The hospital is on the other side of town from the cemetery, and it's a long, quite car ride there. I don't know what Adam is thinking, or how he's feeling. I don't know if he even knows.

It takes forever to find a parking place but we eventually do, and I make sure to grab the binder I'd compiled from the backseat before we head inside.

We don't have much of a plan. There wasn't time to come up with one. And we're facing a particular challenge since Adam's mother died here over eighteen years ago. There's no guarantee that there is anyone who was working here at the time who is still employed here today; or that they would remember her specifically out of the thousands of patients they'd treated in the two decades since.

After a quick huddle in which we discuss our options, we end up splitting up once we're inside. Adam heads for the information desk to try to explain the situation and see if he can get any help there; Eleanor makes her way to the ER waiting room to see if she can bully the names of any nurses or doctors who had been working there for twenty years or more out of the receptionist there; and I go find the cafeteria, where at least a few nurses are bound to end up in during their breaks.

Unfortunately, it's a big cafeteria, and it's open to the public, not just hospital patients and staff. It's only eleven but it's already packed, and I feel a little overwhelmed just looking at the crowd.

But then I spot a flash of blue—someone wearing scrubs, standing in line at one of the counters. Two someones, both women, both in their thirties by my guess. Too young to have been here eighteen years ago, but maybe they could point me in the right direction.

I make a beeline for them, and say “Excuse me,”, interjecting myself right into the middle of their conversation.

“Yes?” one of the nurses says, turning to look at me with a slightly wary expression, clearly not thrilled about being accosted on her lunch break.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have a question I'm hoping one of you can help me with. My boyfriend's mother died here about eighteen years ago when she was brought in with a case of bacterial meningitis, and we're trying to find out if there are any doctors or nurses still working here who might remember her. She was taken straight to the ER by ambulance, and died soon after. Do you know of anyone who's been here that long?”

The two nurses exchange a look.

“Um...” the first one says, her mouth twisting as she thinks about it. “I mean, I know a few nurses who've worked here more than twenty years, but I couldn't say if they were working in the ER eighteen years ago. Definitely not some of them.”

“I think Janice started in the ER,” the second nurse pipes up. “That must have been about twenty years ago, right?”

The first nurse shakes her head. “No, she's only been here for about fifteen years. Let's see, Dr. Fong could have been there, but he died last year. Heart attack, you know? He was only fifty-five,” she tells me.

“Malcolm?” suggests the other woman.

“He only moved to the ER five years ago,” the first points out.

“Yeah, but he might know better who was here back then.”

“Well, maybe Malcolm then,” the first nurse shrugs.

“Is there anyway I can contact him?” I ask excitedly.

The first nurse shrugs again. “Dunno. I'm NICU, I hardly see him. He'll probably come here for lunch sometime today, if he hasn't already.”

“You don't have a number I can contact him at or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither,” the second woman adds.

“You can't miss him, though; he's about six feet, bright red hair and a ton of freckles. Ah, we're next. Sorry, gotta go. Good luck with your search.”

The nurses turn away from me to order at the registers, seeming rather relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. I fall back, disappointed.

That's fine. There are hundreds of people employed here. I'll find someone who can help me sooner or later, or Adam or Eleanor might strike gold.

I pull out my phone and check it, hoping to see a text notification from one of them with good news. Nothing.

I sigh and slip it back into my pocket, scanning the cafeteria once more. I spot a lab coat and I strike, like a raptor diving for its prey.

It takes me an hour and I almost get thrown out of the hospital once for what a particularly self-important doctor considered “suspicious behavior”, and something-something-something HIPAA, which I'm pretty sure doesn't apply in this case.

But finally, finally, I find an RN who immediately nods in understanding.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “Jan. She was an ER nurse until about, oh, eight years ago? But she'd been here for over twenty-five years. She's not here anymore, but she works in the medical offices up the road now. She's probably busy all day—you know how it is in doctor's offices; but I have her number, I could give her a call if you'd like. She probably won't answer, but it couldn't hurt to try.”

“That would be great, thank you so much,” I say in a rush, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

He pulls out his phone and spends a few minutes scrolling until he finds the right number. Several seconds pass as he holds the cell to his ear, then he mouths “Voicemail,” at me.

“Hey Jan, it's Doug. Hope you're doing well. I have a young guy here who is trying to is trying to find information about his partner's mom who died in the ER about eighteen years ago, and I thought maybe you'd be able to help him. I've got to go back to work in ten minutes so don't call me back, I'll give you his number instead.” He waves a hand at me, and I recite my number for him, which he repeats to the answering machine. He hangs up and returns his phone to his pocket.

“Welp, that's about all I can do. I hope you find what you're looking for, man.”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea how much of a help you've been.”

The nurse offers a little salute, and leaves the cafeteria.

I grab my own phone again, and I nearly text Eleanor and Adam. But I stop myself; there's no guarantee the woman, Jan, will call back anytime soon, and I don't want them to abandon the angles they're working on so we can all sit around staring at my phone for Circe knows how long, waiting for it to ring.

I'm starving, and I know for a fact Adam will be too, so I take this moment to get some food for us, since I'm already here.

I'm next in line for pizza, maybe ten minutes later, when the original Star Trek theme blares from my back pocket. I nearly drop my phone in my haste to pull it out and answer it—a number I don't recognize is on the screen.

“Hello? This is Felix Roth,” I say. The woman in front of me takes her pizza slices and leaves. I wave the person behind me forward to take my spot while I wait on tenterhooks for a reply.

“Hi, this is Jan Watters; I got a call from Doug leaving me this number regarding a patient who I might have some information on?”

“Yes, I'm the person Doug talked to. My boyfriend grew up in foster care, and we're trying to find out more about his family. His mother died in the ER of this hospital about eighteen years ago, and we're hoping to talk to someone who might remember her, and give us any information about her.”

“Jesus, eighteen years ago?” There's a rush of static as the woman blows out a breath. “I don't know, that was a long time ago, and I would see hundreds of patients a day sometimes back in my ER days.”

“My boyfriend was present at the time, he was only three and they brought him with her in the ambulance. She died of bacterial meningitis, and was never identified beyond the name Wolfe. Social services had to come for her son.” I just throw out everything, hoping that one of those events might have been distinct enough to have formed a lasting memory in this woman's mind all those years ago.

“A three year old boy?” she repeats slowly, the cogs in her mind turning. There's a stretch of silence, lasting so long that I almost have to ask if she's still there. “I'll have about twenty minutes to talk after twelve thirty. Do you think you could be there by then?”

“Yes, yes absolutely,” I say in a rush.

“Okay. I'll see you then, I suppose. I can meet you in the front lobby. What do you look like?”

I give her a brief description of me, Adam, and Eleanor; thank her again profusely; and then hang up. A second later my fingers are flying across my touch screen as I text Eleanor and Adam to head back to the car ASAP.