I read the letter again, slower this time.
My mother’s name appeared nowhere except in the salutation.
There was no explanation of what had happened, no account of how she had come to need emergency care, and no mention of the man who had arranged the payment.
“Why would she ask him to keep it secret?” I said.
“Pride, perhaps,” Daniel replied. “Or privacy. We shouldn’t decide for her.”
“I know.”
I wanted to defend my mother from the simple word pride, though I could not say why.
She had always been fiercely independent, but she had also been practical enough to accept help when she had no other choice.
The next afternoon, Daniel reached the former clinic administrator through a retired staff association.
Her name was Margaret Ellis, and she was willing to speak with us at the clinic’s new administrative office.
I asked Alexander to come.
