“Mrs. Dawson,” she said stiffly. “I owe you an apology. And Mr. Salas.”
“You owe him one more than me.”
“I know.” She glanced toward Joaquin, who was standing by the elevators with Marisol, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I’ve spent twenty years suing people who made medical mistakes. I’ve seen what happens when someone untrained tries to help and gets it wrong. When I saw a stranger with no license kneeling over a woman in labor, all I saw was a lawsuit.” Her voice wavered. “My sister lost a baby at thirty-four weeks. On the way to the hospital. Nobody was there to help her. I think, when I watched that man help you, something in me got very angry. And I didn’t understand why until today.”
She walked across the lobby to Joaquin. I didn’t hear what she said. But I saw him listen, and nod, and then, after a moment, shake her hand.
