Part 6: The Doctor's Name

At a follow-up appointment, I saw Dr. Lane in the corridor. For a moment I felt the same jolt of recognition I had felt when I woke. This time I knew why. His face reminded me of Daniel's, but he was not my brother and did not need to carry the story I had attached to him.

He asked how the rehabilitation plan was working and whether I had questions for the team. I told him I had managed a short visit to the bindery with Jo and had rested afterward. He reminded me to follow the plan I had agreed with the clinicians and to report any concerns rather than comparing my progress with someone else's.

I also told him that I had found Daniel. “Thank you for not treating me as though I should have understood everything immediately.”

“You were in an unfamiliar situation,” he said. “You deserved an explanation.”

The visit did not turn into a friendship or a secret family connection. He was a clinician doing his work, and I was a patient continuing mine.

At the bindery, Jo had arranged the exhibition materials on a table at a comfortable height. I reviewed two labels and chose the order of three letters. When I became tired, I stopped. The staff completed the remaining installation tasks according to the plan we had discussed.

Daniel arrived with a toolbox. He had agreed to repair two frames and check the wall fittings with the library's facilities staff. He did not hang anything until the staff confirmed where it belonged.

While he worked, I asked about the repair shop. He told me he repaired bicycles, lamps, and small household items. Some jobs were simple; others required parts he could not obtain. He had learned to tell customers when a repair was not worth the cost.

“Mom would have liked that,” I said.

“She liked that I admitted when I didn't know.”

He stopped and looked at me. “I didn't do that about the letter.”

“Neither did I.”

We talked about the day we sorted her apartment. He remembered a box I had forgotten. I remembered a conversation he did not. We did not force the accounts to match. We wrote down the details we could verify and left the rest uncertain.

Mira brought lunch. She asked whether we wanted to eat together or take a break separately. I chose the table by the window. Daniel showed her the repaired frame, and Jo explained how the library would display the original letters without exposing them to too much light.

After lunch I became tired. I told them I needed to leave. Daniel offered to drive, but Mira was already scheduled to take me. He accepted that and returned to the frame.

At home I felt disappointed that I had not stayed longer. I called the therapist's office with a question about pacing and followed the advice they gave for my situation. Then I rested.

That evening Daniel sent a message: The frames are ready. Jo says the labels are too. No need to answer tonight.

I read it and put the phone down. A message that did not demand an immediate response felt like a small gift. I answered the next morning: Thank you. I'll see you at the opening.