FORTY FIVE

I approach the hospital's automatic doors, watching the staff pass by me in a rush. People are waiting to be checked in or just waiting.

It's busy today, but standing here and observing wasn't my purpose. I walk over to the receptionist, a middle-aged African woman with short curly hair, a lovely dark complexion, and wearing Snoopy scrubs. She is sitting behind the counter typing on her computer. When she looks up and plasters a cheerful smile, although behind that expression - working in a hospital can make anyone feel cranky, and this woman seems she has not slept since her shift.

Better not

"Hi, are you here for an appointment?" She asks with a forceful smile.

"Um. No, I'm here to ask if Dr. Keith P. Swanson is available?"

The receptionist, whose name on her ID badge says Anita Cook, looks at me as if I made up the name. "He's not here."

"Oh, do you know when his shift starts?"

"Dr. Swanson hasn't worked here for 26 years. He retired right after a scandal with a patient of his."

Sc