SERA “He is asking for you.” The call came at six twenty-two on a Wednesday morning in September from a number Sera did not recognize, a woman’s voice, careful and precise, identifying herself as the nursing coordinator at a hospice in Bristol. “Mr. Harmon,” the woman said. “He has been asking for you by name since yesterday evening. He said: call Sera Calloway Voss. He said you would come.” Sera was already sitting up in bed. “How long does he have,” she said. “Days,” the woman said. “Perhaps less. He has been very clear about wanting to speak with you before he cannot speak anymore. He said there is something he has not told you. He said: she needs to hear it from me directly.” Sera looked at Elliot beside her. He was already awake. He had heard the call. He looked at her with the expression he wore when significant things were arriving and he was already moving to support whatever they required. “I am coming today,” Sera said into the phone. She was in Bristol by ten. Th
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