And now here she was, in the family lounge at a hospital waiting to speak to her father’s neurologist. Her dad, Ricky, had collapsed at work — or so she had been told. This was the most she had heard of her father’s life since she moved out of the house.
He wished he could talk to Jane. His Jane, not the paranoid woman who hid wads of cash from him in their sock drawer. His Jane would know what to do.