During the flight, I couldn’t think of anything but the sheet. The way Elena had pulled it. Her trembling voice. That almost desperate insistence of “don’t ask questions.”
And now a hospital. A hemorrhage. An envelope.
I arrived in Miami shortly before dawn, my clothes wrinkled and my throat dry. The hospital was private, white, and far too quiet for that hour. At the reception desk, I gave her name. The nurse looked at me for a second, checked the computer, and then pulled a manila envelope from a drawer.