She followed Dodge inside the brown concrete building, the windows reflecting the dark orange of the sun.

They took the walkway and entered on the second floor.

The instant quiet had her hearing her heartbeat as she walked next to Dodge. He didn’t look at her.

The place was immaculate, the walls painted a calming blue, the flooring a white linoleum. Large picture windows overlooked the ocean, the small airfield, and the tangle and chaos of the city.

She was instantly sweltering, the contrast to the outside temperature brutal. She unzipped her jacket, realizing she still wore her insulated pants and mukluks. Her head sweat under her wool hat.

They walked past people in scrubs and clogs, and others in jeans and shirts holding jackets, and finally found a sign for the ER and took the stairs down to the first floor.

The lobby was awash in more soothing colors—blues and creams—the furniture patterned, soft music playing overhead.

A few people looked over at them, and she unwound her scarf as Dodge went right to the ER desk and asked about Jane Doe.

He was told to sit down, and Echo left him and walked over to a large directory.

Her eyes scanned down the listing of doctors, not sure why she was drawn to it, but her father had said—

There she was. Dr. Evaline Yazzie, ob-gyn.

Second floor.

Echo put her hand to the wall, inhaling a breath.

“Echo?” Dodge had come over. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She turned, her back to the directory. “Just . . . hungry, maybe. I’m going to go find the cafeteria.”

“Yeah. I could use some coffee.”

“I’ll pick you up a cup.” She practically fled.

She found herself down one corridor, then another, up the stairs, and then sneaking through to the OB unit when doors opened for a woman in labor. Echo kept her head down and walked down the corridor of the maternity ward, her heart thundering.

What. Was she. Doing?

She stopped in front of the glass wall to the nursery, staring into the room with a handful of newborns swaddled in blue or pink blankets, their footprints and names on their bassinets.

Olivia Saul. Emmet Perkins. Harper Benjamin. Gabriel McCarthy. Others.

She pressed her hand to the glass.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

Only when the nurse came up to her did she realize she was crying. She nodded.

“Can I help you?”

She opened her mouth, searching for the words. I’m looking for my mother. “No.”

The nurse, midthirties, had short brown hair and was a bit on the heavy side. She glanced down to Echo’s open jacket, her gloves and mittens, her loose scarf. “I don’t see your visitor badge.”

She looked down, as if surprised. “Ah, I . . . must have lost it.”

“You should get another one,” she said, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion. “Who are you here to visit?”