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your jacket. Do you need a ride? I can give you a lift wherever you need to go."
    "Oh, no. That's okay. I'll just take the 'L'; it passes right by where I'm going. Besides, you're in the middle of packing, and I've already taken up too much of your time."
    "You didn't take up any of my time." Scott walked with him to the door and once outside, his mood became quieter, pensive even. They stopped in front of the building. Scott reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. For a horrified moment, Mark thought he meant to offer him money, but all he did was pull out a business card.
    "Here, Mark. Take this. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call me."
    Mark glanced down at the card. Dr. Scott Palmer, Board Certified in Psychiatry. "You're a psychiatrist? I...I don't think I need one just yet." Humiliation burned through him. He had thought they were different. That maybe, for once, someone had believed him with no questions asked. He tucked the card in his wallet. "I'll do that." He stuck out his hand, barely able to suppress the hurt he was feeling. "It was nice meeting you and your wife. You have a great family."
    Scott shook his hand, but regarded Mark with concern. Instead of letting go of Mark's hand he tugged on it until Mark met his eyes. "I didn't give you the card because I think you're crazy. I gave it to you because, with the move, it's the only number that won't be changing soon." He released Mark's hand. "I want to keep in touch and if you ever want to talk, officially or unofficially, please call me. God only knows, you probably need someone to talk to."
    Mark nodded, feeling stupid that he had mis-interpreted Scott's motives, but also relieved. "I'll remember that, Scott. And if you're ever in the River North neighborhood, stop in the studio and say hello."

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    The Chicago cityscape slid by in a blur but Mark didn't notice. His mind wandered back to the time he'd spent with the Palmers. Their home, even with the mess created by moving, was comfortable and inviting. It was the kind of home he'd always imagined he would have one day. A home filled with love and laughter and kids. At least a couple of them. And a dog. Gotta have a dog. He shifted on the hard train seat in an attempt to ease the discomfort in his back. When he thought of the reason for the soreness, he smiled. Thomas's face, with his big eyes and mop of sun-streaked hair, popped into his mind. A little stiffness was a small price to pay.
    "Polk Street!"
    The announcement pulled Mark from his reverie, and he stood and headed for the doors. Several other passengers also prepared to exit and he noticed a few studying him curiously. He zipped his jacket higher and turned up his collar in hopes that it would conceal a bit of his face. He'd tried on a baseball cap, intending to use that to help hide his identity, but the edge of it rested right on the place he'd received his stitches and he couldn't tolerate the irritation. Maybe he should have worn sunglasses. He glanced up at the steel gray sky, the clouds threatening to either deposit snow or rain any minute. Sunglasses would have just called attention to him.
    Ignoring the stares of the few that seemed to recognize him, he exited and headed the short distance to Cook County Hospital. He wondered if the girl was still a patient and if she was, if they would even let him up to see her. The automatic doors slid open, and Mark approached the information desk.
    The volunteer manning it looked up. Her tight curls had a blue cast but her eyes weren't the least bit dimmed by age. "May I help you?"
    "I sure hope so. Could you please tell me what room Judy Medea is in?"
    "Let me just check." She pushed a couple of buttons on her computer and leaned forward to read the screen. "It says here that she has to be notified before any visitors are allowed." The woman picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers. "Hello. This is the information desk. I have a young man here to