Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

talking like we had to pack up the sunroom by Thanksgiving.”

“We are not packing anything,” I said. I reached into my purse and pulled out the folded paper Dr. Sullivan had given me. “Look at this.”

Sarah took the paper, her eyes scanning the rows of computer code and timestamps. “What is this?”

“The clinic log,” I said. “Someone printed continue reading …