“So I’m the last to know.” We stood in silence, the tension amplified by the emptiness of the stairwell. Suddenly, I needed to get away from Hal. I yanked open the stairwell door and marched into the hallway. Hal followed me. I stopped when I saw my brother leaning against the wall. “Raymond!” I said, so happy at the sight of his face.

“What are you doing here?” Hal was taken aback when he saw Raymond.

“Looks like it’s the place to be,” said my brother.

“Did you hear what we were saying in there?” asked Hal.

“Pretty hard not to,” said Raymond.

“You’ll excuse me.” Hal walked away, waving his hand in dismissal, like he needed to be alone. I remembered again the night we first met, when Hal had waved his wineglass up in the air as he left, as if toasting me, and how different this felt.

“Your lawsuit was served on Cally,” said Raymond. “For breach of contract. Sol confirmed it.”

“Holy crap, that was fast,” I said.

“What’s with him?” Raymond nodded toward Hal’s shrinking outline.

“Oh, he can’t deal with this. He needs to be with Jake.”

“How’s Jake doing?”

“The same.”

“Well, Sol says you should have your emergency court order within the hour.”

“That’s amazing.” I grabbed Raymond and pulled him with me. “We have to go down to the parking lot.”

“Okay,” said Raymond as we hustled to the elevator. “What now, boss?”

“We have to find this truck,” I said, pushing the button. “And follow it.”

The elevator doors opened, and at first I thought it was a ghost: Cally, out of breath, holding an IV pole and leaning against the open doors, wearing a pale mint hospital gown and socks.

“Ruth!” she said. “I was . . . looking for you. . . . Please, I need you . . .”

“Cally, my God! Are you all right? What’s going on?” I asked.

Cally’s face was flushed and sweaty. Her lips were dry and her dark hair hung in her face, wild. She looked desperate, like a crazy person in a B-movie: the feverish patient roaming the halls, a menace.

“Here,” she said, handing me a piece of paper, head down, weak and wheezing. “I don’t know where she is . . . but she might be at this address . . . Hurry.”

I stood there, mouth gaping, holding the scrap of paper. As the doors started to close, Raymond and I pushed them open, got in the elevator with Cally, and pressed 1. On the ride down, Cally leaned against the wall to rest. She looked smaller and soft, not so crazy anymore. I wondered what she’d been through and what the heck was going on with her body. The three of us rode quietly, not knowing where to start. I examined the scrap of paper. “Whose house is this?” I asked.

“Digger’s . . . sister, Deena,” she said.