“She’s just sleeping. I expect she’s tired, we should let her rest.”

He followed me down the hallway to a waiting room. We sat in two poufy vinyl chairs, facing each other. It was starting to sink in that perhaps Viridian was not fine, perhaps this was the beginning (or the end) of something. Oscar said, “How much do ambulances cost anyway?”

“Let’s not worry about that now.”

“But she will. She’ll worry about paying the doctor, the hospital, everything.”

“Doesn’t she have insurance?”

“Since when did insurance cover anything?”

I made a trip down the hall to the nurse’s station to try and find Dr. Gandhi, who was around somewhere, just not here. When I got back to Oscar I said, “If she can’t go to the conference, she can’t go.”

He turned his palms up, signaling exasperation, agreement, something. I sat down again. We contemplated the indifferent furnishings of the waiting room for a time. I had just opened my mouth to ask Oscar what he didn’t like about Boone, when Oscar looked behind me, raising one hand. “Oh hi. We’re in here.”

Boone was peering in at the door. “Excuse me. Where’s my mother?”

I stood up and said I’d take him to her. “Who called you?” I asked. “I mean, we didn’t have a number for you.” Not that I was sure we’d meant to call him.

“The hospital. Accidental next of kin.” He shrugged. “How is she?”

I said we thought she was all right, but we were waiting for the doctor to see her. There was the fainting part, and the falling part, and the hitting her head part. We looked into the room. Viridian was still asleep, just as she’d been, sunk into the pillows. I didn’t like seeing her like this, an untidy heap of laundry on a bed.

“I’ll wait for the doctor,” Boone said. He pulled up a chair. The room was small, and it felt crowded with even two of us there. I stood over him and saw the thinning crown of his dark hair, and a shadowy view of skin down the back of his shirt collar. I moved away.

“Thanks for watching out for her.”

“Of course,” I said. We were keeping our voices low, though Viridian gave no sign of stirring. I told him what had happened at the luncheon, what Oscar had said. And that there had been nothing worrisome before that, at least not that anyone had noticed.

“She’s lucky that she has such a devoted group around her.”

“We feel lucky to have her.”

“I missed out on that. On really knowing her.”

I stayed quiet. I didn’t think I was allowed to have an opinion.

“All so she could write poems. I hope it was worth it.”