VOLVO STRUGGLED out of its parking spot. It pushed through snow and made its way right past us. I waited until the car was a few houses down, then lowered the plow and followed, shoving snow aside, blocking driveways and walling in cars as I went. Where was she heading? At Bainbridge, she turned left, progressing at a slow but steady pace to Fifth, where she turned left again and went north, crossing Lombard, Pine, Spruce, Walnut. When she got to Market, she made another left. Gradually, as she crossed Broad Street and continued west toward Thirtieth Street Station, I recognized the route. We were on the way to work.
The Institute parking lot was only half plowed and nearly empty; it was the weekend, and undoubtedly the blizzard had kept everyone but essential staff away. Weekend visiting hours wouldn’t begin until three, not for hours. Beverly Gardener pulled into a spot in the plowed part of the lot and headed inside. Was Nick waiting in her office? Sleeping on her lush leather sofa? I envisioned his bare chest. Stop it, I told myself. Think about what you’re doing.
I knew what I was doing. I was setting myself up for a fullblown emotional catastrophe by confronting Nick and Beverly together, at my place of employment, with my daughter by my side. I was about to humiliate myself beyond my wildest imaginings, but I didn’t care. I felt good. Righteous. Ready for high drama. Catharsis. It would be cleansing, better than throwing up.
Even so, I thought better of subjecting Molly to the spectacle. She’d stay with the security guard in the foyer for a few minutes. I wouldn’t be gone long.
After Beverly went in, I waited a few seconds to give her time to clear the foyer. I didn’t want her to see me, not yet. When I thought she’d made it to the hall, I pulled up to the front door, took Molly out of the truck, and led her into the Institute.
But the foyer was empty. Where was the security guard— what was his name—Reginald? Something like that. He was on duty during the quiet shifts on weekends, covering Agnes’s reception desk until afternoon visiting hours. Why wasn’t he there? What was I going to do with Molly?
We walked toward the desk, past the monstrous, glittering tree. Rufus—was that his name? Rufus must have gone on a coffee break. Probably he’d be right back. We kept walking, passing his desk. The nameplate read RUPERT SIMPSON. That was it: Rupert. Well, Rupert still wasn’t there. I’d have to take Molly with me. Maybe it would be better that way; with Molly along, I’d have to behave myself.
“Where are we going, Mommy?”
“I’m not sure.”
I looked up the main corridors, past empty offices, bulletin boards, water fountains. Which way had Beverly gone? Where was she? I looked, listened for footsteps. Heard, saw nothing.
“I want to go home.”
“I know. Soon.”
“I don’t like it here.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t. Where’s your art studio?” “Over that way.”
Molly kept chattering, and I answered her automatically, without thought, trying to figure out what to do. Up the middle corridor, the empty elevator opened, then closed; someone had pressed the button. Beverly? We followed the sound, heading toward the elevator, and Molly finally stopped talking. We passed locked office doors, heard and saw no one. Not one nurse or an orderly. Not a single staff member. I stopped and listened, heard only the echo of our own steps.
Of course, I reasoned, it was too early for visitors. And the blizzard had probably reduced the staff. A few doctors on call would straggle in later. Silence was not necessarily an indication of trouble. Still, the quiet was unsettling. Unnerving. Then I saw Rupert, sitting on a bench across the hall. What was he doing? Waiting for the elevator?
I nodded at him. He didn’t respond. He sat slouched, staring at his lap. “Rupert?” I asked. “You all right?”
No answer. Amazing. The man was dozing, napping on the job. Should I wake him up? Embarrass him? Molly let go of my hand and pushed the elevator button. “Are we going up, Mommy?”
Were we? Suddenly I thought we should leave. I’d followed Beverly on impulse, but I’d been exhausted and bitter, not making good decisions. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Down?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
Being there felt stupid, foolish. Not worth the effort. And Molly shouldn’t have to watch me confronting Beverly. We needed to leave. To go home before I caused a disaster.
The elevator rattled somewhere in