CENTER.
I leaned closer.
“
The health center?”
One blink.
The community health center in Queens.
The place where my mother had first received treatment.
The place where Vivian said Ethan had seen me.
A memory surfaced—not of Ethan, but of a small silver car parked behind the clinic. It belonged to the center, not to me. Volunteers used it to deliver medication and transport patients who could not afford taxis.
I had driven it several times.
My mouth went dry.
“The center had a car,” I said. “A silver hatchback.”
Ethan blinked once.
“That was the car?”
Another blink.
Jason’s expression hardened.
“The police report identified Ethan’s vehicle.”
Vivian looked at him.
“Did you read the complete report?”
“I was managing the company while the family dealt with the hospital.”
“That was not my question.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
“No. I read the official summary.”
Ethan’s pen moved again.
