He stopped.
“I stopped taking the evening pills,” she said. “My grandson drew me a chart, in marker, and I read it every night. I knew exactly which ones made me foggy. I put those in my robe pocket.” She almost smiled. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’ve been feeding the potted fern.”
A strangled laugh broke from somebody at the end of the table.
It d*ed quickly.
“Every time you held that phone to my mouth, Craig, I gave you a chance. I said every word slowly. I waited for you to say, ‘Mom, forget it.’ I waited for you to put it down.”
Craig shook his head.
“I didn’t —”
“You said, ‘Again.’”
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Hank Dwyer stood u
“Mr. Pratt,” he said. “I’m retired. I’ll say that first. But I’m going to tell you what happened at nine-fourteen this morning, because I think your family deserves to hear it.”
