I remembered that recovery.
Richard’s knee had apparently taken surgery personally and spent weeks protesting.
Mark drove him to physical therapy three mornings a week for almost a month.
“The second time,” Mark continued, “Mom had that fall in the bathroom.”
“She wasn’t badly hurt.”
“No. But she got scared.”
Afterward, Mark installed grab bars, replaced the bathmat, tightened the stair railing, and spent two weekends rearranging their house so Patricia would feel safer.
“And the third time?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“Last fall.”
I frowned. “What happened last fall?”
“Nothing.”
That answer told me enough.
“Then why did you turn it down?”
He rubbed his thumb along the mug.
“Dad said they were getting older. Mom said Susan and Rebecca were too far away. They needed at least one kid close.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
