Chapter 23: Signature

The chair of the hospital's board came to Hattie's door at eight on Sunday morning.

She wore flat shoes and a raincoat, and she carried a single sheet of paper.

She had been up all night.

I could see it in her face, and in the way she held the paper with both hands.

"Mrs. Wexler," she said. "May I come in?"

"You may."

She did not sit, and she did not take the tea Hattie offered.

"I'm here on behalf of the full board," she said.

"We met at one in the morning, in the parking garage. None of us could stand to go home."

"That sounds like a hospital."

"It was." She almost smiled. "This is a letter of resignation."

"From whom?"

"From the chair of the gala, the board, and every committee she sat on."

She laid it on the table.

The signature at the bottom was neat and firm and had not shaken once.

"She wrote it at midnight," the chair said. "She asked me to tell you it was a misunderstanding."

"Of course she did."

"She also asked me to say she'll contest anything you file."

I looked at Hattie, who was leaning against the stove with her arms crossed.

"Let her," Hattie said.

"The judge left the ballroom before the reel was finished," the chair said.

"He's asked the state to look into how a petition came to him at a dinner."

She folded her raincoat sleeve over her wrist.

"And the county has reopened the file on the doctor's letter, and who requested it."

"And the coordinator at the clinic?"

"That's for lawyers. But I think she'll be looking for work."