“No one said you were.”
“I know my address.”
“Yes.”
“I can walk.”
“With some instability.”
“I am eighty.”
Richard inhaled.
“We are not debating your independence.”
Margaret looked at him.
“That is exactly what you're doing.”
Across the corridor, the biker lifted his head.
Only slightly.
Richard did not notice.
Margaret did.
Richard continued.
“The physician has cleared you medically with conditions.”
“I understand.”
“One is that a responsible adult accompany you and remain with you overnight.”
“My grandson is coming.”
“Mrs. Holloway—”
“He is.”
Richard glanced toward his clipboard.
“Your grandson lives forty-seven miles away.”
“He drives.”
“It is after two.”
“He knows how clocks work too.”
Richard's jaw tightened almost invisibly.
He was not cruel.
Margaret knew cruel men.
Richard was something more ordinary.
Tired.
Rigid.
Concerned about liability.
Concerned about protocol.
The kind of person who could make a frightened woman feel smaller while genuinely believing he was protecting her.
He softened his voice.
“If no one arrives by three, we need to discuss alternatives.”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around her handbag.
“What alternatives?”
“We may hold you longer for observation.”
“I don't need observation.”
“Or arrange temporary placement—”
“No.”
The word left her immediately.
Richard paused.
Margaret's face changed.
“You are not putting me in a facility.”
“Temporary supervised placement.”
“No.”
“For one night.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Holloway.”
She straightened.
“I worked in hospitals before you learned to tie your shoes.”
The biker across the hall looked down.
Margaret suspected he was hiding a smile.
She continued.
“I know what temporary means after two in the morning when paperwork starts moving.”
Richard's expression hardened slightly.
“This is not 1975.”
“No.”
Margaret nodded.
“In 1975 we let adults know when we were frightening them.”
That silenced him.
For a moment.
Then Richard closed the clipboard.
“I’ll give you some time.”
“How generous.”
He walked away.
Margaret watched him disappear around the nurses’ station.
Only then did she allow her shoulders to drop.
Her hands trembled.
She hid them inside the cardigan sleeves.
Across the hall, the large man spoke for the first time.
“He means well.”
Margaret looked at him.
His voice was deep but quieter than expected.
She replied:
“That can be exhausting.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You don't have to call me ma’am.”
“Habit.”
“What are you called?”
He sat back.
“Jack.”
Margaret studied him.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“You have another name.”
He looked amused.
“How do you know?”
“Men who look like you are never called only Jack.”
That made him laugh.
Not loudly.
The sound rolled through the corridor.
“Bear.”
Margaret nodded.
“That makes more sense.”
“Unfortunately.”
She looked at the dried blood.
“Yours?”
He glanced down.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Depends who you ask.”
Margaret waited.
Bear looked toward the elevators.
“There was a wreck on Route 17.”
“Bad?”
“Could've been worse.”
“You stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Were you involved?”
“No.”
“Then why stop?”
He looked at her as though the question was strange.
“Somebody needed help.”