“There’s no need to apologize,” Jennifer assured her. In truth, Jennifer was feeling a tad guilty, pushing Lucinda as much as she was. Yet the similarities between the two cases seemed to grow. “Are you alright?” Jennifer asked. Without really thinking about what she was doing, Jennifer reached out and gripped Lucinda’s wrist as a spontaneous gesture of support. The move surprised even Jennifer; she hardly knew the woman, and here she was touching her. “Maybe we should talk about something else,” Jennifer suggested, withdrawing her contact.

“No, it’s okay. Actually, I want to talk about it. Up in the room I was just brooding, which wasn’t helping anything. It’s good for me to talk.”

“So what did you do after you talked with your friend from New York?”

“Of course, I was taken aback. I asked him where on earth he’d heard such a thing. Well, he’d heard it on CNN as part of a piece on medical tourism. Can you imagine?”

Jennifer’s lower jaw slowly dropped open; she had seen the same segment as Lucinda’s friend, although possibly not at the same time.

“Anyway,” Lucinda continued with progressive control over her fragile emotions, “while I was still talking to my friend, insisting that Herbert was just fine, the second phone line began to ring. I asked the friend to hold for a moment while I pressed the other button. It turned out that it was the hospital—specifically, our case manager—informing me that Herbert had indeed died.”

Lucinda paused again. There were no more tears, just some deep breathing.

“Take your time,” Jennifer urged.

Lucinda nodded as the waiter came over to inquire if they wanted more coffee. Both women shook their heads, totally preoccupied with their private conversation.

“I thought it was horrid that CNN knew about my husband before I did. But I didn’t say anything at the time. I was too overwhelmed by the news. All I did was tell Kashmira Varini I’d come right to the hospital.”

“Hold up!” Jennifer said, raising her hands for emphasis. “Your case manager’s name is Kashmira Varini?

“Yes, it is. Do you know her?”

“I can’t say I know her, but I’ve met her. She was Granny’s case manager, too. This is getting stranger still. This morning I asked her about your husband’s death, and she told me she wasn’t aware of it.”

“She certainly was aware of it. It was she whom I met last night.”

“Good grief,” Jennifer voiced. “I had a feeling the woman wasn’t trustworthy, but why would she lie about something I could easily find out about?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“I can tell you one thing. When I see her this afternoon, I’m going to ask her directly. This is ridiculous. What does she think we are, children, that she can just out-and-out lie to our faces?”