Chapter 4: Standing Room

By Monday, the clip had five million views and my director had read the comments.

"Kate, my office," she said before I'd put my bag down.

She shut the door behind me and sat on the edge of her desk in her cardigan.

"I'm not going to ask whether it's true."

"It's true."

"Good," she said. "The board chair called me at seven to say the clinic should consider a leave of absence for you, for appearances."

"Am I fired?"

"You're on my schedule until I'm told in writing that you aren't," she said. "The Monday kids come first. Go."

I went.

My nine o'clock was a seven-year-old with new braces on his legs and a lot of opinions.

He watched me adjust his strap.

"My mom says you're famous," he said.

"Your mom's very kind."

"She says you got in a fight with a rich guy about a coat."

"Not quite."

"Did you win?"

"I'm still working on it," I said. "Stand up straight, please, and march."

He marched.

At lunch, a mother from the waiting room pressed a box of lemon muffins into my hands and told me she had done the same thing at twenty-five.

"Waited for a man?"

"Waited for him to introduce me," she said. "Mine never did. Yours did, at least, after twelve years."

"He's working on it."

"Good," she said. "Make him work hard."

I carried that sentence around the rest of the day.

At five, the black Maybach was parked in the loading zone outside the clinic's glass doors.

Harrison was leaning against the passenger door in a charcoal coat, with no driver and no umbrella.

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