Christine glanced at the orthopedic surgery nurses, who nodded in approval, and there were sniffles throughout the crowd. Everyone faced front, except for a handful of children who fidgeted, and Christine realized that the public must have been invited. Older people sat on folding chairs that had been set up on the other side of the crowd, and she spotted a hugely pregnant woman sitting with them, wondering how she felt. Off to the side, she recognized the group of Gail’s neighbors, sitting together: Kimberly and Lainey with their neighbor Dom, Rachel the brunette horsewoman with her boyfriend, Jerri the Indian-American wife, who had seen Zachary in Gail’s kitchen, sitting with her husband, and Phil the good-looking WCU student with the headphones, sitting with his girlfriend and his roommates, who lived two doors down from Gail.

On the stage, Dr. Verbena was saying, “Today, we will have only three speakers, after Father Lipinski leads us in a moment of silence. You will then hear from Dr. Milton Cohen, CEO of the Suburban Health System, Dr. Grant Hallstead, Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, and Ms. Rita Kaplan, Chief of Nursing, who will recall the day that she hired the young Gail Robinbrecht.” Dr. Verbena stepped aside. “Father Lipinski, would you lead us in a moment of silence before your speech?”

Christine took a sip of water, and when her stomach growled unhappily, she found herself wondering how long the program would be. She was regretting not having used the Porta John on the walk down. She looked around for another, but the only one was way in the far back of the crowd and the line was long.

A black-robed Father Lipinski came to the podium, then adjusted the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends of the hospital community and neighbors, please join me in a moment of silence for Gail Robinbrecht.”

Everyone’s head bowed, and Christine felt vaguely dizzy as she looked down, noticing that her feet were swelling, puffing out of her espadrilles. It must have been due to all the running around she was doing, though it hadn’t happened before. She thought the books had said that her feet wouldn’t swell until the eighth or ninth month.

The moment of silence ended, and Father Lipinski continued, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. At times like this, it is difficult to trust in God’s wisdom, for one of our brightest lights has been taken from us. In addition, at times like this, we may find ourselves questioning His ways…”

Christine began to lose focus as the pastor spoke, and her thoughts strayed to the evidence against Zachary and how he’d been filmed talking to Allen-Bogen and McLeane, though he’d told her he didn’t know them. There was too much evidence to dismiss, even though Christine didn’t want him to be guilty, with every fiber of her being. She shifted on her feet, which were beginning to ache.

Father Lipinski ceded the podium to Dr. Milton Cohen, who was tall and good-looking in a corporate way, with dark hair going silvery gray at the temples. He began to speak, and Christine tried to pay attention, his speech sounding sadly like the others; “wonderful nurse,” “always a smile,” “upbeat attitude,” “made every patient feel special.”

Christine started looking around for a bathroom, noticing that the physical rehab building was across the parking lot, not that far. Its entrance hall was a box of glass, and she could see hospital personnel and people in street clothes inside the lobby. The first floor had to have a bathroom, but she didn’t know if she could sneak away from the vigil without being noticed or rude. She tried to hang in and pay attention.

The next speaker was Dr. Grant Hallstead, and he was younger than she would have expected for someone so responsible. His light reddish hair was cut in layers, and his eyes were brilliant blue, magnified on the screen. He spoke with a preppy accent, his vowels plummy as he added to the consensus; “an excellent nurse,” “brought cheer to our unit,” “always a kind word,” “took extra shifts even when she wasn’t asked,” “had a brilliant future stolen from her.”

Christine couldn’t pay attention because her bladder was filling. She had to get to a bathroom, and the physical rehab building was the closest. She backed away from the crowd and hustled past the stage, noticing more men and women in suits conferring in low tones behind the green curtain.

She hurried off the grass, reached the concrete sidewalk, and scooted through the parking lot of the physical rehab building, ducking a passing Cadillac. She made a beeline for the entrance, threw open the glass door, and mouthed to the security guard, “Ladies’ room?”

“To the right,” he answered, pointing.

Christine hurried past him, made her way through the lobby, then followed the signs to the restrooms. The men’s room was first, and the ladies’ room predictably down a long hall. She scurried along, reached the ladies’ room, and pushed open the door, startled to find three women in suits, looking over some notes for the vigil program.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Christine said, almost banging into them.

“Excuse us,” said one of the women, stepping back. “We shouldn’t have been so close to the door.”

“No, my fault.” Christine headed to the last stall, to give herself some privacy if they were going to use the ladies’ room for their meeting. She closed the stall door, practically threw her purse at the hook on the back, and slid off her underwear just in time to sit down.

Outside the stall, the women were saying, “Tell Rita that Gail’s mom and dad are in the crowd. They’re sitting in the first row on the right, the far right.”

“Got it,” the other woman said. “What are their names again?”

“John and Hilda Robinbrecht.”

“Hilda, really?”

“Yes, okay, let’s go,” the other woman answered, then Christine heard the sound of the ladies’ room door opening and heels clattering out, leaving her finally in peace.

Christine let herself relax on the toilet seat, in no hurry to get up because it felt so good to finally sit down. She looked at her feet, which were still swelling. She straightened her legs to elevate them, and in the next moment, she heard the ladies’ room door bang open again, then came more clattering shoes and the sound of a woman bursting into tears.

“What a jerk!” the woman cried out, between hoarse sobs. “… he has some nerve, really that man has the gall of ten men…”

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay,” another woman said, her voice soothing.