Chapter 10: The Last Thing He Said
We arrived at Maplewood at half past two.
The lobby receptionist looked up when we came in and reached for the phone.
"I'll let Mr.
Pruitt know you're —"
"We're here to see Danny Hartley," Charlotte said.
"Room seven.
I'm his sister.
I don't need an appointment."
The receptionist hesitated.
Then she nodded and set the phone down.
Danny was awake.
He was sitting in the chair by the window with a word-search book open on his lap, and when Charlotte came through the door his whole face opened up.
"Charlie!"
She crossed the room and hugged him, and he hugged her back with both arms, the word-search book sliding to the floor.
"You came in the middle of the week," he said, pulling back to look at her.
"Did something happen?"
"Good things," she said.
"I'll tell you everything soon.
I promise."
He looked past her at me, standing in the doorway.
"Who's that?"
"That's Marcus," Charlotte said.
"He's an old friend."
Danny looked at me with the direct, uncomplicated attention of someone who had never learned to pretend.
"Are you a good friend or a regular friend?" he asked.
"I'm working on good," I said.
He seemed to accept that.
He bent down and picked up his word-search book.
We stayed for an hour.
Charlotte sat with Danny and I stood near the window, and at some point a floor nurse came in to check his chart and gave Charlotte a small nod that seemed to mean something specific.
Charlotte nodded back.
We were in the hallway on the way out when Pruitt appeared.
He had clearly been waiting.
He was standing near the nurse's station with his jacket on, which meant he had come from somewhere or was about to go somewhere, and neither of those things was coincidental.
"Ms.
Hartley," he said.
"I didn't expect to see you today."
"I come when I can," Charlotte said.
He looked at me.
"And you are?"
"Marcus Webb," I said.
"I'm a friend of the family."
Something moved across his face.
The name registered.
He knew who I was — or he'd looked me up in the hours since Charlotte's visit that morning.
"Mr.
Webb." His voice was careful now.
"I wasn't aware you were involved in Danny's care situation."
"I wasn't aware I needed to be," I said.
"Until recently."
Pruitt looked between us.
The smooth manner was still there, but it was working harder than it had been.
"I hope nothing I said this morning created any misunderstanding," he said to Charlotte.
"I want to be clear that the enrichment program I mentioned is entirely optional.
I wouldn't want anyone to feel pressured."
"Of course not," Charlotte said.
"If there's been any confusion about our review process, I'm happy to clarify.
In writing, if that would help."
"That would be very helpful," I said.
"Our lawyer will be in touch about the format."
The word lawyer landed.
His expression didn't collapse — he was too practiced for that — but something behind his eyes went very still.
"I wasn't aware there was legal involvement," he said.
"There is now," I said.
He looked at Charlotte one more time.
And then he said something that I think he meant as a warning, but which came out as something else entirely.
"I hope you understand what you're starting," he said quietly.
"These processes are long.
They're difficult.
And they're hard on families."
Charlotte looked at him for a long moment.
"Mr.
Pruitt," she said.
"I've been doing three delivery shifts a night to keep my brother in a room that should have been upgraded eight months ago.
I've been calling your office every month and being told he doesn't qualify, while you were taking cash from other families to move their relatives ahead of him." She didn't raise her voice.
"I know exactly what long and difficult looks like.
I've been living it." She paused.
"We're done here."
She turned and walked toward the exit.
I looked at Pruitt for one more moment.
He was standing very still.
Then I followed her out.
In the parking lot, she stopped walking and stood with her face tilted up slightly, eyes closed, the afternoon light on her face.
I stood beside her and didn't say anything.
After a moment she said, "Is it wrong that I feel sorry for him?
A little?"
"No," I said.
"It means you're still you."
She opened her eyes.
"What happens now?"
"Patricia files the emergency review tonight.
The regulatory complaint goes in tomorrow.
Rosa and Diane have both confirmed.
The recording is with Patricia's office." I paused.
"Now we wait for the process to do what it's supposed to do."
"And Danny?"
"The emergency review will trigger an independent assessment.
Once that's complete, the facility can't block a transfer.
Patricia thinks it'll take two to three weeks."
Charlotte was quiet for a moment.
"Two to three weeks," she said.
"After eight months, that feels almost impossible to believe."
"I know."
She looked at me.
"Marcus." She stopped.
Started again.
"I don't know how to carry all of this at once.
The job offer.
The transfer.
What just happened in there.
It's —" She shook her head.
"It's a lot to hold."
"You don't have to hold it all today," I said.
"Just today."
She nodded slowly.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen and her face changed — not with alarm this time, but with something quieter.
"It's Patricia," she said.
"The filing went through early." She looked up.
"The review is already scheduled.
Four days from now."
Four days.
Eight months of closed doors, and now four days.
She looked at the phone for a long moment.
May you like
Then she looked at me.
And for the first time since she'd stood trembling at my front door in a worn delivery uniform, Charlotte Hartley smiled.
