He decided to go outside to get a bit of exercise. The grounds of the hospital and health centre covered a sizable chunk of real estate. Several buildings were interconnected—tunnels inside, pathways out. He chose a walkway that led between trees and buildings, certain that at some point he’d end up back where he started. His sense of direction could be relied upon. A few workers, wearing coats over hospital greens or blues, were out for a midday walk. Some were wearing headphones, some tapping at small screens. Tom turned a corner and faced a biting wind. His eyes smarted and the left one began to water. He chose another path and changed direction, this time passing a staff residence where interns and residents lived with their families, a three-storey building. Two boys of preschool age were playing a serious game in a patch of grass beside the parking lot. They were arguing when Tom passed, and the taller of the two uttered a threat in his high-pitched child’s voice: “You keep doing that, and I’m telling the hospital!”

Tom smiled and carried on. Imagine, he thought. Imagine spending years of your childhood in the shadow of these buildings. You’d be brought up as part of a large medical community with rules, definite rules. Your ultimate threat—your ultimate “or else”—would have to be “I’m telling the hospital!”

Once he was in front of the main entrance again, he figured he’d go to the coffee shop to buy a pot of tea and something to eat. He had another hour and a half to fill before Dave would call.

In the first hallway, he pressed himself against the wall to make way for a narrow stretcher with the sides pulled up. The woman pushing it seemed familiar, and he looked and then looked again when he was certain.

“Addie?”

Before she replied, he saw the person lying on the stretcher, eyes closed, white hospital blanket pulled up to her chin, gaunt, wasted by disease. It was patently clear that the woman was extremely ill.

Addie’s face was lined with worry. She had almost pushed past him while guiding the stretcher toward the elevators.

Was she surprised—relieved?—to see him, to hear her voice called out? Tom wasn’t sure.

“Tom!” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Did you drive someone this morning? You volunteer for Wheels of Hope, don’t you?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” he said.

The woman on the stretcher opened her eyes when she heard Addie speak.

“This is Sybil,” Addie said to Tom in a half-voice, as if she were no longer accustomed to speaking in a normal tone. “My friend Sybil. She was in radiology for an x-ray, and I told the staff I’d bring her back up to the ward.”

“Do you need help? I’ll take one end.”

“No, this is easy to push. I’m practised, believe me.”

Sybil had followed the exchange and now freed a bony arm and hand from under the blanket, extending it toward Tom. She appeared to be too tired to speak.