Bingo always exhausted our patients, who were either euphoric with their ten dollar jackpots or trudging off angrily in defeat. Kait and I were settling people into their rooms for meds before lunch when Tina walked up and said Donna sent her to relieve me. “There’s a lady waiting to see you in the lobby,” she announced. “Says she’s Violet Thompson’s daughter.”

I hid behind a pillar and studied her, holding my breath. She was on the short side, you could clearly see that even as she sat and clutched her handbag. Probably early to mid sixties. A decent but inexpensive black knit dress with a bright floral scarf around her neck. A bit chunky, with dark hair and huge sunglasses. Sensible shoes. This person looked nothing like Violet from a distance.

She was glancing around and swiping at her eyes.

Donna crept up beside me. “Her name’s Deanna Henderson.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Palmetto, Florida. She found out a few weeks ago she was adopted. Can you imagine?” Donna shook her head. “Her parents have been dead for years, and an aunt decided to tell her at the age of sixty-three that she was adopted.”

“So she tracked down her birth mother, and it was Violet?”

“And I had to tell her,” Donna sighed, “that she’s ten months too late. I feel so sorry for the poor woman. She asked if anyone here might have known her mother especially well.” Donna patted my shoulder and pushed me a little. “Go talk to her.”

Deanna stood and took off her glasses as I came closer. I saw her shining brown eyes, the same eyes I’d smiled into a million times. I bypassed the hand she extended and hugged her for a few seconds, inhaling a scent both familiar and new. Then she spoke in Violet’s voice: “You must be Ronni. The nursing director said you knew my mother.”

“I did know Violet, yes,” I began cautiously. Slow down, Ronni. Why should you believe this is really Violet’s daughter?

She held out a shaking piece of paper. “It’s my birth certificate. My aunt gave it to me when she told me I’d been adopted. My parents sure did a great job of hiding it, and I’ve tried to figure out how,” she sighed heavily. “You didn’t need one to get a driver’s license when I was growing up, and my mom made some excuse about needing to locate it when my husband applied for our marriage license. She delivered it to the courthouse while we were both at work.”

I examined it closely. There was Violet’s name, the date and place were perfect, and the father was listed as “Unknown.” I nodded at Deanna to go on.

“Would you please tell me about her past? Where did she grow up? Did she have brothers or sisters?”