Daniel looked at his own hand as if it belonged to someone else.
Kendra did not look surprised.
She took another slow breath from the cigarette.
“Maybe it’s time you considered assisted living,” she said. “Somewhere people are trained to handle all these little emergencies.”
Daniel turned away from me.
He did not apologize.
He picked up his beer can, realized it was empty, and dropped it into the recycling bin.
I remained beside the table with one palm pressed against the wood. My heart was moving too quickly. The monitor beneath my shirt recorded every irregular beat, a fact neither of them seemed to remember.
Or perhaps they remembered and no longer cared.
I walked out of the kitchen without saying another word.
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