The plastic handle of the milk gallon bit into my palm, but it was the sudden, binding knot in my left calf that made me stop. I braced my hand against the laminate kitchen counter, waiting for the cramp to release, but the muscle remained locked under my skin like a stone.
“Keep your weight balanced, Mom,” David said, reaching out to steady my elbow before I could slide.
My son adjusted his silver wristwatch, a habit he kept from his years coaching track at the high school. He had stopped by to help carry in the heavier bags from my weekly grocery trip, though I had not asked him to do it.
I tapped my index finger against my collarbone, waiting for the dull, deep ache to subside. It felt like a Charley horse, the kind that catches you in the middle of the night, only this was eight o’clock on a Tuesday morning in our warm kitchen.
“It is probably just the damp autumn weather,” I said, forcing my voice to remain slow and even.
“You have to stretch those leg muscles out,” David said, lifting the heavy bag of baking potatoes onto the counter for me. “No cold starts on a damp morning.”
I rubbed the back of my leg through my trousers, feeling a strange, concentrated heat under the skin. The muscle was not letting go, and a dull pressure began to radiate upward toward my knee.
Three hours later, the stiffness had crept higher, making the short walk from my beige Buick LeSabre to the pharmacy counter feel unusually long. The Oak Creek Pharmacy smelled faintly of peppermint drops and paper bags.
Gail was already there, leaning against the wooden railing near the prescription drop-off desk. She wiped her hands on her canvas gardening apron, leaving a smear of dark soil on the faded fabric.
“They changed the layout in here again, Miriam,” Gail said, her words coming in a rapid, excited burst. “And look at the bins behind the counter, they have moved everything around.”
“I am just picking up my monthly Vasopril,” I said.
