He rubbed his gold wedding band with his thumb as he spoke.
“My days are straight,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended.
“Of course they are,” he said, offering that smooth, level smile he used on clients who were nervous about their annuities.
“But you forgot the hall light twice this week, and you left the oven preheating on Tuesday.”
I did not remember leaving the oven on.
“Write down your daily thoughts, what you plant, who calls,” he said, tapping the leather cover.
“It will help us track things.”
“It is beautiful,” I said, placing my palm on the cool leather cover.
“I will start using it today.”
The bell above the door at Miller’s Pharmacy chimed twice when I entered at four o’clock.
David, the pharmacist who had filled our prescriptions for twenty years, looked up from his computer screen.
“Afternoon, Diane,” he said. “Are you here for Arthur’s blood pressure refill?”
“No,” I said, leaning against the counter. “I had a question about a medication a friend was prescribed.”
“I can try,” David said, adjusting his collar.
