Chapter 8
Within thirty minutes, the car glided to a halt in front of the Meyer Cancer Center at New York-Presbyterian Brooklyn Hospital.
“Madam, we have arrived,” Arnold said, his eyes meeting Eleanor’s in the rearview mirror. She offered a soft hum of acknowledgment, waiting for him to round the vehicle and hold the door open.
As she stepped out, Eleanor gripped the handle of her cane to steady herself against the pavement. In truth, she was more than capable of walking unaided, but the cane was never really about stability. To Eleanor, it was an extension of her presence—a scepter that commanded a certain gravity and authority with every measured click against the floor.
“Wait here for me, Arnold,” Eleanor instructed, her tone quiet but absolute.
“Of course, Ma’am.” Arnold bowed hi
