver beads rattling.
“There must be a mistake,” Patricia said, her voice dropping to a pious whisper. “Our family has lived in Phoenix for forty years. My late husband worked with the city council.”
Officer Vance reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag.
Inside the clear plastic, a silver beaded bracelet with blue thread lay coiled.
“One of my guys found this on the concrete patio,” Vance said, placing the bag on the plastic tray table next to my gurney. “Right next to the step.”
